#like burnt electrical wires or something

[self-hatred-h00die]

the fucking ac broke at work

[popopretty]

BSD Chapter 106.5

"In the Narrow Room" - Part 2.2

This chapter is the continuation of Mersault with Dazai and Sigma.

I love this chapter!!! But at the same time I'm so shocked I have no words T_T Hands shaking just typing this out so please forgive me if I make any mistake (I don't speak English nor Japanese as my native language)

SPOILERS AHEAD

Sigma tries to get out of the water to get some air but the water is burning so he has to dive back in. Apparently the fuel coming from the wall is Fyodor's doing. Dazai tells Sigma to use his gun to shoot the door but it is too hard the bullets do not work. Sigma is almost out of breath when he notices the fire has stopped and believes that the fuel has burned out so he tries to swim to the surface but before he can get out of water, he is pulled back down by Dazai.

At first Sigma thinks Dazai is trying to kill him. He blames himself for being too naive to think that he could trust Dazai, before after all, Dazai is just like Fyodor - someone from *that side*. But as they get closer in the water, he realizes Dazai is just trying to stop him from doing a sucidal act - that he only came to understand later. Basically, the fire has burnt up all the oxygen left in that narrow space, that's why there is no oxygen left in the air above water. If one inhales that air, their blood will lose oxygen instead and it can lead to immediate death. This is also a part of Fyodor's evil plan.

When Sigma is already at his limit, Dazai grabs the gun, puts his hand out of the water and shoots the electric box (?) of the elevator. He uses Sigma as a step to jump out of the water, into the non-oxygen room, shoots something inside the electric box and inserts his arm into it. After that, the door starts to slighly open and Sigma uses all his strength to force it open, letting the water out. Sigma realizes that what Dazai destroyed is the wire that control the opening and closing of the elevator door. It is not as strong as the door itself and can be broken by force. Dazai somehow saw through this structure and was able to stick his hand through the weak part of the devices to destroy the wires. However, Sigma stilll doesn't understand how Dazai was able to find those wires.

Sigma finally gets out of the water. He is able to breath normally, so he turns to Dazai, looking happy. Dazai also smiles back at him, but then they hears the automated voice inside the elevator, saying that since the water operation has failed, the safety device for the elevator will be purged and it will proceed to free fall. Right after that, the elevator starts to drop. Sigma reaches for the opening in the door, thinking that he has to escape from there before the elevator fully accelerates, but it is too far from him and he thinks he's going to die. Dazai smiles and tells him that he promised he would return Sigma alive, then he uses his whole body to push Sigma out of that door to safety, while he is still inside. Before disappearing from side, he tells Sigma that he leaves the rest to him.

Thank you for reading till the end. I personally believe Dazai will still survive, but his selfless act in this chapter just makes me wanna cry...

The next chapter will come out on May 2nd.

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 34

Kid, Killer, Wire, Heat x Reader (Sexual)

Pure smut; No plot; 18+ only (could be read as a standalone I suppose?)

Warnings: Sex, group sex, blood play, knife play, rough sex, no holes barred, dp

(Was inspired to write this by Bestrafe Mich (Punish Me) by Mike's Dead)

Audience Participation

Kid's hands weren't long for wandering around your body before the flesh hand was shoved under your waistband, and the metal one was tearing your shirt over your head. If you minded being watched, there were no protests for Heat, Wire, or Killer to leave. You had seemed sheepish when you were telling him about this dream of yours, though there was no hint of that shyness now, while he sank two fingers into you. 

The only reason you had reservations about being shared was that you were friends with Heat and you thought Wire hated you. You didn't want your friendship to be tainted, since you had so little of them to begin with. As for Wire, you didn't know if he would be into it. You didn't have much of a chance to give a shit about that as Kid tore moans from your mouth with his fingers. You did, however, notice that Killer excused Minerva and sent her out of the room. Always so thoughtful. 

Your own hands were occupied fighting Kid's belts. Why did he have to lock his dick away like this? You were struggling to focus on them as Kid pushed you closer to the edge. You felt other hands push yours away, both flesh hands, which caused you some confusion. You looked over Kid's shoulder to see Killer, who had reached his hands around Kid from behind. 

"Let me help, darlin." Killer spoke in a low tone that sent electricity straight to your groin. "You seem distracted." He undid Kid's pants in record time, himself an expert at getting to Kid's dick.

Kid tsked. "What a slutty lass you are. Already reaching for my cock." He spit into his hand and gave himself a few pumps. 

You were unaware that Kid had been walking you back towards the wall until your back was flush against it. You couldn't take your eyes off Kid, his heavy member in his hand. Only vaguely do you recall shedding your pants along the way. He tugged your panties to the side and pressed his weeping tip to your entrance, pushing the head in before suddenly removing it again. You whined, desperate to have something filling that space.

"How bad do ya want it?" 

"Badly. Give it to me."

"What will ya do for it?" 

You swallowed thickly. "Whatever you want, Captain." You knew he loved when you called him by the proper title, an instance where you let him have dominance over you.

Kid hummed. "And what if I want to be rough?"

"I'm not fragile." You looked at his bandolier. "Will you... use this?" Your hand tugged at the hilt of his blade. 

Kid's brow quirked up. "Ya sure about that?" 

You nodded. A chill of excitement running up your spine.

Kid pushed his tip in again and then pulled it out, with a devious look in his eyes. "I change my mind." Kid turned you around so your chest was against the wall. "I think I want this hole instead." His hands ran down your sides and paused at your hips, pulling them against him to rub his cock between your cheeks. 

From this angle, you had a hard time seeing what Kid was doing, though you heard him slide his knife out of the sheath. Killer had been on the side you could see and moved to be behind you, Heat taking his place. You couldn't tell where Wire was. There was pressure, followed by stinging pain on your lower back. You sucked in a hiss.

Killer spoke from behind you. "You can say stop if you need a break, ok?" You felt his broad hand cup the back of your neck. 

You nodded. Finding it difficult to look Heat in the eyes, yours drifted down to his feet. They came towards you until the scent of burnt wood filled your nostrils. That's not how you thought he would smell but you weren't mad about it. You felt his fingers lift your chin, causing your gaze to pass over the bulge in his pants. He paused for a moment, either to look at you or give you a chance to pull away, or both, then brought his lips to yours. He tasted like fire, too. You don't know whose hand it was, but it found your clit and immediately went to work rubbing circles into it. The sting on your lower back turned into a blissful burning sensation, growing as Kid slowly continued to drag his blade over your skin. Warm liquid that you almost couldn't feel since it was your own body temperature starting dripping down your back and into the valley Kid was rutting against.

You moaned against Heat, allowing your tongues to slide past each other. You were able to move the hand on that side from being against the wall to press against his erection through his pants. Caught up in your own haze of pleasure, your hand stuttered, and Heat took it upon himself to grab your wrist and move it for you. Something about that mad you shudder. The pressure building in your abdomen made your legs twitch. The hand that played with you dipped its fingers inside, pressing its palm against your clit. You whined again as you felt the absence of Kid pushing against you. 

Kid looked down at his artwork, licking your blood from his knife. His dick throbbed at the act of marking you. In sanguine letters, "KID" was carved into your skin. He pressed his fingers against the lines, tracing his name again, coating his fingers with your blood. With every touch, you cried out with a mix of pleasure or pain. It was hard to say which, especially since Heat was greedily keeping your mouth occupied with his own. 

"Heat, I can't fuckin hear her." 

"Switch with me then," Heat teased.

"Not a fuckin chance." Kid took the fingers with your blood and introduced one to your back entrance. "Her ass is mine. Isn't that right?" Kid smacked your ass with his metal hand and slid another finger in simultaneously.

It was too much. You couldn't answer him. Or maybe this was your answer. The coil had been building and you knew you would cum soon, but the smack and the feeling of fingers shoved up both holes made it happen without warning. "FUCK!" You shrieked, almost losing your balance as your knees buckled and your eyes rolled back. Your body clenched down on Heat and Kid's fingers from both sides. You realized they were Heat's fingers because he shoved them in your mouth while you were coming down from your high. 

"If you're good for them, maybe I'll let you have a taste," Killer mused, touching the soaked fabric of your panties. Your hips instinctively tried to grind against his touch, but he pulled his hand back. "Uh uh. I said if you were good." 

All touches were removed from you while you caught your breath. You leaned with your back against the wall.

"Please, Killer." 

His hands briefly skirted across your belly before hooking his fingers on either side of your panties, shredding them with one pull. His finger slid under the bra you still had on. "Take this off too unless you want me to ruin it."

You tossed it away. "I want you to ruin me." You were only mildly aware that you were completely bare in front of all of them, two for the first time. 

Killer motioned for you to get off the wall and come to him, which you did gladly. He pulled you to his chest so you were slightly bent forward. You looked so cute with those eyes pleading up at him. He would love nothing more than to fuck your sassy mouth, but this was still his game and he still wanted to torment you. "You have to relax or it will hurt." He watched as your eyes widened when Kid spread your cheeks apart. 

"I want it to hurt." This wasn't your first time. You were aware of the risks, but you were also aware of your own body. It was going to hurt regardless since Kid was bigger than anything you had before. Unlike before, you could heal yourself if anything went wrong. 

Kid still worked you open a little more with a third finger and then a fourth. The blood dripping down from your future scar made it plenty wet still. He couldn't wait to feel that tight ass wrapped around him. Though he tried not to think about it so much or else he would cum. 

Killer still held you, praising you for taking Kid in. It stung, as you knew it would. In the beginning it always felt a little sore and weird, but after he started moving, it would be better. Just the idea of being 'violated' in this way had you dripping wet. The twinges of pain sending shivers up your spine. Killer released you when Kid was all the way in. You expected someone to come fill your mouth. Instead, you felt Kid's arms reach under your thighs to hook under your knees, picking you up while still on his cock, and spreading you wide open in the front. That was the first time you were acutely aware of Wire. He was rubbing himself through his clothes, enjoying the show. 

Kid groaned into your ear. "Fuck. Ya really clenched down when ya saw Wire. Ya thinking about him hate-fucking ya?" Kid slowly moved you up and down his cock, using you like his personal sex doll. Kid snickered. "In fact, I want ya to tell them about yer dream."

You slowly shook your head. "I d-don't want to." It was hard to get the words out when Kid was fucking your ass. "Embarrassing."

"Ya got a dick in your ass and your pussy spread wide for everyone to enjoy, and that's embarrassing?" 

Killer appeared in front of you. "Being good includes doing whatever the Captain says." He put his thumb against your clit, moving it very slowly.

"Please fill me up. I'm begging you." You writhed in Kid's grip, desperate to feel full. The slow pace that he and Killer set was agonizing. 

"Heat will be glad to oblige, but first ya have to satisfy my request." 

"I-"

"Louder. Wire can't hear ya from all the way over here."

"I-I had a dream that Kid was f-fucking me and that you were all g-gonna take turns."

"And what was that bit about Heat and Wire? They need details if ya want it to happen." 

"They tossed me back and forth, l-like a rag-doll."

"That's still not everything. Go on, tell Wire what you were interested in."

"K-kid please."

"Tell him," Killer pressured, pausing his ministration. 

"I want to get hate-fucked by Wire." You felt your face heat up.

"Good girl," Killer gave another firm press against your bud before turning it over to Heat.

Heat quickly blocked your line of sight, but not before you saw Wire with a sneer on his face. That look went straight to your cunt. 

Kid held still for a moment while Heat bullied his way in. "So tight." The pressure around his cock was made more intense by the feeling of Kid's cock filling up the space next-door. 

Heat's hands found their way to your breasts, kneading them and twisting your nipples as he bit at the smooth, warm tops of them. His mouth moved up the side of your neck, adding to the marks Kid had left earlier. Kid was moving you only slightly up and down the tips of both of their cocks, so Heat could kiss you. The height difference made it hard in this position to kiss and fuck at the same time. Heat released you, moving his rough hands to your sides, aiding Kid in moving you, though he didn't need it. They met over your shoulder to make-out with each other. The feeling of being ignored and used as a toy was dizzying. It's not exactly something you would have thought you liked. They used you to jerk themselves off while they moaned into each other's mouths. You gripped harder as the thought wound the knot in your stomach tighter. The overwhelming feeling of being filled and stretched by two, exceptionally large cocks was sending you to the moon. You were pretty sure there was a steady stream of moans from you mixing in with their own, tongue panting. You didn't know for sure, so focused on how good you were feeling. It could be your imagination, but Heat's dick had a warm sensation to it.

"Look at you. Taking two huge dicks at the same time." 

Killers words were going to make you crash back to earth. 

"After this, no one will be able to fuck you as good. Your cunt will never be full like this again."

"Shit. Killer." You didn't have words to warn him. 

"Tell me. Are you close?"

"Yeah," you moaned.

"Do you want to cum?" 

"I want to cum. Please." 

"I want you to hold it until they cum. Can you do that?" 

You shook your head.

"Yes you can." 

You felt both Heat and Kid's grips dig into your skin, slamming you down on themselves. You strained to keep your orgasm at bay. They were definitely close, their breaths ragged, their cocks twitching. Your arms were around Heat's neck for support. "Cum in me! Please cum in me! I want to be dripping from both holes," you repeated various iterations of this mantra until, nearly at the same time they grunted, filling you with hot semen. As they did, they held you tighter to their bases, pushing them into your sweet spot. Finally you were allowed to release. Your cry of pleasure was so earth-shatteringly loud, the dead guys in the room could hear it. There was a rush of fluid down your legs as your own juice and the force of your cunt clamping down caused cum to leak out. 

Before you had a chance to recover. You felt Kid remove himself, but Heat held you up. And suddenly you were on Wire's lap, facing him. He had been sitting on the table. "If you wanna be tossed back and forth you better get to work on Wire before I go soft," Heat said. You barely processed what he said before Wire impaled you on his cock, shoving it so deep, you felt it in your stomach. It was a good thing you were thoroughly prepared, because Wire was proportionate in every way. He bullied your cervix and just as you were about to cum, he lifted you off himself and gave you back to Heat who opted to take Kid's position, lifting you with your legs spread open, his hand barely reaching your clit. He already came, this was purely for you. Right as you were on the precipice of your climax, Heat passed you back to Wire. They did this several more time before Heat had to tap out. 

The last time Heat gave you to Wire, Wire got off the table and set you on it instead, on your knees, facing away from him. "Spread your legs until your stomach is flat against the table." 

It was slightly uncomfortable with your legs splayed completely out, bent at the knee. Your ass hung off the edge of the table and your arms were above your head. Wire's palm pressed firmly into your back, crushing you against the table. You felt him lean over you, the blades of his necklace touching your skin, so if you bucked, they would cut you. You wondered if that was their purpose. He didn't talk, simply shoved his cock back inside and railed you from behind. After edging so many times, you came fast and hard, gripping him so tightly, you earned a grunt from the otherwise silent man. 

Killer thought you had been good enough. And he was feeling a little left out if he was honest with himself. Watching you cum over and over again, dripping with sweat, blood, and tears. He wanted to take some responsibility for your impending fuck coma. You were beyond the point of fucked-out. Your pretty pink pussy was puffy around Wire's cock from the repeated battering. And your ass was still gaping for now. But your poor mouth had no use. He positioned himself on the table in front of you, legs splayed almost as wide as yours, as wide as his jeans would allow, to get his cock as close to you as he could. You were practically drooling as you looked up at him, making his dick twitch within its confines. He freed his cock from his jeans and it sprung forth, bobbing in front of your face.

Wire released the hand from your back so you could lift your front half enough to reach Killer. "Choke on his cock you filthy fucking marine bitch." 

You eagerly opened your mouth. Finally Killer was going to reward you. You gagged as Killer unexpectedly pulled your head down on him. Your ponytail was wrapped around his hand.

"Fuck the little slut tightens up when you do that. Do it again." 

Killer did it again, bringing tears to your eyes. You were being bounced back and forth by the thrusts of their hips. "You're so cute when you're crying on my cock, breadcrumb." 

"You like getting used, don't you? I bet you'd like to be chained down here, free use for all the Kid Pirates, huh? I can feel you getting close. You want me to come visit every day and fuck you until you cry?"

"That's it, darlin. Relax your throat. You feel so good."

"Marine whore. Cum on this pirate cock."

The opposition between degradation and praise was strangely working. Wire slapped his hand down on the freshly carved "KID". The vibrations from your yelp going straight to Killer. He felt his balls empty. He meant to last longer, but he had held out for so long he was straining from the start. The salty taste hit the back of your throat. You swallowed most of it, though some leaked from the corner of your mouth. Partially because you weren't ready and partially because that sensation forced you over the edge. 

"Fuck. I'm- I'm-" The words were lost as Wire felt you start to pulse around him. He pulled out and slammed back in, not into your cunt, into your ass. He shoved his fingers in your pussy at the same time. It was the most intense orgasm yet. Your feet cramped from your toes curling so hard. Your whole body shook and twitched. Your eyes were squeezed shut, and you would have screamed even louder had your voice not been hoarse already from being so vocal. The vice grip you had on Wire pushed him over the edge too, he chose to pull out, showering the letters on your back with cum. 

You couldn't move. Arms and legs too weak to push yourself up. Eyes completely glazed over. Still twitching with aftershocks. You didn't even want to heal yourself at then moment. The dull throb and the burn felt good. 

"Don't worry, darlin. I've got ya." 

Next Chapter

[serenityinstone]

Affections of an Apparition

Yandere Ghost England x GN. Reader

TW: Yandere Behavior | Character Death | England tries to kill (Y/n) more than a few times but then he becomes a simp | Magical Kidnapping | Imprisonment | Magical Induced Forgetting | idk if I forgor something

Uhhhhh I wrote this in literally a day, I don't want to talk about it okay :(

(There is technically one use of the world 'she' by another character but I'm pretty sure that's it. This was originally fem. reader and I don't want it to differ from my other publications so I'm gonna leave it)

Word Count: 5916

Perhaps you should have thought a little harder and dug a little deeper inside of yourself when deciding to buy a haunted house… But it was just so cheap!

Sure the shutters creaked during the frequent storms like a man in unpeaceful rest and the wind howled past the house, desperate to invade, but the view was beautiful… When it wasn’t completely enshrouded by a heavy mist so thick that you could get lost and find yourself in another realm altogether. But inside!... wasn’t much better; with winding corridors that created an inescapable maze and sharp corners filled with shadows. Every eave and crevice hid strange noises and eyes; some days you could swear that you heard the whisperings of a man rush by your ear, stiffening your hair to stand on end. You never found any evidence of rodents or even spiders, only a thin layer of dust that blanketed the entirety of the house.

Though there had been an attempt to add electricity to the estate, power surges and complete blackouts rendered it useless. All wiring would alight until it was charred and unusable and bulbs burnt out within days. Things often overloaded and it was a gamble whether or not the outlet you were using would choose to spark. There was a backup generator but it was in worse condition than the wiring and often didn’t work.

That meant that on nights like tonight, where the storm had knocked out your power –again– you had to rely on candles lit around the large manor. You were half sure that you contributed to most of the candle market in the small town.

The ancient Victorian home had belonged to an old noble family whose only surviving member had been assassinated. It had floated through many hands over the years, including yours. The house overlooked the nearby town, of course, that depended upon if the fog would break. The town itself was small and quaint, only a few hundred people and a few large families. Gossip spread fast and you did your best to click with the ‘in’ group. When your wi-fi wasn’t feeling spotty, you often texted with a few local people. They were in their twenties like you and were positively bored of the small amount of people that their hometown had to offer.

It was from them that you learned that the townspeople wholeheartedly believed that the restless spirit of the old manor lord haunted his home with a vengeance. At first you took it as a small town’s superstitions, nothing more than a fantasy or a spiraled rumor. You had lived there for about nine months but it was starting to get ridiculous.

Can you punch a ghost? Because if you can, you were totally going to. All you wanted was toast and tea. You were drinking tea because the ghost absolutely abhorred coffee and would spill your coffee grounds all over the hardwood floor. It didn’t matter where you put it or how tightly you secured it. Every morning you would come downstairs and find the brown powder spilled all over the floor like a crackhead had rifled through your cabinets. You thought, at first, that it might be the brand of coffee. But no, alas, it was the coffee itself. So you were now a tea drinker. Thanks, ghost.

Anyway back to the current toast issue. You had jumped back a split second before the sparks from the outlet would have reached your skin. Eyes blown wide, you could feel your entire body shaking. A second longer and you could have been dealing with multiple-degree burns. Unconsciously, you rubbed your bare arms over where the injury would have been. Suddenly the lights went out, encasing you in total darkness, save for the low silver light filtering through the windows, bathing what it touched in a blue tone.

You and this stupid ghost were going to have to have a chat.

Stomping angrily down the long hallway, you did your best not to huff the dust you were kicking up. You passed by countless amounts of old Victorian furniture, all in the same place they had been since being placed there over a hundred years ago. It was entirely in vain to try to move the furniture as any time you or any other previous owners had tried, you would just find it straight back in its spot the next morning. Save for the times that pieces would be moved just slightly so you would run into them or stub your toe.

A large portrait caught your eye even through your mad march. It was a painting of the lord of the house. Your current tormentor: Lord Arthur Kirkland. His toxic emerald eyes burrowed into your soul, curling inside and freezing you from the inside out. His shaggy blond hair framed his face, carved into a permanent scowl. Above his eyes lay two thick eyebrows. Oh great, the bane of your existence had caterpillars for eyebrows. He was wearing the ruffles and coats of the period but the tightness of the clothing had you gasping for air just looking at it.

Wait… Nothing filled your lungs when you tried to inhale. Fear struck itself across your face and you thrashed violently, scratching at the air in a desperate attempt to remove the block to your airflow. Finally, like sweet nectar, air rushed into your body and you collapsed to your knees. Tears had formed in the corner of your eyes and a single droplet fell down your soft cheek. Your face erected a scowl of your own as a strand of hair fell down in front. Okay, ghost. Now this was personal.

If this assholic spirit wanted to make your life a living hell, then you’d make its death a living hell.

“Oh it is on.” The fight had begun.

Clearly, he had a very strong hate for any change being done to his home. The constant destruction of cables and any other foreign objects made this clear. So you thought about it. What would a Victorian ghost hate more than anything to have in its house? Most of the decoration was already intricate and ornate to a slightly tacky degree. Then it hit you.

Grabbing your car keys, though quickly stopping to get dressed, you raced out the door towards the only home improvement and building store in town. It was run by a local family, as most things in town were, and you happened to be friends with the oldest son. Dashing through the front door, the brunet looked up at the sound of a jingle. He smiled and stepped out from behind the counter.

“Hey (Y/n),” he said, waving as you bounded over. “What brings you here?”

“Revenge,” you answered simply, stretching the upper half of your body to look at the wallpapers set up past him.

“Against who?” he asked, clearly not sure if he wanted to know.

“The ghost,” you responded, bouncing over to the racks of paper. “He tried to kill me and so I’m going to ruin his precious house.”

“He what!?” Ben’s face dropped. He spun you around and grabbed you tightly by the shoulders. “(Y/n) you can’t stay there anymore. If he’s actually trying to kill you…”

“Sure I can,” you reassured him, prying his arms off and patting him on the shoulder. “I’ve got it all figured out.”

He sighed, exasperated. “(Y/n) you can’t win this fight with house decor. Also if he’s hurting you...”

You ignored him and continued your perusing. “I’m hearing a lot of can’t and not a lot of can and that’s just not a growth mindset my dear Ben.”

“(Y/n) you are dealing with an angry and vengeful ghost who has now expressed interest in murdering you.” You felt the texture of an especially pink wallpaper between your thumb and index finger. “(Y/n) don’t ignore me.”

You sighed, turning back to look at the man. “If you’re really that worried” –he rapidly nodded his head like a dog– “then I guess you could come with me to put the wallpaper up.”

After a few moments of contemplation, he spoke in a defeated tone, “I’m not going to talk you out of this, am I?”

“Nope.”

You opened one of the double doors in a wide, exaggerated movement and it skidded into position with a thud. Humming, you trotted inside with Ben a few paces behind you carrying the roll of wallpaper and the bucket… and the brushes and everything else needed for this little makeover. The door slammed shut loudly after the two of you had reached the inside with no input from either of you. Though you were unbothered, Ben jumped and stood petrified like a deer for a moment. His eyes were wide but he reluctantly took another step, then another, then another and then quickly followed after you.

Hopping up the wide grand stairs, you watched as Ben struggled up the twin staircase with all of the materials. Once he reached the top, you were waiting for him and grabbed a singular paint brush daintily and then scampered into a large room.

Ben’s honey eyes went wide as he took in the grandeur of the room. The ceiling was inlaid with swirls of gold depicting handcrafted patterns that framed a large crystal chandelier. Heavy curtains hung above the imposing windows, filtering the little light that came through. Similar gold patterns continued on the wall, outlining the four walls bathed in a shade of dark, luxurious blue. That was a good word to describe the room: luxurious.

“Do you– Do you sleep in here?” Ben asked, astounded.

“Nah. I think it’s the ghost’s room and I’ve already had enough of him.”

“Then why are we doing it in here?!” You just gave him a smug look. “Right. Revenge.”

You snapped your fingers, having remembered something. “I forgot the glitter!” you exclaimed, leaping over towards the door. “I’ll be right back. Don’t have too much fun lovebirds!”

Snickering at your own teasing, you quickly hiked down the stairs and out towards your car. Left behind, Ben twiddled his thumbs, too nervous to sit down on anything for fear of offending the ghost. He chuckled nervously and swayed from one foot to the other. There was something in the room, he could feel it.

“So…” He paused, unsure of what to say. “That’s (Y/n) for you. Always running around with no sense of self-preservation.” He sighed, this wasn’t making him feel any better. “She’s like a little gremlin sometimes… an adorable little gremlin.”

You burst into the room, shouting at him, “Ben, I’m back!” He froze with fear for a second and you waved your hand in front of his face as he blue-screened. You spoke with a wispy and falsely ethereal voice, “Earth to Ben. We have revenge to do. And lunch. Definitely lunch.”

Once you got your things set up and prepared, you started to work right away. You made Ben take the high spots. He was like 6 '3, it would be a waste to have yourself do it. Standing back, you took a moment to admire your half-finished handiwork. It would be so ugly when finished. It was perfect.

“I don’t suppose I’m getting paid for this?” Ben asked, and you looked towards him.

You looked back at your masterpiece. “No.”

There it was. A full room covered entirely in four different wallpapers. On one wall, the first contender: leopard print. On the second: pink flamingos with googly eyes. On the third: something that could only be described as Picasso meets impressionism. And the fourth and final contender, the most ugly of all: banana leaf print that doesn’t match any of the other decorations in the room. Not to mention they’re all covered with glitter so no matter how much the ghost cleans, he’s never getting rid of the memory.

You snickered evilly in the background, rubbing your hands together like an old-timey villain. Suddenly, you snapped back to normal.

“You wanna get lunch?"

The two of you sat at a table outside, happily basking in the sunlight. Behind you was the dumbass manor you owned. It was surrounded by fog and looked cartoonishly evil. You were starting to understand why the townspeople disliked it so much. It interrupted the view.

“So–” You took a moment to ravenously take a bite and swallow it. “Why did your parents stock that hideous wallpaper anyway?”

“For people like you, (Y/n). People like you.”

Because you felt bad, only a little, you decided to pay for lunch. Ben still tried to insist upon paying but every time he got close to the check, you would swat his hand away. He drove you back up to your house and the two of you ended up sitting on a porch swing. It wasn’t original to the house but it was one of the only additions the ghost seemed to approve of.

“You know,” you started, swinging the bench. Ben lifted his legs up so it could move. “I think I figured out the ghost’s problem.”

“Really?” Ben questioned, humoring you. “What is it?”

“Well, he never got married, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Given the time period, that probably means he never… you know, too.”

“(Y/n), really?” Ben face-palmed.

You argued back with impassioned earnestness, “No, no, no, no. Hear me out on this. He’s like all mad and angry and stuff because he’s a bitch loser virgin boy.”

Something cracked in the background.

Ben tried his best to stifle his laughter and push down the smile threatening to stretch itself across his face. “I’m– pfft– pretty sure that the ghost– pfft– is not upset because he’s a–” He stopped for a moment to center himself. “–a ‘bitch loser virgin boy.’” He airquoted your words and you harrumphed, crossing your arms.

“Fine. What do you think then?”

He blinked at you, almost as if asking ‘are you serious?’ “He got murdered, (Y/n). My guess would probably be that.”

“Orrrr.” You dragged out your ‘r.’ “Maybe we’re both right.”

Ben sighed, agreeing with you if not to just end the conversation before the ghost decided to kill you both. You waved him off about a half hour later and headed back inside. Though you wanted to check in on your ‘artwork,’ you didn’t really want to run directly into the spirit again.

Walking through the manor, you found yourself in front of another portrait of the man. He looked as judgemental as ever, his lime green eyes piercing even as an inanimate photo. You don’t know why you talked to it, or even why you stopped. But you did.

“You know…” you started, hugging yourself tight. “For a bitch loser virgin boy” –A ghastly hand illuminated in a cold blue glow stretched out for your neck– “You’re actually pretty cute.”

The hand froze in place. You blew a strand of hair out of your face, readjusting to take another look at the portrait.

“And for how ridiculous that clothing is, you kind of pull it off.” The hand backed away, the light dimming. “I know I keep making fun of your house but I wouldn’t have bought it if I thought it was ugly.” It was barely visible at all now. “I mean, sunshine and a working heater beyond a centuries-old fireplace might be nice but otherwise it’s actually a very nice home.”

You blinked up at the portrait. Somehow, the expression the lord was wearing seemed softer now. There was less disdain and more of a quiet loathing on his face. Nothing could fix those caterpillar eyebrows though.

“The coffee thing was annoying but I guess I’m healthier now because of it. I was really tired that first week though. Anyway…” you trailed off. “Thanks, I guess.” You sighed at what you thought was only yourself. “What am I doing? I should… take a nap.”

Soft breathing filled the room; it was utterly quiet besides the faint sound. Your face contorted into uncomfortable expressions from the rapidly dropping temperature and you curled into the heavy blankets of the large bed. Only your head remained above the covers, the rest below like a figure bobbing in the waves on the open sea. The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon, a low orange light just barely slipping through the mist. The copper colored light spread across the wooden floor and stopped at the edge of glowing, blue feet, creating a soft purple.

They stepped out of the light and into the shadow, the illumination of the azure color growing brighter with each passing step. A face appeared from the foot of the bed, slowly coming into view. Unkempt hair cut in every direction floated lightly, encapsulating the face of Arthur Kirkland, last lord of the Kirkland manor. He watched with calculating yet curious eyes, looking for any sign of guilt or deceptiveness. He found none.

Though the man walked to your side, it would better be described as gliding. The tailcoat pieces of his jacket hovered to the same slow rhythm as the rest of the loose articles on his body. He brought a gloved hand to your face, lightly brushing his fingers across your cheek. Your face contorted from the biting cold and he quickly drew his hand back.

A low thought crossed his mind. If he hovered his lips above yours, could he suck the warmth and life out of you? To make you like him? Arthur stopped himself. Those were improper thoughts. No matter the time period, he shouldn’t think that way, especially of a lady he was not in courtship with.

Still… No!

He suddenly faded out of existence, his presence slipping out of the crevices and with it, the freezing cold. The warmth had returned to the room and in response, you had pulled the covers back down to adjust to the temperature change. Thank goodness he left when he did, you were wearing a tank top. Shoulders, scandalous!

Ben called you the next day, worried about what might have befallen you and your tricks.

“So, is it still there?” he asked, voice scratchy over the phone.

“No. He took it down.” 

Ben sighed. “All that work for nothing.”

“Not nothing,” you said, sitting comfortably on the couch. “I think we finally called a truce.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. I guess I’m just too wonderful to hate.”

“Who are you talking to?” A third voice interjected.

“Oh I’m talking to Be–”

You dropped the phone.

“(Y/n)? (Y/n) are you there? (Y/–”

You weren’t listening, instead, you had slowly turned behind you, eyes wide as saucers and body as stiff as a board. There, in glowing blue glory, was the man from the paintings, bushy eyebrows and all. Blinking a few times, you kept expecting the visage to disappear every time you opened your eyes again. But he never did.

“Well don’t look so shocked now, love,” he huffed, crossing his arms and carrying that signature scowl.

“I– I– I–” It was your turn to bluescreen and the ghost rolled his green eyes, tapping his arm impatiently.

“I say, with how chuffed you were over that last stunt, I’d thought you’d have more to say than that,” he insulted, drifting through the couch and watching as you astonishedly followed him.

“(Y/n)?! (Y/n)?!” Ben implored through the phone.

“Oh, I recognize that voice,” Arthur answered his own question. “You can continue on with your nonsense conversation later.”

With a wave of his cerulean hand, you watched in horror as your phone short-circuited, sparked and then burst into flames. It was the threat of fire that knocked you out of your stupor and you quickly ran to the kitchen to grab the nearest fire extinguisher. The white foam drowned your phone but also safely put out the fire. You dug through the froth to find the piece of metal and silicon, uncaring for whether or not it got on you.

As soon as you got it, you dropped it again, the heat from the searing flames had left the metal as hot as if it had been outside on a summer’s day. The ghost seemed oblivious to your plight and as you shook your hands off, he waved one of his own and the floor returned to how it had been before. He looked towards you, cradling your steaming phone with a pair of oven mitts you had grabbed. You felt like crying and clearly the blond could tell.

“Oh don’t cry over spilled milk. You can just get another one.”

No. He was wrong. You couldn’t just get another one. Sure you could get another phone but you hadn’t backed up any of your pictures or videos or documents and there was no way in hell you possibly remembered all of those contacts. From the sorry state the melted rectangle was in, you could pretty much guess that the SIM card would be unsavable. Years worth of memories; gone.

The spirit looked down at you in slight curiosity; you weren’t usually this quiet. He watched as you silently stood up, solemnly placed the phone into the sink, removed and put away the mitts, and then quietly walked up the stairs and back to your claimed room.

You didn’t come back out for dinner. Or for breakfast the next morning. He hadn’t even blown out a fuse this time. By lunchtime, he could feel himself starting to get worried. Well not worried, because he couldn’t possibly be worried about you but simply concerned what your mental state might mean for the physical state of his house. You had lasted the longest out of his tenants because that's all you were: tenants. You didn’t own the house after all, he did. And he was quite sick of people thinking otherwise.

Suppertime rolled around and he still hadn’t seen you. Usually, you’d be trying to figure out how to make the microwave not explode or trying to watch the ‘television’ while you ate. He always knocked out the power when you did that. Dinner should be eaten at the table. He looked towards the kitchen. The one you had chosen as your primary was a servant’s kitchen and so was relatively smaller. It happened to house one of the few things he allowed to work in his house: the refrigerator. Even he could see the usefulness of such an advancement.

Arthur impatiently tapped his foot, it was now eight p.m. and this was around the time you liked to watch a movie or a television show. He didn’t enjoy having the loud television in his home but the drawing room you had chosen for it was far enough from the main foyer. Besides, sometimes you watched this ‘Dr Who’ story and he quite liked those nights. 

There was no one present to change the candles and it's not like the lights were in working condition so Arthur sat in darkness. He forgot how empty this felt. At nine, someone knocked on the door. He –invisible– watched as you slowly trudged down the stairs. You were wearing the same clothes as when he had last seen you and your hair was a mess. There were bags under your eyes but it was the kind from sleeping too much. You pulled open the door and looked up at Ben. The concerned look on his face became even worse as he watched you blink out of sync.

“(Y/n), are you okay?” he asked frantically, pulling you into a hug.

The front porch light flickered in and out.

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling the empty lightness of your stomach now that you were awake. Ben pulled apart from you, grabbing your face to look into your eyes. He rubbed his thumb over your eyebags and pulled you inside, uncaring for the ghostly apparition. After placing you on the couch and throwing a blanket over you, Ben ran to the kitchen to find some kind of food. His eye was temporarily caught on the burnt sockets all over the room but refocused on his mission. Though he wanted to make you something, he’d heard tales of the terror of the appliances in this place. Instead, he rifled through your cabinets and eventually just brought you a bag of marshmallows. He watched as you slowly chewed on the sugary fluff, stopping to take a sip out of the iced tea he brought you.

“What happened?” he finally asked, scooting closer. “I heard a voice and then you cut out.”

Instead of speaking properly, you pointed to the kitchen and mumbled out, “Sink.” 

Then you continued to gnaw on a marshmallow. Ben walked over, took a look inside the sink, stared with wide eyes for a moment, and then walked back to sit beside you again. The two of you stared ahead, not saying a word.

“Ghost did that?”

“... yeah”

“(Y/n) I think you should come live with me.”

You looked up at him with tired eyes.

“I–I mean.” He sighed. “I just really don’t think it’s safe for you here. And besides” –His cheeks were alight with a pink glow– “Would staying with me be so bad?”

A picture frame crashed down from the wall. 

Your heads snapped toward it and Ben pulled you closer unconsciously.

“I… I think you’re right,” you agreed with him, standing up to pack your things.

“I told you; this house is a lost cause,” Ben said, moving to help you.

The crystal chandelier high above glinted threateningly.

The two of you walked close together and as you walked under the hanging tree of diamonds, the strange shaking suddenly stopped. You didn’t take much so it didn’t take very long to pack. You insisted that you would be back after you gave the ghost time to ‘cool off’ but Ben seemed hesitant. The door closed with a creak and with it, the light.

From the shadows glowed a brilliant blue, forming into a humanoid shape. There, in all of his ghastly glory was Lord Arthur Kirkland. Alone again. A window cracked and he fixed it using magic with little thought.

As soon as you were gone the lord sank down. Past the servant’s quarters, past the locked doors and into the passageway that not even any of the other supposed ‘owners’ of the house had the key to. That’s because this door didn’t unlock with a key. Whisperings of Latin slipped out of his mouth and the runes in the door glowed and spun, turning until they clicked into place and the door slowly opened.

His magic may not have been as strong as it had been when he was alive but that didn’t mean that he didn’t still have deep and rooted connections to the ley lines that had been passed down through his family heritage. Books and papers flew open and danced around the room as he rushed through. He searched through ancient tomes until he found a heavy book covered in a thick layer of dust. His ghostly breath blew the grime away, revealing a brilliant ruby-red cover.

Arthur had never seen the point to attempt this before but now you had given him a reason. He was going to perform a resurrection spell.

On himself.

You couldn’t say that you hated the last couple of days. It was nice to be able to use modern appliances without the fear of them blowing up on you. Ben had taken time off of work to take care of you and you could feel the guilt piling up. You didn’t deserve him. Not to mention you were pulling possible profits away from his family’s store. They just gave you cheeky grins before poking and teasing you about a wedding. Small towns are just like that.

After literal hours of begging, Ben finally agreed to let you work with him in the shop. It allowed him to keep an eye on you and for you to feel less bad. Many of your friends stopped by and they were almost as bad as Ben’s family. It was still far more relaxing and less stressful than fearing that your phone charger would suddenly spark and electrocute you. You hadn’t gotten a new phone yet. You knew you needed one but it wasn’t exactly on the top of your priority list.

At the end of the week, you had been reorganized and shelving a collection of nails. Your ‘shift’ was almost over, which meant that Ben’s shift was almost over and you were positively buzzing with excitement for movie night. The bell jingled and you leaned over to shout ‘coming’ before shoving the last box of nails in and racing over.

Putting on your best customer service face, you spoke to the person who had come in, “Hi! Welcome in! What are you looking for–”

You stopped. Standing right there. In front of you. In the flesh was Arthur Kirkland. It couldn’t have been him, but it was. Who else would have that shaggy blond hair? Those horribly maintained eyebrows? Those piercing green eyes? You stuttered and buffered and the man just smiled amusedly at your short-circuiting.

“Why I’m looking for you of course,” he answered, taking a step forward.

You took a step backward. “You– you’re– you’re alive…” you gasped out, staring at him, completely stunned.

He wasn’t wearing the period clothing anymore, though what he was wearing still looked quite old. Instead, he had on just a dress shirt, black pants and similarly black shoes. When he grasped his hand around your wrist, you visibly shuddered from the cold but could not break free. You were locked in a staring match until Ben came to find you.

“Hey (Y/n)–” He froze.

“Oh good. I was looking for your dimwitted friend too,” he admitted, pulling you closer.

“Are you–” Ben stopped, looking on in disbelief.

“Goodness, you peasant people are just as slow as a hundred years ago,” Arthur huffed, rolling his emerald eyes.

Somehow, the next time you blinked you were back in the manor house. Ben was there too but he was knocked out and you couldn’t move to reach him. Arthur looked towards you, somewhat surprised to see you awake.

‘I guess my magic is still weak. It won’t matter after this,’ he thought, walking towards you.

More than anything, you wanted to struggle, you wanted to cry, you wanted to scream. But all you could do was watch. The blond snapped his fingers and you unfroze, becoming limp. Your limbs were still useless and Arthur seemed well aware of this as he carried you up the stairs. The two of you went past many rooms, including your own until you reached the site of your former masterpiece.

The door swung open and he waltzed in. The deep blue walls had returned to their normal extravagantness and there wasn’t a speck of glitter in sight. He gingerly placed you down on his bed, the soft mattress bending to your weight. You could do nothing but have your eyes reflect terror as the man manually tied your limbs to the bed. Finally, he placed a soft gag in your mouth and with it, you could feel the strange enchantment break. It wasn’t like your struggling could do anything anymore.

“Sorry, love.” He placed a kiss on your forehead and ran a hand through your loose hair. “I’ll need all the power I can get, so I can’t be expending it here.”

He walked away from your struggling form and quietly closed the door. None of your screams would make it through the walls of that room anyway. Arthur regally walked down the stairs to find his other captive missing. Instead of searching, he chose to stand completely still, hands crossed behind his back.

From the shadows, snuck a disoriented Ben, carrying the only chair he could lift. He smashed it into Arthur’s head, the impact shattering the wooden chair. The brunet expected to see blood and bits of gore. Instead, he came face to face with glowing green eyes, full of rage and jealousy. His jaw was slacked the wrong way but a simple movement clicked it back into place.

Ben dropped the remaining chair legs he had been holding onto and began to back up like a frightened deer. Arthur followed, slinking after him like the apex predator he was.

“You see,” Arthur started, stepping closer. “I’m not exactly alive per se. At least not yet. I’m on borrowed time, unfortunately.” He cornered the man. “Lucky for me, so are you.”

The next time you saw Arthur he looked different. He looked alive. His chest moved up and down, he blinked at regular intervals and you could see blood flushing through his body. Most of all, he was warm. So comfortingly warm.

Eventually, those thoughts faded and you laughed internally at ever thinking that Arthur could have been dead. He looked like a distant relative who had once owned the manor and shared a name. But he wasn’t. He was a different Arthur Kirkland, one who had come from London to learn that he should have been entitled to the estate. That’s when he found you, the person who had recently bought the house. That’s when you fell in love and… there’s something you feel like you’re forgetting.

There was always someone you felt like you were forgetting. No one in the town knew either so you had always assumed it to be a bad dream that stayed with you. Arthur had always encouraged you to forget and move on, but it always stuck with you.

Arthur had helped you properly install appliances and electricity in the house that wouldn't almost kill you and/or burn down the house. Well, he hired someone to make that happen but it was close enough. It always felt so nice to be able to flip a light switch and watch the room light up in a comforting yellow glow, though there were some days where the blond man did insist upon candles. You didn’t know why you flinched when the lights flickered or when the fire on the stove got too hot but Arthur was always just around the corner to watch you. He seemed to enjoy doing that.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the sounds of his heartbeat and feeling the movement of his chest. The constant fog that surrounded the manor finally dissipated and the two of you were peacefully watching the sunset on the porch swing. Arthur was rocking the bench lightly and the gentle swaying movement threatened to put you to sleep.

“Don’t fall asleep now on me, love,” he laughed lightly, lifting your head to look at him.

Grumbles came out of your mouth instead of words and you burrowed yourself back into his warm chest. He just shook his head and looked towards the fading light.

“Do you still think I’m a ‘bitch loser virgin boy?’” he asked in a teasing tone, running his hand through your hair.

Stretching, you readjusted yourself to situate your head higher, closer to his shoulder. He took in a deep breath, smelling the (smell) shampoo you had used. After yawning, you gave him an answer.

“Hmm... Yes,” you answered tauntingly, closing your eyes again.

He chuckled, continuing his brushing motions through your hair. “Not for very long, love. Not for very long.”

[mayashesfly]

Radio Killed the Video Star

"HAHA! Fucking finally"

Vox grinned as blood and coolant dripped from the crack on his face.

His suit in disarray after coming into his demon form, skin ripped by his own cords and wires that dug deep in his skin and erupted outside.

He felt his power drain from him as a spark of electricity left the crack on his face.

But he did it.

He defeated the Radio Demon!

Alastor fell on his knees, covering the burnt skin that irritated his angelic scar.

His cane laid broken beneath his feet.

And oh! The fucking irony of this scene! HAHAHA!!! THIS WAS SO MUCH BETTER IN PERSON!!!!

"Y-You're celebrating too early... old pal" Alastor got out through gritted teeth. And Vox merely smiled despite the blurry and fragmented scene before him.

"Oh please. You really think I would let you escape just as easily as last time, Alastor?" Vox asked rhetorically, mocking him as he knows just how difficult and painful it is for the demon to travel through shadows in blinding light.

Especially with how weakened he is now.

"Don't make me laugh"

"HA!" A cough wracked through the radio demon's throat from the laugh, blood dribbling underneath his chin, yet he still continues on with a smile. "Oh please, my old pal. You're the one laughing at your own high for your ego!"

"F-zzt-UcK YOU!" Vox hissed, electricity crackling over his form despite his diminishing powers as he slowly walked over Alastor's prone form, claws moving from the ache in his systems.

"You're just ge-GEtting unDER my sKiN... Beca-caUzzt you lost, you pathetic liTtLE HA-HAzzt-bin"

"How sharp of you to notice something so obvious, my d-dear....!"

Vox paused in his approach as he stared into the distance.

The Radio Demon's quips falling in deaf eyes as his eyes widened.

Ice flowing through his veins despite the warmth of his systems.

Alastor was still talking despite his waning strenght.

But when he noticed Vox stopped responding, he rose a brow and looked behind him.

"Now what's the matter Vox? For you to—"

"MOVE!!!"

The air around him burned as electricity crackled through the air.

Eyes widening upon seeing blue and red color angelic steel.

Ears pinning down as he stared at shocked eyes beneath the cracks and distortions.

Despite it all...

He smiled.

"I'm the only one that gets to kill you..."

That softened gaze disappeared into an abyss of darkness as his old friend powered down for the very last time.

The air crackled.

Not with electricity.

But with magic as he absorbed the ambient radio waves that fueled them both.

"How dare you come between us"

His neck creaked like a broken radio as dials burned in his eyes and green symbols tore through the air around him.

The lights around them flickering before promptly cutting off.

"How DARE you come between us you impudent low life"

Screams erupted from the holy being as shadows soar through the darkened sky, coiling around the angel before ripping them apart limb by limb.

Bright golden blood littered through the air like stars in the night sky.

But the gruesome sight in front of him did nothing to quell the aching hollowness that burned through his chest.

As if he was the one who's been hit.

As if he was the one who died.

His body creaked as if he was the one wailing.

The crackle and crunch of broken bones accompanying his breaking unbeating heart.

When did he start crying?

The shadows wasn't satisfied with the mangled corpse, dragging the body into the void as he curled around the cold form of his old companion.

The wound in his chest burned.

But he paid no mind as he hugged the still frame of his friend.

Stupid, stupid little picture box.

Always making harsh mistakes and emotional decisions that one.

And now he's.... and now he's.......

Alastor gulped down the pooling blood in his mouth as his body turned ice cold.

He had always been cold-blooded despite his deer-like appearance but Vox....

He shouldn't be cold.

He shouldn't be this cold.

Why is he cold?

"You stupid old picture box...."

"Why....? Why did you do it.....?"

"I'm the only one that gets to kill you..."

[tranakin-skywalker]

*sits down n snatches a french fry off ur plate* tell me more about groundwater

Ok so, consider this:

You're Darth Vader. You've just saved the life of your son on the Death Star pt II Electric Boogaloo, and have died from electricity induced heart failure/your shitty body finally giving out on you.

You expect to become one with the Force if you're lucky- maybe find yourself in some sort of Hell if you're not.

Instead you find yourself standing over a woman who looks painfully familiar but you can't place- holding a baby who won't stop staring at you. The baby too seems strangly familiar and for one heart-stopping moment you think Luke!

Then you look closer, and realize the woman is your mother- younger than you've ever remembered her. And that means the baby must be...

Then you realize that you don't have a body anymore. Not really. You're burning without heat in a blue fire that doesn't catch- nova bright and yet the only living thing around you that seems able to see you is the infant version of the person you used to be.

You try to flee, and realize you can't. You don't even make it out of the building before something stops you from moving, and you realize you're bound to this boy and his mother, and that this might be Hell after all.

Or

You're Anakin, and all your life you've been followed by this strange spirit. Sometimes it looks like a man, sometimes it looks like an animal, sometimes it's a suit of armor or a burning corspe or an imploding star or a black hole.

All you know is that it's angry, and also very very sad. You wonder why it's trapped here, if maybe it's cursed, or maybe it just can't move on.

You're the only one who can see it.

It doesn't talk- sometimes doesn't even look like it's aware of where it is. But it follows you. And it protects you and your mother.

Other people might not be able to see it, but they can feel it. And it keeps the worst of them away from you and your mother.

Then the Jedi come and take you away. You hope that the spirit will stay on Tatooine and protect your mother, but it follows you instead. It's never spoken to you (or if it has, you've never been able to understand it), but you think it wishes it could stay with her too.

None of the Jedi can see the spirit either, but it can see them. You don't think it likes the Jedi very much.

It's with you as you learn how to be a Jedi, and you realize that some of the things the Jedi teach you, you already knew. Obi-Wan tells you you're a natural with a training saber, and you don't tell him it's because you feel like you've already learned all this before.

You're spirit hates Chancellor Palpatine, and that makes you nervous.

You're fourteen when the dreams start. They're hazy, and hard to explain, but they wake you up in a cold sweat and leave you with a feeling of impending doom. Something bad is going to happen. You don't know what.

You tell Obi-Wan about them, but the advice he gives you is useless.

The dreams get worse.

You start seeing your mother in them. You see her die in your arms.

You beg Obi-Wan for the chance to go see her, to make sure she's alright. He tells you it's a lot more complicated than just hopping in a ahip and going to Tatooine. That they can't just run off without authorization. That he’s sure your mother is fine.

That night you wake up to the spirit crouched over you in your bed, a face half melted off with bones and wires poking through the char, a living funeral pye with a mouth made of void.

"Your mother is going to die" it tells you, and you believe it.

You take the saber you built with your own hands and cut off your padawan braid, leave it with a note for Obi-Wan to find. You steal a ship, and set coordinates for Tatooine.

You're going to save your mother.

Or

You are Obi-Wan Kenobi, and you woke up one morning to find your entire world has ended. There is a note on the kitchen counter, and beside it, a burnt, braided lock of hair. You already know what the note is going to say. You have to read it three times anyway.

You chase after your padawan, because if anything happens to him, you will never forgive yourself. You can't leave immediately, you're not allowed to. There’s process, and procedure, and though the Council is understanding, they won't let you just go gallivanting off to the outer rim. (Like your padawan did, you hear in the pointed silences). They assure you that Anakin is smart and resourcful and that you have trained him well, that he'll be fine.

You want to scream at them.

When you do finally leave, it is far far later than you would have liked, but you have a place to start looking at least. Tatooine. Mos Espa. A junk dealer named Watto.

It takes you much too long to find the shop, and seeing it for the first time, it hits you- this is the place your padawan grew up. This is where he was owned. Then you meet Watto, the one who owned him.

You ask about Shmi Skywalker, and Watto tells you that he sold her. He refuses to tell you who he sold her to. You ask him about Anakin, and he squints his eyes at you, and tells you he hasn't seen the boy since he lost him in a bet five years ago. In the Force, you can't tell if he’s lying or telling the truth.

You spend almost a month on Tatooine, looking for your padawan. You never find him.

Eventually, you are forced to return to the Temple, though you tell yourself it is only temporary. You're never going to stop looking.

And you don't. Every chance you get, you are searching for Anakin. All your friends too, when out on missions, keep their eyes out. None of you ever find anything.

Then, two years after your padawan disapeared in the night- you feel your bond to Anakin snap.

It is the most painful thing you have felt in your life. You realize, one heartbreak at a time, what that means.

You stop looking after that.

Then-

Footage is released of an uprising on Tatooine. Jabba the Hutt is dead. His executioner is a Sith.

You realize who killed Anakin.

You want to be one of the Jedi sent to Tatooine to investigate. You killed a Sith before, after all, you can do it again. The Council does not allow you to go. They send Quinlan and Aayla instead.

Before he leaves, Quin makes a promise to you. "I'll find out what happened to him."

While they are gone, more planets revolt, more footage leaks. You see that Sith, in that horrible, monsterous mask, that red blade. You see other masked beings, with their own blades. Colors you have never seen on a lightsaber before.

The Outer Rim is buckling, or maybe- it is transforming. Nal Hutta is razed, and slave worlds are liberated. There are reports of a fleet, and army. Every day it grows bigger. Like a spreading infection.

(Or maybe, you think- remembering that junk shop and things like ownership- maybe it’s something like hope.)

There are planets talking of seceding, of forming their own government. That talk has been going for years now, but something about this, about the unrest in the Outer Rim has made it a roar.

There is talk of war.

And all the while, more and more planets in the Rim go dark. The Freed Worlds, they call themselves, who want nothing to do with the Republic or this new Confederacy. The Republic and the Confederacy both feel threatened by them all the same.

Quinlan and Aayla and the other Jedi sent out return. They find very little, if anything at all. "We weren't allowed to get close. They didn't trust us. Any of us," Quin explains. "Somehow they knew."

The Republic reaches out to the Freed Worlds for a peace talk. They don't want a war on two fronts. Only, you think, some of them do.

The Freed Worlds agree, tenatively, but they agree, and send representatives to Coruscant. They don't seem aware that their arrival coincides with a vote on whether or not the Republic will form in army.

You are there when the representatives arrive at the Senate Dome, a bizarre collection of species and ages and appearances, none of them looking anything like the senators you know. They follow behind a young man, too young you think. Then you get a closer look at him, and your world ends and begins all over again.

"Anakin?"

[justaninchident-f1xreader]

max verstappen x reader part4

(incase you missed part3- https://www.tumblr.com/justaninchident-f1xreader/740278819966042112/max-verstappen-x-reader-part3?source=share)

themes-

ferrari female driver jealousy enemies to lovers possible spice (i will put the warning accordingly)

warnings- spicy thoughts? not really tho, so don't worry lovelies

chapter 4 - fiery eyes and tracksuits

The cooldown room hummed with a tense silence. Max, Lewis, and Y/N sat perched on their podium chairs, the champagne clinging to their hair and suits like glittering tears. Lewis, ever the gentleman, excused himself for a quick phone call, leaving Max and Y/N alone in the charged atmosphere.

Max stared at the wall, his jaw clenched, his gaze avoiding the fiery spark in Y/N's hazel eyes. The memory of their clash on track, the touch of her car against his, still thrummed in his veins. Then, a brush of warmth against his thigh, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt through him.

Y/N, seemingly oblivious, had shifted in her chair, her racing suit stretching taut across her curves. The accidental contact was fleeting, but it hung in the air like a charged wire. Max's breath hitched, his gaze darting to the spot where their skin had met, a flicker of heat igniting in his eyes.

"Tough race," Y/N said, her voice a breathy whisper, her eyes locked on his. "You were a storm out there."

Max swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "You weren't exactly a picnic yourself," he countered, trying for his usual gruffness, but the words came out strained.

Y/N smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. Her fingers began to dance over the zipper of her racing suit, a silent invitation that sent a shiver down Max's spine. "Just a rookie trying to learn the ropes," she purred, her gaze dropping to the exposed expanse of her Ferrari under-suit, a scarlet flame against her tanned skin.

Max's heart hammered against his ribs. The tension in the room crackled, thick and electric. He wanted to reach out, to trace the line of her neck, to mark her neck with a mark to how that she was his. to explore the heat that simmered beneath the surface. But the fear of rejection, of breaking the fragile truce they'd forged on track, held him back.

Just then, the door swung open, and Lewis walked in, his smile bright and oblivious. The spell shattered, the tension dissipating like smoke in the wind. Max's gaze snapped away from Y/N, his face a mask of cool indifference.

"Back to the rat race, then," Y/N sighed, zipping up her suit with a practiced ease that sent a pang of disappointment through Max.

The rest of the post-race interviews passed in a blur. Max answered questions on autopilot, his mind still replaying the touch of Y/N's skin, the fire in her eyes. As they parted ways, Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing his ear.

----------------time jump to the night of the same day-----------------

The Monaco night thrummed with an energy fueled by champagne and victory laps. The drivers had traded helmets for sleek suits and Ferraris for fancy cocktails, the post-race party a kaleidoscope of laughter and gossip. Y/N, the star of the show, glided through the crowd in a black bodycon dress that clung to her like a second skin. Her fiery hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing a face adorned with a mischievous grin. All while sporting a hickey on her neck

"That hickey, darling," Carlos purred, his eyes twinkling as they landed on the crimson mark peeking from beneath her necklace, "is quite the souvenir."

Y/N's cheeks flushed a becoming shade of scarlet. "Just a friendly exchange of congratulations," she said, batting her lashes innocently. "Some guys know how to celebrate." Y/N was purely bluffing, she had burnt her neck while curling her hair, but hey, playing into hilarious rumors was her specialty.

Max, simmering across the room, scoffed. "More like celebrating something else," he muttered under his breath, his usual gruffness laced with a sharp edge of jealousy. Every laugh Y/N shared, every lingering glance exchanged with another driver, felt like a blow to his chest.

Meanwhile, Y/N had found herself captivated by Charles' girlfriend, Alexandra Saint Mleux. ( WE LOVE ALEXANDRA SM ) "So, tell me all about the Italian stallion," Y/N teased, her smile playful.

Alexandra giggled, leaning in conspiratorially. "Oh, Charles! He's…passionate. Like a Ferrari engine on full throttle."

Alexandra winked. "Don't tell him I said that, but trust me, the real victory was after the lights went out."

Their conversation, laced with teasing and veiled innuendo, flowed like vintage champagne. Max, unable to tear his gaze away, felt a familiar heat crawl up his neck. The image of Y/N and some random guy, tangled in a post-race celebration, ignited a flame of possessiveness in his gut.

He tried to dismiss it. They were colleagues, rivals, nothing more. But the thought of Y/N's fiery laughter echoing in someone else's embrace, the whisper of her kiss lingering on someone else's lips, was almost unbearable.

The night wore on, the air thick with unspoken desires and veiled intentions. Y/N, the captivating enigma, danced her way through the party, leaving a trail of smoldering glances and whispered rumors in her wake. Max, a storm brewing beneath the surface, watched her every move, the green monster gnawing at his insides.

[moutainrusing]

first date

dorlene july event, 571 words, @enbysiriusblack

There was this wire between Dorcas and Marlene. They were friends, but did friends have this wire? Snapping, pulling taut, charged and electric?

Usually there was no current. Or the current was so unnoticeable, so little, it could be passed off as friends. Dorcas had almost missed her romantic feelings for Marlene because of the tension that was always there. It was… part of them. Now their home, their safety, stable friendship.

Sometimes the wire sparked to the point of electrocution, Dorcas’s body shaking from how much Marlene made her feel, but she never acted on it. Friends, first and foremost.

Marlene had held her hand that first day, and that was the wire. That was the connection. Marlene was a whirlwind of golden electricity, and that was the spark. Blond hair tangled around Dorcas’s brown skin as she had to use her afro pick to untie the knots. Messy, but stable. Friendship was safe. They could love each other as friends. The possibility of actually using the wire for something else, increasing the voltage of their relationship, was too risky. Something would break, explode, kaput.

Fizzle out like a burnt-out wire. Never to be used again. As friends, as lovers, as anything. Dorcas would not risk their wire.

Except now they were sitting together, so close, legs dangling off the edge of the balcony, and the wire was so stretched. So close, magnetic field circling it, iron-locked, current flowing, vibrations in the air around them from how intensely it was trembling, the wire of a guitar with their fingers dancing along it to meet in the middle, twanging out of tune then back again, mellifluous, awkward, tension, high and low and in between, trying every note and Dorcas could scream. This was not a happy, lovey-dovey pop number. This was Dorcas and Marlene’s wire, and they were walking the tightrope, about to fall off.

This wire was connected by their lips. Their parted lips, centimetres away from each other, and the power had never surged this much before. This was a short-circuit, closing inwards, explosive. This was a build-up, all in one place, hot and heavy with the weight and pressure of so many particles all in one place. And if they closed the gap… if their lips touched…

If Dorcas could kiss Marlene…

If Marlene kissed her…

Blame the wire.

They sealed the gap. And the current died.

This was natural. No need for sparks and fire and electricity when their lips slotted together like bricks building a home, when the feeling was soft and comfortable like sinking into plush cushions after a long day, getting lost in domesticity, the natural way of life, temperate air, not too hot but not too cold.

Why had Dorcas thought they would burn? If anything, they would burn if they remained friends. If they ignored their love, if they let it suffocate them without talking, if they didn’t try… they could ruin a relationship that way.

They were safe together. As long as they expressed how they actually felt.

Dorcas pulled back and smiled. “I like you. That way,” she added.

Marlene lit up, “Go out with me.”

Dorcas paused. “Oh. We had our first kiss before the first date.”

Marlene grinned, reaching for Dorcas’s chin, tilting it towards her. “Well, that’s a first. Let’s make it a second.”

Don’t blame the wire.

Blame Dorcas and Marlene.

But don’t blame.

Thank them.

[duckietiewritestoo]

Not My Problem (Jonathan Crane x Doctor! Reader)

I did not know how to end this so you get this weird perfect ending! This chapter was inspired by the events of when Rachel zaps Crane. It's a hard scene to watch as a Jonathan Crane fangirl. 

Warnings: Cheesy....I think

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

The horse at my door was breathing fire, exhaling puffs of smoke, making me cough from it. I didn’t even know how it got up the stairs of the apartment, let alone how it was breathing fire. Something happened in the city that caused the water mains and piping to burst. I blamed my landlord for not keeping up to date with anything. I paid him a lot for that. Now smoke that induced nightmares filled my house, I could probably sue him.

What really had my attention was the masked man convulsing on the floor. I guess the horse brought him up to me. I didn’t notice him prior to that, I was busy hallucinating the horse and its flames. The man lying on the ground looked like a dying scarecrow. There was a crackling and a soft smell of fabric being burnt. It smelled like human skin too. I realized something was being zapped like a bug to a light. 

It wasn’t my problem and I didn’t want to deal with it. I knew who it was, I worked for him in Arkham in his medical ward. I rushed over and tore off the electrical wires from whatever tape gun tased Jonathan Crane. It zapped me too, causing me to yelp, and I quickly tossed it to the side, ripping Crane’s mask off his face. He was gasping for air. I delicately turned his face to look at me. His face wasn’t scared. His skin was steaming, not a great sign.

“What the heck happened out there,” I snapped rudely, pulling him by the arm. Jonathan groaned. Now that he was on his feet, I could see his attire, a worn and torn straightjacket that acted like a coat and his work blazer he always wore. His leather boots were scuffed, a rare sight for me. “Actually, what happened to you?” I asked.

“Just help me,” he coughed out. I sighed, rolling my eyes. He managed to utter those words weakly in a hoarse voice that I could barely understand what he was saying. I dragged Jonathan inside of my apartment. He groaned, his head falling limp.

“Can you walk?” I asked. The trip to the couch wasn’t that long but dragging Jonathan just made it harder. 

“(Name), I’ve been electrified, what do you think?” he retorted. I scoffed. Boy, he was rude.

“So you had enough strength to tell me that but you don’t have enough to walk? Tsk, disappointing,” I teased. “C’mon, let’s get you fixed up, you big baby.” I grunted, carrying Crane all the way to the couch where I put him down. He was heavy. I almost started sweating. As I laid him down on the couch, Jonathan groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in pain.  His breathing was heavy. I had to be gentle. “Are you okay?” I whispered. I delicately touched where his wounds were. He flinched. 

“Ow, be gentle!” Jonathan exclaimed. His eyes showed actual concern. I hadn’t seen that before. All I saw were cold blue eyes that loved it when someone was in pain. 

“I’ll try to be,” I muttered. I stuffed pillows behind his head to prop him up. I was a professional medical doctor, I knew what I was doing. We’d have to run water under his burns and there was no way I was keeping him under the sink. “I’ll be back,” I said. I grabbed a pot. Right, no water. I sighed, grabbing a flower vase and taking the dead plant out. I poured the little water I had against his face. Jonathan winced. 

“I asked you to be gentle!” he replied angrily. I huffed.

“Do you want to look handsome or have scars for the rest of your life, huh?” I spat. I frowned. “Not saying you’d be horrible to look at with scars, you’d still be handsome, but they might bother you for the rest of your life. So let me work my magic, Jonathan.” I watched his cheeks become a rosy shade of pink as he went silent. I’d have to run his burns under water for twenty minutes but with the pipes broken, the flower water would have to do.

Luckily, I had gauze bandages used for treating wounds somewhere in the house. Some were even sterile. “Stay here, okay,” I replied, getting up. Jonathan grabbed my hand. I stopped. “What do you need now?”

“It’s not that bad, I can handle myself for now,” he replied. “I don’t have major burns.”

“But you have minor wounds, that still counts for something.”

“I said I can handle it!” Crane tried sitting up. He winced, flinching as he fell back down onto the pillows. I huffed.

“I’ll be back.”

I did come back as promised. I had the bandages and wrapped up Jonathan’s face, making it snug to cover up his burns. He never flinched once while I did. He stayed calm, but I knew he was wanting to flinch and wince. I chuckled. “Do you want a lollipop for being such a calm patient,” I softly asked.

“No, I’m not a child, (Name),” he replied. He looked down, his gaze softening. “But I could use something sweet. Tonight has been…..strange.” I chuckled.

“Yeah, first the pipes burst, I started seeing stuff, a horse that breathed fire approached me, and I helped you,” I replied, putting the supplies away. I sat down on the couch. Jonathan sat up straight. 

“I might have been the root of that problem.”

“I figured, you’re always doing suspicious things in the basement at Arkham. I just didn’t think you’d be getting zapped and nearly getting fried.” Jonathan’s cheeks blushed. I noticed this. He was going off and on with turning red. 

“Are you sick as well?” I asked. I pressed the back of my hand against Jonathan’s cheeks. They started to heat up more. I pulled back. I scoffed, realizing he wasn’t sick. Those wide blue eyes were telling another story. “Don’t you dare tell me you feel something towards me or else I’m throwing you back out into the streets while everyone runs around screaming,” I threatened.

“Then I won’t say anything. Are you always this violent outside of work?” He chuckled, the corners of his lips curling into a cocky smile. 

“No.”

“Then only towards me, I assume?”

“Maybe.” 

“Only towards you,” I teased. “Now rest up, you can stay on the couch tonight. It’s really not my problem on how you got tased and I shouldn’t be so nice, but I am and don’t abuse it. Or I will call the cops and tell them you’re here.” Crane frowned, pleading with big eyes.

“Please, (Name), don’t let them find me,” he begged sarcastically. “I don’t know what I’d do without you if they took me.” I smiled, leaning in. 

“I wouldn’t let them take you, unless you deserve it.” Jonathan pouted and he took my hands. He curled his lower lip. He looked kinda cute like that. I blushed. 

“Would you let them take me?” he asked. 

“No, I wouldn’t.” Jonathan sat up and wrapped his arms around me. I let him. I would’ve fought it, but I let him, and I leaned against him. His hand brushed back my hair. He leaned in close to my ear and I could feel his warm breath tickle my skin.

“Would you like to see my mask?” he whispered.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Halt & Catch Fire: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: You're done being a puppet in their plans. You're done letting them control you. You're finally going to take back your life by becoming something you didn't know was possible. your eyes are opened to something better and God forbid anyone who disrespects you.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

Dean locks up behind Sam and Delilah yarns tiredly.

"You getting tired?"

"No, I'm used to it. I stay up all night studying. It is mostly to avoid the nightmares. My mom's thrilled with my GPA, but I'm just miserable. I think about Andrew all the time, and I've never even met the guy."

"This is what you get for leaving the scene of a crime. Idiotic move is what it was."

"Watch it," Dean glares at you but you flip him off.

"It's pretty crazy to obsess over someone you've never met."

"It's not that crazy. The truth is, I can relate. I have made more mistakes than I can count. Ones that haunt me day and night." He immediately turns to you. "I don't need to hear it."

You put your arms up in defense and turn away from him.

"How do you deal?" Delilah asks.

"Whiskey. Denial. I do my best to make things right, whatever that may be. For you, maybe it's coming clean. You know, finding a way to ask for forgiveness and not breaking the bank at your local florist. I mean real forgiveness. You can't just bury stuff like this. You have to deal with it." His phone rings and he picks up Sam's call. "What do you have?"

"Dean, Andrew's not using power lines to move. He's using Wi-Fi."

"Come again?"

"The wires that electrocuted Andrew feed directly into a Wi-Fi tower right across the street."

"Even ghosts are online?"

"Apparently. It would explain the truck kill. Billy's cell must have been using the local Wi-Fi signal so Andrew's ghost must have just hopped on to Trini, the navigation app."

"Julie's death was by computer and Kyle's death was by stereo with wireless speakers."

"It makes sense, Dean. We're all just a bunch of electrical impulses, right? Whenever Andrew died, his impulses just transferred to another current. You got to get Delilah somewhere safe. Turn off all the routers in that Sorority."

"Yeah, sure, Sammy. We'll just kill the internet. Wait, can we?"

"No," you roll your eyes.

"Alright, how the hell are we gonna deal with the lawnmower man?"

"I have an idea. Do what I said. Stay safe. I'll call you back."

"Do you know where the routers are?" Dean asks when Sam hangs up.

"I have no idea."

Suddenly, the lights and her computer start flashing on and off. Looks like Andrew is here to play. Delilah is the last one. It gets so cold in the room that you can see your breath. Andrew's face, albeit burnt, appears on all electronic devices that connect to the internet. Delilah screams just as Dean starts smashing the devices one by one.

"Is that gonna work?"

"It's worth a try. I need you to turn off everything that's connected to Wi-Fi." Dean takes Delilah's phone and smashes both his and hers. "Give me your phone."

"Come on, this is the new one," you complain. Dean yanks it from your hand and smashes it. "You're getting me a new one.

"Fine. Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

You leave her dorm room and see Andrew showing up on every computer screen that you pass by. He won't let Delilah out of his sight.

"Someplace that doesn't have a Wi-Fi signal."

"Head to the basement. The reception sucks down there."

"Alright, go, go, go!"

When you finally get to the basement, Dean starts to salt the doors and windows.

"I thought the salt didn't work."

"Because of the Wi-Fi. There's no signal down here. There are no computers, tablets, or cell phones. Andrew can't bypass it. At least, I don't think he can. Just try to stay calm, alright?" Suddenly, something starts buzzing in the room. It sounds like a phone that's on vibrate. "What was that?"

"Sounds like a phone to me," you say.

Dean shoves his hands under the couch cushions only to find someone's cell phone in there. Andrew uses this to appear in the room so he can take vengeance on Delilah in person. Delilah screams and you turn to see Andrew in the room next to her. Dean approaches Andrew from behind but he smacks Dean into the pillar as hard as he can.

"Please don't kill me. We didn't mean to hurt you. It was an accident. I swear. If I could do it over again, I would have done the right thing!"

Andrew grabs Delilah's throat and starts to choke her out. You stand there and watch this happen for five seconds before Dean screams your name.

"Y/N!" You grab the iron poker and swing it through his body until he disappears and Delilah is saved. "Let's go."

"Where?"

The door is locked so there is no way of getting out of here if the ghost is using its powers on the door.

"Andrew, listen to me. You have every right to be pissed." Dean takes the cell phone he found and dials a message to Sam. "Take it from me, the more you kill, the crazier you'll get. The blood fuels the rage. So, it looks like to me you've got two choices. You can keep killing and become something that you won't recognize or you can move on cause that is the only thing that is gonna give you peace. So it's up to you, man. Pain or peace."

Andrew appears behind Dean and shoves him into the closet door, breaking it into pieces. He turns to Delilah but you speak up before he can hurt her.

"Some ghost you are," you scoff and he looks at you. "Getting revenge on kids? Lame." He goes after you but you duck out of the way easily. "Death by electrocution? Lame! Maybe it sparked some life into you."

Andrew appears in front of you and slams you against the wall. He wraps his hands around your throat, pushing the device further into your neck. Maybe he might be able to get it off for you. You're not scared of Andrew but you do become concerned at the thought of him killing you.

Thankfully, you don't have to know the answer to that because his wife's voice fills the room. You and Andrew look at Delilah who has the phone in her hand which has his wife's face on it. Sam must have FaceTimed to get her to speak to Andrew.

"Andrew? It's Corey. Please listen to me. You have to stop this. Revenge is hollow, and it's pointless. It won't bring you back. I should have said this earlier but I couldn't let go. Now, it's time for me to let go and for you to do the same. Please. I'm begging you." Andrew lets you go and turns to her. "Do this for me. Do it for us." He nods slightly. "Goodbye."

Apparently, this is enough for Andrew to find peace. He closes his eyes and disappears in a flash of white light.

In the morning, Sam and Dean bring Delilah to Corey's house so she can talk to her and seek forgiveness.

"Looks like Andrew wasn't the only one who chose peace."

"Yeah, looks like. I think I'm gonna follow his lead, too."

"What do you mean?"

"My peace is helping people and working cases. I can't do that with this thing on my arm. I can't do that with my wife being the way she is. If I stay down this path, it'll be my downfall and I'll bring her with me." Dean looks at you who is across the street on your phone. You're absentmindedly picking at the device on your neck while looking at your phone. "I have to find this cure. If not for me, for her."

"Cas is so close to finding Cain. He has to know of a way."

"I believe there is a way. You said it yourself. You got through the literal devil and made it out alive. There's a way and we're going to do whatever we can to find it."

"What if she won't take it?"

"We'll make her. You should have seen her when we first met Cain. She was so determined to take it with me. I shouldn't have let her."

"You know her losing her soul isn't your fault."

"How is it not?" Dean asks with tears in his eyes. "Tell me how this is not my fault."

"Whether she had the Mark or not, she would have been soulless either way."

"Yeah, because I took it from her. Do you want me to be honest? I'm scared I'm gonna wake up one day and she'll be gone. I'm scared that when we finally do shove her soul back in her, it'll be too late."

"You don't have to shoulder this burden alone," Sam says and places his hand on Dean's shoulder. "We're going to find this cure. We'll cure you both."

"Thanks," Dean whispers.

He looks at you again and prays to God you don't get any worse.

You don't care if they have a remote that will activate your shock machine. You're leaving this Bunker tonight with or without their permission. As soon as you get back, you pack a bag as light as you can carry. You'll get more stuff along the way. Where will you go? You're not sure but it sure as hell isn't going to be here.

Sam and Dean are in the library when you walk past them into the war room.

"Where are you going?"

"Parading all over the country is not what I want to do. I'm sick and tired of you two controlling me. I'm done." You turn to face them by the base of the metal stairs. "I'm leaving and I'd really like to see you try and stop me."

Dean takes the remote out of his hand but you're a step ahead of him. You swiftly take out your gun and point it at him. Sam freezes in his steps because he's nervous you're actually gonna start shooting.

"What are you gonna do?"

"You can't press the button if you're dead."

"Do it. You're not leaving this Bunker."

Your finger twitches against the trigger like you're going to pull it. Then you see Sam with wide eyes and you know that if you kill his brother, all you're asking for is a Winchester up your ass. You'd rather not spend your entire life running from one of them. Instead, you aim at the remote and shoot. The remote explodes into pieces and Dean jumps back from the shock.

"What are you gonna use now?" you smirk.

You turn to the stairs but both Winchesters jump into action. They run out in front of you, effectively blocking your way.

"You might have a chance with one of us but not both," Dean glares.

"Oh? Just because you're big and tall, you think you'd win in a fight against me?" you scoff and take a step back.

"You've relied on magic all your life. You're not as good a fighter as we are."

You smirk and toss your bag and gun to the side. "If I beat you two, I leave."

"If you don't?" Sam asks.

"Back to the dungeon I go, and I won't fight you anymore on this cure for the Mark."

Sam and Dean look at each other before lunging at you. You see their moves coming from a mile away. While Sam and Dean are fighting to subdue you, you're fighting to kill. You have nothing to lose. They have everything to lose.

Sam swings his hand to punch you but you grab it at the last second and twist it behind him. Dean comes running at you two so you kick his ass and they go crashing into each other. Dean is the first one up and runs at you. He grabs you from behind thinking he got you but you're two steps ahead of him. You let them believe he got you so when Sam comes over, you kick off his chest and swing over Dean. You land on the floor and punch Dean to the ground, almost breaking his jaw.

The problem with the Winchesters is you're too damn flexible for them. You roundhouse kick Sam in the face, and he sprays a line of blood as he goes down. They start to think you might win this so they have to pick up their game or you will kill them. Dean ignores the pain in his jaw as he grabs one of the chairs and smacks you in the back.

You crumble to the ground in a grunt of pain. He and Sam grab you on either side and refuse to let you go. You struggle as hard as you can to get away from them but it's looking like you might lose this fight. The more you struggle, the more you get angry. The more you get angry, the more your Mark flares and burns. The metaphorical pot inside your body is bubbling over, and the only thing fueling it is the Mark.

"Let me go!" you yell.

"Admit it! You lost this one!" Dean grunts.

"Let go of me!"

"You lost, Y/N, just give it up!" Sam yells.

"I said. LET. GO!"

Bright red magic explodes out from all sides of you, causing Sam and Dean to go flying into the walls behind them. The entire war room is covered in a red hue, and you look down at your hands to see red magic flow out of them. The power you feel right now is so... exhilarating. Your Mark is burning so much but it's the good kind of pain. The kind of pain you crave. The kind of power you crave.

You look at the brothers with an evil smirk. They're too scared to do anything. They know you've fallen over the edge. There is no coming back from this. You lift the brothers with your magic and fling them so hard into the wall again that it cracks from the pressure. Both of them are too weak to do anything which is exactly what you want.

You reach up and peel off the device from your neck like it's a goddamn sticker.

"You don't control me anymore. I win. I'm leaving. If you want to try and stop me, well, you can't. No one can," you laugh.

You grab your bag and head to the metal stairs.

"This isn't you!" Sam yells loudly. You pause by the stairs but don't face him. "You're the Sapphire Witch! You help people!"

"Honey, the Sapphire Witch is dead."

"Yeah? Then what are you?"

You face the brothers with a smirk and bright red eyes.

"I'm the Scarlet Witch."

x

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[hiemaldesirae]

Arrax here; I want Vox's full out demon form to be some horrifying eldritch being, like...I dunno maybe Vox's form is Vox's electricity--omly his, his Cyan electricity that the city uses.

Like, Vox gets shot with an angelic bullet and he falls. Everyone thinks he's dead, and yest Vox's employees are still fighting. The Vox's screen lights up, as does every single screen in the surrounding area, and you hear this draconic, viscous snarl and using all 8 screens that are around him, fully demonic Vox breaks out, and he terrifies everyone.

oh, thats a very interesting concept!!. my favourite ever FULL full demon form of vox comes from RHTVS, where he has (technically...) two full demon forms, one as a giant white electricity beast and another being like this giant kaiju mecha

i have seen gorgeous depictions of voxs demon form such as a giant mecha-shark hybrid, but i like imagining him close to the devils from csm. (actually, this kind of correlates with your hc too)

something like a cross between the gun devil and the falling devil, where he's still somewhere "close" to an approximation of a human body (bc for some reason, vox just strikes me as the type of person to cling onto what human parts of himself he still has. might just be me tho), but built up of a mixture of mechanical wires, electricity, and the souls under his contracts. id imagine like the gun devil, many many many fucking television screens would be incorporated onto his body.

also, in the situation youve posed, i cant help but imagine a scenario where vox never told anyone about this form before, and everyone (even the vees!) truly thought he might be dead for a moment, the power around hells pride ring slowly flickering and crashing as his opponents revel in having taken down one of prides top overlords- before they start screaming. limbs start to burn from an overwhelming amount of static electricity in the air, a smell of ozone and burnt bits wafting through the streets of the entertainment district as vox reaches forward with arms constructed of pure electricity and strings of wiring, pulling forward until he stands up, form flickering with static and power. every broadcast flicks on, and the unfortunate sinners too weak to resist the pulls of their screen are pulled in toward him until he consumes them too, fueling him with only more ammunition for the fires.

[skittlewaffle]

Ġ̸̨̞̟̬̤̤̺̦̆̏̀̐̾̀̿ͅE̷̛̝̻̫̫̫͆̂͆́͋͌T̴̨̜̩̲̜̣̺̜͓̖̫̱̔ͅ ̵̩̤̥͕͗̈́̍̈́̊̄̂̾̊͋̕B̸̡̛̘̺̬͖̘͙̝̘̖͖͕̣̟̅̀̊̉̌͜Ą̴̞̤͈̮͔͉̳̦̞̱͓̞͈̠̂͒̊͛̏̀͋̃͒̈́͒̈́͝C̸̟͕̭͎͖͂̎̀̃̃̈́͛͝K̸̢͌̉̒́̊̋͌̀̑̆̔̚̚ ̶͕̝̯̲̩͍͓̞̱̪̈́̈̔̓͑͝H̴͍̞̬̜́͒̄͑̈̽̋͒̓͋͊̄̽E̴̛̛̱̪͔̘̻͚̝͖͚̲̝̭̔̊͜ͅͅR̶̮͔͈̣̎̎͑͛̀̂̐͛͆͠ͅE̵̩͙̺̼̮̦͖̠̎̓͛̍̕ͅ!!

… :) Hi. My friend said I should make an animatronic OC into a character you would see in the Security Breach Ruin DLC. boy did I have fun forcing myself to figure out Rain’s internal mechanisms 😵‍💫 (more info below the cut :)) But genuinely I absolutely LOVE rendering; I’ve never actually been more detailed in a piece like this tho. I’m improving! :D

Little timelapse for you too, since I decided to test out the feature on CSP :V

This is what Rain originally looked like! (Post here)

Internal Mechanisms

There are two wheels beneath her dress on either side of her where her “shoulders” would be from which wires are dispensed, creating “hands” that are useful for grabbing things that are hard to reach. She was designed to only let out wires individually; however, in her Ruined form, the central cylinder containing the wires that feed into her spools has unscrewed from the bottom and burst through the front panel, allowing more wires to spill out. I was going to have some of the cables frayed in some places, causing an electric hazard, but I was too lazy to draw something like that.

Her head is intentionally split into three pieces for venting out heated systems. A small rectangular shape can be seen along the edge of the unhinged piece; this is where the plates latch and unlatch. You can hear them clicking, locking and unlocking, when Rain has to think really hard. She may be “right as rain” when doing her job, but in interactions outside of childcare, she has proven to be pretty inept, overthinking and overheating easily. You may notice how her hair is burnt in a line where her face is split. Her processors, memory, local data, cooling fans, battery, and the like are built strategically along the inside of her head, while giving room for some extra long-reaching wires to be stored inside behind the framing for her LED eyes.

In her Ruined form, Rain’s legs are missing. Normally, her leg joints sticked out from pathways along her central cylinder. One around the circumference allowed her to spin her body while keeping her feet in place, while two along the sides allowed her to store her legs away (think of Eve from Wall-E), normally to enter rest mode, though she also uses it while active to sit down. Her dress touches the ground and gives her the appearance of an adorable chess piece.

[blushblushdrabbles]

Story idea for Logan: Anon wants to experience being rescued by Logan. Pretend fire rescue scenario \o/

BEANIEEEEEEEEEEEEE

ok so i am guessing you meant anon as in the MC of the game but i wanna write this as one of our main boys, Anon! XDD

Ok so a plausible cause for Anon to like experience something catastrophic is maybe a fire had started at his home, like a lightning storm had struck his home, overloading the electrical wires in his house, especially where his computers are.

Even though he is a clean freak, his computer room is a bit of a mess, with a lot of hard drives, servers, monitors, you name it. Its got a ton of important shit that he wants to save so here he is trying to save all he can, not worrying about the fire cause fuck that shit.

Logan and his crew finally come to hose down the fire and rescue Anon; Logan comes in and sees Anon trying to save his shit with the flames pretty much nearby and he's like this fucking guy.

Logan is trying to get Anon to get out cause he's literally in danger of getting burnt to a crisp! but Anon is like feck off m8, he needs to save his shit, so Logan practically picks him up like he's nothing, Anon is kicking his feet, while still holding a few of his drives that weren't getting burnt.

Logan's crew finally douses the flames but Anon is sad to see most of his computer room, his computers, his servers and some of drives destroyed. Also Anon wasn't pleased with getting picked up like a baby and carried out hhahah

[nethhiri]

Not sure if I'm doing this right. If you're doing the ask game, for kid and killer (heat and wire if you feel like it), what is a habit they have that others might find cute? And what do you think they smell like?

ooo this is a cute one

Kid:

Leaves doodles everywhere. Sometimes blueprints for his machines come to him at random times so he grabs whatever he can to jot it down (napkins, scraps, Heat's back, etc.). You'll find them in random ass places.

Will run into things if they aren't metal. He's so used to moving things out of the way with his devil fruit, that he's taken by surprise when they aren't metal. He's run into doors, containers on deck, things on the ground.... Still hasn't learned any better.

Smells like weld smoke and metal. You know that smell on your hand after you hold a key or an old doorknob, kinda like that. Weld smoke is similar but with a hint of electrical fire smell.

Killer

Playing with his hair. Sometimes he twirls or braids it when he's bored or needs something to do with his hands.

Always licks the spoon after he bakes something.

Falls asleep with his helmet on when he's exhausted. He just forgets to take it off.

Smells like whatever shampoo he's using at the time. His hair traps the scent for a while so he has no need for other scents. He generally prefers clean scents to overly flowery or fruity.

Heat

Fidgets with the loops of his belt.

Before he had control over his fire breath, he would expel flames when he hiccuped or burped or coughed. He tries to hold these in or he goes outside to avoid setting anything on fire.

Smells like campfire. That smoky, sweet scent of burning wood. After a fight, it's a bit stronger, like burnt toast.

Wire

Ducks whenever he walks into a door, even if he can fit through it, since he's used to doing it.

Never brushes or styles his hair since it's always under his hood. Gets hood-hair and has to fluff it up if he does take his hood off.

Smells like musk, but a pleasant musk. There's a tinge of sweetness and earthiness to it. It's just his natural scent. He never has BO.

[winterfireblond]

A Smell of Burnt; Flesh and *Desire.

Summary: There's this invisible line connected between you and the Captain Phasma, that pulls you to each other from time to time. But not in the rush to bring things to *another level.

Warning: NO SMUT (*for now) (not really fond of putting warnings so, bye)

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

Growing up as one of the Stormtroopers, you raised as one of the smartest among your batch, but not entirely with combat or warfare relations. But you have managed to secure a position as one of the team leaders of the Maintenance Crew, for you it is already a privilege. You can go from planet to another as you are boarded on ships since your presence is highly needed, well, for maintenance and repairs needed in the ships.

This time, you and some of the crew under your command was boarded along with the Stormtroopers lead by Captain Phasma herself. Since it is only a small operation, they are only expecting a minimal damage-repair scenario so you only brought with you a couple of your new and still training juniors in your department.

The Captain is barking orders and briefing everyone of the plan, while you and your crew are on the side not to be mixed up with the fighters as this is not your particular field of expertise, but the Captain is throwing glances your way acknowledging your presence in the ship.

============================================

Everyone is now in position, working on the things they are supposed to do.

You went to work, showing the two intern the basics of repairing electrical wiring and stuff within the ship. It's been hours spent teaching and guiding the interns, you let them handle the repairing just offering minimal changes and answering their questions about the work at hand. The last one on the list to repair is a wiring on a corridor where the Captain's quarters is located, this time it's a little too much for the two so you let them go back to their own quarters this time living you alone with the work.

As you are busy with changing some major wiring and fuse careful not to get electrocuted, a pair of patrolling troops came your way and stop.

"Hey You! You've been working in that area for ages, and still not done yet?!" said the other one, their identity unknown since you are looking into something you are working than into them.

This isn't the first time that you are belittled "just because you are part of the maintenance team", some of the troopers really acts like they are the right hand of the Supreme Leader or just higher above you just because as they reason it; they are the essential of the team as they fight and die in the field unlike you and the others who only work hidden, safe, and away from death's grip. If only they knew.

"You're just gonna ignore us now, won't you at least give your respect to your superiors?" added the other one. As you just continue focusing trying to reconnect the new supply. Since you just ignored them, you thought they'll just let you be and just walk passed you to continue on their way, but you are so wrong..

Oblivious of the angry faces of the two behind you, feeling disrespected. You didn't expect them to stoop so low and play you a dirty move. While you are holding a tablet connected to a low powered wire to calibrate some numbers on one of the new installed fuse, one of the supposed by-passing patrolling troop pushed the power button causing the power supply to surge through the fuse making the tablet connected to it to overheat and shocked you, you let out a pained yelp and abruptly standing up while holding your injured hand with an open small wound and a burn in the palm of your left hand.

You heard them laughing behind you, throwing insults and cussing you for being unexperienced with your work. You only glared them as you are still in pain and can't think of something to pay them back of what they did to you. But it is no longer needed it seems, as you continue to throw a dirty look to the both of them their eyes now focused behind you with fear in their eyes , glancing behind you; It's the Captain.

"What's the commotion about out here?" asked Captain Phasma

"We where just playing jokes on the maintenance crew, Captain" Said the one who pressed the power button.

"Is it true, Y/n? what are you hiding behind you? Show me." You caught the Captain's attention as you are trying to hide the pain from showing in your face while also hiding your hand behind your back. But Captain Phasma already noticed it while She's approaching you three from her quarters. Without waiting a response from you, the captain yanked your left hand to see for herself.

You winced in pain as she grab your hand and take a look at the fresh wound and small burnt area that are now dripping with blood that you never noticed before. Still holding your hand, the Captain turn to look at the perpetrators in front of you with anger visible in her eyes.

"FN-2721, FN-2722, Both of you are to report to my office to discuss your punishments for acting idiot and abandoning your duties, also for causing harm to one of YOUR SUPERIORS! You will wait there until further notice, if I arrived there before you, this expedition might be your last". "Yes, Captain" was the only thing they can say, knowing that the Captain's wrath is upon them and just as heavy as the Dark Lord before scurrying to their feet, while you are now being pulled by the Captain to the direction of her quarters.

Closing the door behind you, made you come to your senses.

"Umm. Captain, I should go to the medical team" You are about to go back out the door but you are held firm but with gentleness by the captain in your bloody hand.

"It's to far, you will just taint the floor with your blood on your way there" Came their snarky comment but you knew, it's just the way they care about you. You only nod you head.

She guide you to sit at the edge of their bed, while they went to the bathroom, returning to you with a wet towel and first aid to clean and bandage your wound.

"Why are you working alone? Where are your other crew?" ask the Captain while tending to your wound slowly dabbing cotton wet with alcohol.

"I let them rest already, since they worked hard for the whole day. And that particular wiring problem is not yet introduced to them, so instead I took over" came your curt reply, wincing from time to time with the Captain is dabbing the wound a little hard.

"That's what I like about you, but also the thing that I hate. You're efficient in everything you do, smart, and kind. So kind, that all you can do is give the one who did this to you a death stare that it seems it will bring havoc to their pathetic little lives". This comment made you blush and also chuckle.

You placed your right hand to her face, guiding her to look at you.

" I already have you to do that, My Captain. You complete me, but you'll bring destruction to their lives" and sealed it with a small kiss just beside the placement of your hand on her face. The wound dressed perfectly, the pain gone, only you and Captain Phasma staring into each others eyes. Finding comfort in each others presence more than enough.

============================================================================END

*Okay that's enough!! First request done. I just hope I bring justice to this request. I'm still figuring things out here in tumblr, this-and-that, do's-and-dont's. And i only knew a little to none about Captain Phasma, so apologise about this crappy output.

thanks to @reddragon30000 for giving me a chance to write your request. Don't hesitate to send your *constructive criticism<3

[env0writes]

Umber Embers Vol.3, 9.13.24 “__Pression”

Stuffing down those cotton-mouthed thoughts Of wanting to die Why? With a sigh and a lie and I’ll say “Just look at everything” Pretending that I am not in love with blue skies Overcast, downcast, updraft, rough draft days The fog and morning gaze The dew glaze On the grass in the early sunrise I want to die but I don’t want to die But I want a payout of my attempts as I try Cotton-mouthed, cherry-picked words as I swear Pluck just one from my lips and I’ll share You don’t like these darker days Missing the sun Missing your son Missing the one, right in front of you

The plants out my window grow this and that way Cut down and into line Bound and restrained Retrained with twine Held in place and told to wait Grow this way Are they not prepared for the wildness Nature might grow docile but not tame And me, I guess I’m hunting the same Gathering skills for, what community? WHen the sky is blue I want to die Burnt up beneath the blazing fires Ripping light across the stratosphere No strategy let me get near Back to those summer after-school hours Playing past the park Walked barefoot without a care Still wishing to die You spoke to me thinking nothing of it And like a knife across my mind Wrenched electrical wiring Fixing personalities into place Like those taut twine-taught plants Blowing over in the evening wind

I never knew the choices I’d make Would end up like this, I’d take It all back, Redact it with black Blur out the background Let me leave an impression Of an impressionist painting Out of focus and in the distance I will remain in this instance For an instant you believed That the light you saw coming off of me Was those party-cloudy midday beams of sun Is this not what you wanted? When you mashed me into molds When I ran headfirst into walls Flattening, resetting, refusing to rest Lest I fall behind Stowed all the things that I did best Do I need to rhyme for you to listen I’d say sorry that you have to deal with this When I gesture at all of me When I try to do what is expected Tripping on pre-tied shoelaces Breaking something glass within me Why are hearts made of something so soft Meat and sweet-sickly thick blood Pumps through me like a city-sludged river Struggling to pump happy thoughts That refuse to fly up to my brain Refuse to applaud for a fairy I would tell you sorry If I was But I can never be sure If you tell me I am I might even believe

I know that If I explain it enough It will start to make life less tough Make sense of it all So that when you call I raise my hand confident I rise My eyes fixed on the moment Instead of tomorrow Of yesterday's moments I’ll borrow My heart and my soul are on loan I’ll pay it all back when I’m old and I’m grown With a groan and moan Fading like the west coast cloud cover Starry eyed skies And I never thought I’d make it It never got better But I did

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artists!