#like it actually is insane that you could focus your entire being on someone and reach them across all of time and space out of sheer want?

[mobius-m-mobius]

Hey let's not focus too much on the Greek tragedy of it all for one second and remember how Loki's time slipping takes him where (or who) his heart points to. And now remember when he just SLAMMED into Mobius at Mach speed in Ouroboros after spending who knows how long in the past... Like what did his heart want in that moment, I wonder.

Absolutely love how we've collectively agreed this is indeed a tragedy to pick ourselves out of and thankfully the power of fix-its makes it a little easier as each day passes 😂💖

You're so right anon and even though it was beyond satisfying to see Loki time slipping closer and closer to Mobius for obvious reasons (even saying his name while he did during several moments), tbh I'm still a little bummed crashing into him didn't become part of the deal too?? Would've been a nice callback to how they forget anyone else is in a room and can hardly move without standing so close they're practically on top of each other anyway, plus if other TVA employees were already 👀👀 at them having conversations just imagine the talk around the office when Mobius continually gets slammed but doesn't miss a beat before making sure Loki's okay and whisking him off as if nothing happened or even poor Don wiping out on his jet ski model when a hot emo stranger crashes out of the sky 🤣

[dolliestfairy]

𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟'𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦 𝅄ֹ ׅ♡ ೀ ʚĭɞ ‌ིᨴּ ˒˒۪

(Crazy) Yandere [Nerd] Boy x Soft!Chubby!Fem!Reader ༢𓏲๋ ⊹ ֢

𔓘 Tw : Kidnapping, Extreme Noncon (y'all are strangers bro), Rushed Fanfic, Mentions Of Blood, Virginity-Take, Extreme Somnophilia, Stalking, Extreme Obsession, Impregnate, A little of Bondage, Seriously dude you're fucking with a crazy nerd boy who is a freaking stranger to you like y'all didnt know each other but this madman is really know you to the soul from all his stalking and stuff. this fanfic is quite the Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Chubby reader fics with no skintone of reader mentioned.

𔓘 A/N : y'all.. this are f***king insane bro.. like this is kinda disturbing imo as a writer of this and also a lot of suffocating. Read at your own risk. me myself actually like the extreme yandere fics but this is still the prefix of it. stay safe while reading this because again; y'all are a stranger!! if a dark content yandere isnt your cup of tea then i highly recommend you to spend your shit at other blogs!! ty.

W/C : 6,4K for Stranger Fucking 💀

Currently thinking abt nerdy men who looks like they would shit in their pants when someone raised their voice at them, but the truth is; he's really really quite the strong. he's a nerdy man who arent shy at all (or maybe just a little) and he's simply just dont like to be bothered by anyone else. he's also a nerdy man who told himself countless time to just focus on studying and studying, and at the first moment; he actually manage to do it within his daily life, well until he met you.

You; plump, soft looking girl with chubby cheeks and doe eyes. you dont even know how much you affect him didnt you? arent you just dumb? walking there and then with such a tiny skirt that almost showed up your plump ass cheeks. walking down in the hallway with such dress that hugged all of your curves together perfectly. oh if only you find out how every night he would spend his time in his bedroom alone while his hand thrust his own cock up and down, thinking about you. he would be drown in his thoughts about how you would find out all his dark fantasy about you. but.. he do realize he shouldnt be doing this actually, no really, he should just be studying, but the soft laugh and those.. those whimpers terror you gave him just drove him to his edge.

And the fact that he masturbate about you when you both are clearly still stranger - is fucking crazy. he mostly had heard of how'd you talk, whimper and moan (wait.. how did.. he know?) and stuff like that while your own self being completely un guard around him. he swear to his thumbs he hated you for making him felt like this, i mean how could you?? a plump girl just trying to get into her daily life as normal as usual can make some nerd dude mad in love with her without her being aware at all?! he cant do this.. he cant do this anymore..!

And he really cant do it anymore. as he go to your apartement at midnight after finding out where you live. peeking through the window to what you were doing only to find you dressing in a short pastel rainbow dress lingerie with big bows placed in the back of your hair, dancing to some songs.. and oh my god he cant even explain how much he want to ripped those colorful dress lingerie off your body. he has no doubt at all that you have the most beautiful body he would ever sees in his entire life.

As he drown himself in his own thoughts until he heard a telephone ring -- it was your friend! your male friend! as you picked the phone up, talking with your friends, while he sees with his own eyes about the way you laugh softly at what-god-knows your friend was muttering to you. he doesnt and he would rather bury himself alive than admitting about the fact that he was really, really, envy and jealous. as he harshly breath at you, while all his body is literally focus with you. his eyes seeing you from head-to-toe, his ears listening carefully about the conversation you're having as his mouth try to resist to open it again because well um -- he is quite the drooling over there. that was it until you start to walk towards the front door where he was outside!!

As he sees you carefully, while hiding himself in the corner, and focused on the door handle you're about to open. until........

Until he quickly enough to put his arms and placed it onto your mouth, shuting you up until you passed out and bring you to your new home his home. as he open the bondage he placed at your mouth, and pinch your chubby cheeks until he sees your whimpering again. thats it! thats the thing that always drove him mad everydsy everynight. thinking about you whimper at whatever he was doing was like a holy candle for him. he then stood himself up, looking at your half unconscious body, and then start to strip you... to naked.

As he softly ripped all the dress lingerie you weared, and after he got the look at your boobs, he slowly put his hands up at where your nipples on, and start playing with it. while his eyes focused on your face, waiting the reaction he have been wait. and until then... you are moaning. honestly he have been thinking that he was in a dream that time. i mean -- he do have seen you moan by the way he always check on you secretly.. but he never except his own self to be the only one who could capable enough to hear your soft moan. as he sped up the phase of his hands playing your nipple, while his own other hand strat to undress himself.

And until he and your own finally completely naked. and... oh god to be damned. he swear he always sees you at some kind of whore while your other friend sees you just as an innocent normal girl, and he always have no doubt about his feelings That you have such an erotic body and at the end.. he was actually right. you do have a very very.. pleaseable body. as he placed his hands into your half unconscious body, lowering it until his hands touch your private part -- your pussy. he slowly but surely put his 3 long fingers in to play with you, and to be surprised or.. shocked even, that you are so so fucking damn tight! he even sure that your pussy is one of the most tightest thing he'd ever placed his hands on, as he quickly sped-ing up his pace at playing your pussy, watching you moan and whimper become one, he cant believe what he saw. you're literally still half unconscious! but yet you somehow still manage to bring out the sound he would die for with! at this rate he doesnt know if he wants to wake you up or just let you still be half unconscious so when you wake up, you're gonna have a some extra surprised with your naked body that has been covered with his cums. as he thinking about it while he placed his (quite big) cock at your pussy. trying to rip those tight wall of your pussy off. thats what he was trying to do until your pussy start showing a little drop of blood out of it.

Oh.. he get it.. yeah he actually get it. You're a Virgin arent you? oh.. such sweet cheeks.. well too bad yoi're going to give all of your innocents left as his own hands and dicks. the body of someone you dont even know at all. he actually felt (just a little) bit of guilt. but who cares anyway? you're literally still half unconscious! as he said it to himself while he tried his possible to pound your ass up at your fat pussy. going in and up in every corner. at first it was slowly, but then he start to change the position into a mating press just so the cums and the blood are still there. as he quickly but surely speeding his pace up like a mad man. at this rate he was at the edge of doesnt gave a fuck about the fact that you're still half unconscious but then he's also at the edge of shock and unbelief because of how you are still not waking up at his pounding.

And all of those pounding ends when his cock start to dried out with how your fat pussy suck all his cums and sperma in. pulling his cock out of your pussy only to see the view of the inside of your pussy, being drown with his cums. as his hands hold your body up just so all the cums he had restored isnt goung to spill. and until then he slowly put his hands down, letting your body down into the mating press position, watching your pussy spilling all of his cums like a fucking waterfall. (his cum waterfall) and then he placed his palm hands at your cheeks softly, while quietly muttering about how he would take care of you, and keeping you safe and that you wouldnt need to be scared of him (even after all his done to you) as he placed his other hand at your undressed belly, and then stroke it with such gentleness because he knew that right now, right at the almost-morning time, that you're going to be swellen with thousands - thousands of his sperm, and at the end of the month, he would see you placed your own hands at your bellies who at that time was full with his kid. oh how he cant wait... he just hope that you wouldnt be freaked out about the fact that you just found yourself in a unrecognizeable place with a literal fucking stranger who is now has placed a baby inside of you. yes, a baby -- his baby.

TSUKISHIMA KEI, ITOSHI RIN, MEGUMI, Itachi, Shikamaru, Nanami, Neji, Tobirama, Deku, KUNIMI, Muichiro, SEMI EITA, Konoha Akinori, Venti, XIAO, AL-HAITAM, Akaashi, KOZUME KENMA, & hatake kakashi.

did i forgeting anyone? insert ur fav!

Dolliestfairy's © Works. Do Not Repost My Creation at Any Platfroms Without My Permission.

[crazylittlejester]

i don’t know if this is something Jojo is doing on purpose, or if it was an intentional detail but i grabbed and ran away with it, or if I’ve just completely read far to into things and entered the realm of just making shit up, but Warriors and his little crooked smile are so GODDAMN important to me and I am shaking him like a squeak toy (gently)

(big yap/analysis under the cut)

disclaimer, i just have a lot of thoughts, probably way too many thoughts, and 97% of them are about Wars so I might be insane, and what you’re about to read provided you’ve stuck around so far might be the equivalent of your high school english teacher yelling with tears in their eyes about how the curtains were blue to “symbolize her sadness”. also my apologies for weird spelling mistakes or oddly misspelled words, i am dyslexic 💔 but with that being said:

Warriors to me comes off as someone who’s constantly acting larger than life. He masks a LOT in front of the chain, he acts overdramatic and a bit ridiculous on purpose, and to an extent he just is a bit ridiculous, but his reactions to things are sometimes blow way out of proportion or are just larger than life in a comedic way where it just seems like he’s doing it intentionally. He comes across as a very extroverted, talkative person, and he seems like he’d honestly be a bit loud too (whether that’s who is REALLY is or what he’s REALLY like is a yap for another post). His (physical) image and the way his character/personality is perceived by others both seem like things that are not his CORE values or the things that mean the most to him, but they do seem to be at least a LITTLE bit important to him just based on how he presents himself and the way he acts. And to an extent, the whole thing with him caring so much about his looks is canon in LU, with that one sketch of him and Legend where he’s looking at his eye in a reflection of a shield and Legend says “alright break it up you two” being the first thing that comes to mind (which is in the post “Mirror Shield”, click the name for the link)

To me, from what I’ve seen and from my perspective, there are very few times we see an actual genuine smile from Warriors, and when we do it tends to be in moments where he’s not in the spotlight, he’s not trying to command the center of attention, and/or the focus is NOT on him. It tends to be moments where he just seems genuinely happy or at peace, and those seem pretty rare. He smiles a LOT, but the majority of his smiles seem big and flashy and performative, and not that that means he’s not happy AT ALL in any of those moments, but those smiles seem a lot more controlled and closely managed because he’s aware of the attention on him and therefore thinking about how he’s perceived. (I’ve made some posts in the past and I’ll probably make others in the future about how I think Warriors puts on this “Captain” or “Hero of Hyrule” persona because of how an entire war was started because a sorceress found him beautiful, and how he feels like him being just him isn’t really good enough for that and how he feels like he needs to fit in and look/act/seem like the legendary heroes he’s being compared to. He’s created this idea of what he COULD be and that’s what he presents to others, fake it till you make it and all that, but thats another yap for another day)

However there are these little moments where we see him smile, and the same one side of his mouth is pretty consistently always just a little bit higher no matter which way his head is facing (here’s a few examples):

@/linkeduniverse, from the 2023 monthly art, “January- Cold Sunrise”

@/linkeduniverse, both from “Dawn pt. 2”

And the thing that really started this whole headcanon of mine that his REAL smile is crooked was this specific part of Dawn pt. 2 where Warriors sees that Twilight is gonna be find for the first time after most likely worrying about him and being up all night:

That middle panel, to me at least, is probably the most genuine expression of a positive emotion we’ve seen from him this entire time. No one’s focus is on him, no one’s really looking at him, he doesn’t have the pressure of being the center of attention on him, and honestly even if that WERE the case, the genuine relief that hit him once he was Twilight was gonna be okay probably would’ve been enough to get a genuine smile out of him anyways. But the second he walks into the room officially, he kinda, for lack of a better way to put it, announces his presence and starts “acting” again (also from Dawn pt 2):

And while that same one side of his mouth does seem a bit higher and not very straight, it’s definitely more even than it was just five seconds previously

Now, acknowledging there is an art style, and that I also just might be insane, but Warriors’s smiles for the most part (when they seem controlled) appear to be a Lot straighter and more even to me than when it’s a more genuine moment and he doesn’t seem like he’s “acting” so much (and just a note: it certainly isn’t EVERY time, but in general, in moments like these his smile seems consistently straighter unless he’s just flat out smirking. and im not saying it’s PERFECTLY straight either, just noticeably more even). When he’s being more dramatic or intentionally obnoxious or the attention is on him, it really does feel like his smile is more controlled: here are just a few examples, obviously this isn’t every single time he’s smiled in all of LU

@/linkeduniverse, from “Swords”

@/linkeduniverse, from “Shady Escape pt 2”

@/linkeduniverse, from “Divine Dark Reflections pt. 8”

@/linkeduniverse, both from “Magic Sword”

am i looking too far into a little thing? probably. am i insane? yeah. but i just really love the idea that when Warriors is truly, genuinely happy, the part of himself that he tries to hide, the sweet and caring person he hides underneath all the dramatics, that true self he’s probably kept hidden away since the start of the war who’s been buried under insecurity and hidden because of the fear that who he is just isnt ENOUGH peaks through, and that person comes out through his happiness in the form of his smile. and yeah it does probably mean nothing and Jojo might not have done any of this on purpose, but i’m crazy, and Warriors’s crooked little smile is so so important to me *insert image of a guy crying face down on the floor because unfortunately i’ve hit the image limit*

[sullina]

genuinely insane that diet culture poisoned people will insists that, if they don't diet, they'll just "eat cake all day" or some other type of sweet candy

because... that's not how it works

like, if you completely give up any sort of dieting and go for intuitive eating (meaning: listening to your own body and giving it what it craves), you're probably gonna be eating "unhealthy" at first, because you've been denying your body something it desperately needs.

For one person, that can be sweets.

For another, that can be fast food.

Just imagine literally anything that could potentially deemed "unhealthy" by diet culture, and someone is gonna crave just that once they start intuitive eating.

But back to my point No one is gonna be eating "only cake" if they don't make a conscious effort to monitor every little thing about their diet, because that's not how the human body (or any living body) works. It's your body's job to keep you alive and well. This includes your diet. Your body knows you can't live entirely off of cake. It's gonna crave salty things, too, not just sweet stuff. And by "salty", i mean, like, an actual meal.

And believe it or not, but vegetables? Can be fucking amazing. On the condition that you focus on making a meal that tastes good instead of being "healthy". Believe it or not, but you're gonna benefit more from a vegetable medley that tastes fucking amazing, than you're gonna get from the same vegetables but raw and unseasoned. I'm not kidding, how much you enjoy your food has a real and measurable effect on how many nutrients of said meal you end up absorbing.

Another benefit of intuitive eating I've personally found is that I'm much more willing to try new things, especially new vegetables. Like, I'm seirous, just listening to your body and trusting yourself to know what you need, like how every single living being, including humans, have been surviving for literal millions of years, is actually really good for you. Cutting out entire food groups, because some """health official""" being paid billions of dollars to say that it's unhealthy and what you REALLY need is their company's product, is NOT good for you. At all.

[lessdyke]

anon who asked about your ass being raped. Since you had it happen multiple times I think the most memorable one is a good starting place

i mean... obviously the first time was quite memorable. it's the one that fucked me up for life <3

my cousin was kind of a stalker when we were kids. hed always find ways to touch my breasts or steal a kiss or watch me undress etc etc but he was friends with my unhealthy stoner friends and we would hangout a lot. fast forward to this one party, yes? he says he'll drive me home after so I can just get as high as I want. when we're going back, he parks in the middle of nowhere and makes me suck his dick. for a long long while. he also pulled me out of the car and was about to rape me when some shit lot up in my head and i offered him my ass instead. he gets insanely horny at that (we were both virgins) but he comes right when he's starting to push his dick inside my anus and well I ended up convincing him to just go home already.

shit fucked me up if course. i would abuse alcohol and get high at all times. spent entire months without seeing him or hanging out with our common friends until one of them convinced me to go over to his house for a small gathering. cousin wasn't supposed to be there be he popped by when they told him I came by. i was drunker than ever in my life. he started groping me with everyone around, as if he was claiming that I was already his. at some point he's bragging about how he fucked my ass and that I offered it to him. no one believes him so he says he's going to demonstrate.

so there I am, about five male friends 'round me, none of them stopping my cousin when he bends me over on the floor and starts to put his fingers in my ass. i was v into some of those friends so when they all started collectively groping me it felt v v nice. got fingers in my mouth gagging me, my nipples twisted and pinched, my soaked labia parted and photographed... and then my cousin actually penetrates my ass. with everyone cheering him on, taking pictures, getting excited. he doesn't fuck me long, but he comes a lot in my ass. everyone wants to see what he's left inside me. I think I remember them saying someone wanted to be next, and that got my cousin a lil possessive so he started pounding my ass again so no one could do it.

i was wasted through it all. but. in the morning, I wake up sore and with faint memories of what they'd done to me all night. i still feel slightly soft and open back there. my cousin was sleeping next to me, and when he wakes up the first thing he does is start to finger my ass again, making fun of how easy I am and how slutty my ass is. this time, I consciously open my legs for him. i let him fuck my ass first thing in the morning, and I end up liking it. it isn't rape anymore. he doesn't come much, but he climbs up my body and asks me to lick it off his softening dick (he just pushed it into my mouth before I could even answer) and that makes him hard so he pounds me into the mattress one last time.

i don't go out neither with him or our friends again. i only ever see him during Xmas anymore, and now fortunately he's married so his focus is entirely somewhere else. but still. that is the guy who raped me in the ass as many times as he could through my adolescence. wish I didn't have to see him anymore.

[fablesam]

picture you ;; sam winchester (part one)

cw; angst, psychic! reader & psychic! sam, not a lot just angsty! ((part two will have much more warnings trust))

do you picture me like i picture you?

am i in the frame from your point of view?;;

the visions started when you were just a kid, only twelve years old. they were small, uncontrollable things at first. you’d get a blinding headache, the occasional nosebleed, a brief dizzy spell, accompanied by a short glimpse of something. a scene of something seemingly unimportant; your friend tripping and hurting their knee, your father leaving the stove on. 

gradually, they got worse, darker. you saw your neighbors dog being run over, saw glimpses of your grandmother being wheeled out of her home by paramedics. they were random, days or even weeks before the actual event took place, but they were enough to set you apart, to isolate you. to make you feel like some kind of freak. 

you saw him for the first time when you were sixteen. among all the dark visions, he was a small source of comfort, a bit of light among the dark images you’d grown so accustomed to. you never saw him in any real, defining way, never enough to discern why you were seeing him in the first place. you kept waiting for something terrible to happen, to see this beautiful stranger dead, or to see him hurt someone else. 

you’d see him most often when he was smiling, at first. these moments always seemed to come when he was sitting passenger in a car with a boy you’d later come to know as his brother, dean. that was when he was happiest, listening to classic rock and laughing over something stupid. you’d learn to miss these moments of rare relaxation, of a happiness only known by a man who thought he had a chance to make it last. 

it was strange, yearning for someone you’d never met. you thought of him when you woke in the morning, and if you were lucky, you saw him before bed each night. the older you got, the more frequent the visions became; the more you learned to lean into it. this newfound ability had severed nearly all your relationships, leaving you almost entirely alone, except for him. 

you avoided friendships, not wanting more people to worry about, more people to imagine what the final vision would look like for. you hated your birthdays, just more reminders of the time you’d spent locked inside your thoughts. you often wondered how it was fair that your own mind was your greatest torment, as well as your only solace. 

the first time you saw anything off with the boy in your visions, he was in an alleyway covered in blood, knife in his hand. you were certain that this was it, the day you’d finally lose him, the day you’d be condemned to complete isolation. this image of him, strange glint in his eye, was so far removed from the peaceful boy you’d grown so used to seeing. you truly thought you’d finally lost it when the blade of his knife sunk into the chest of some creature, some thing that looked human but had these awful, gnashing teeth. 

this particular vision left you a mess of thoughts, a growing paranoia, a need to know more. your nights were spent feverishly researching, renting books from the library on the occult, the supernatural, all sorts of legends. it occupied your mind constantly, the thought that something like this was truly out here. worse than that was the idea that your best friend the boy from your visions was out there, fighting them.

you ached to be able to talk to him, to ask him what was going on, to ask if he felt as insane as you were becoming. this all consuming need led you to finally accept your visions for what they were; some sort of gift. you weren’t sure why, or how, you were chosen to see these things, but you were certain you could use it, to grow into it. you went from researching others to researching yourself, straining your mind to force visions to come into focus, instead of letting them find you. 

the first time you succeeded in this, you’d spent hours in your room, laser focused on manifesting this boy into your mind. finally, dizzy and exhausted as you were, you saw him. clear as day, sitting in that old car once again, arguing with his brother about something you couldn’t make out. you willed yourself to focus harder, as much as you could manage, just to make out his voice. his voice, god, it was everything you’d ever needed to hear. 

“i already told you, sam!” his brother threw one hand up, clearly frustrated, “this psychic shit isn’t normal, alright? i’m just worried about you, i’m supposed to be lookin out for you,”  sam. sam, psychic? your heart raced at that, at the implication of possibilities brought on by that one simple word. maybe he was like you, maybe he could see you, too. maybe you weren’t alone.

“i know you’re worried, but i’m telling you it’s fine, dean!” sam replied, exasperation all over his face, “if i thought i couldn’t handle it, i’d tell you. if it was getting worse, i’d tell you. but it’s not, and i’m fine. end of story,” you could’ve cried at the sound of him, angry as he was, at the relief of being able to hear him at all.

 you thought he looked perfect, in that moment. like everything you’d been looking for, right there in front of you, brought on by your own mind. you tried to ignore the surge of pride, the way you felt like more god than girl. you were just doing what anyone else would, after all. you were just discovering more about yourself. 

over the course of the weeks following, you spent all your free time trying to reach him. it got easier and easier, and soon enough, you were able to slip into a vision as simply as just reading words on a page. you yearned for him to see you, for him to know how hard you’d tried for him. you’d had no way of knowing, of course, just how powerful sam winchester really was.

a year passed, spent honing your abilities, before you felt that you’d developed them enough to look for him. to find him, to figure out what was happening, to finally know why you were seeing him at all. you laid across your bed, visions of him playing in your mind like a movie, when you saw it. the golden ticket to finally finding him. a road sign, just through his passenger window, fifty miles to erie, pennsylvania. fifty miles to you. 

you waited patiently, your mind racing as you tried to decide your next move. you can’t just approach him, you told yourself, can’t just say hi, i’ve been watching you in my mind for years. at a certain point of insanity desperation, you were past the point of caring. so you got dressed in what you hoped was suitable enough to introduce yourself, and followed the blinks of him until you found yourself at a dive bar just ten minutes from your apartment. 

you walked inside with baited breath, your eyes sweeping the crowd of people until they landed on him. it felt like time had stopped, like everyone else disappeared, leaving the two of you alone, finally. you could feel the rapid beat of your heart, the way your hands trembled, the possibilities racing through your mind. all this time, you’d searched. all this time, you’d been driven mad by your hunger. and here he was, in the flesh, just feet away.

you took a step closer, feeling strangely hesitant when this was all you’d ever wanted. like he could feel your presence, he turned to face you, and you could’ve told yourself you imagined it if you hadn’t seen his pupils dilate. “i know you,” was the first thing sam ever said to you, and it felt like the culmination of everything you’d ever imagined in your room alone at night. 

“you know me?” you repeated, looking up at him with shining eyes, “i know you, too, sam,” “we can’t talk here,” and suddenly his hand was on your back, gently leading you out of the bar, your skin burning through your sweater at the contact. you let him guide you, almost dizzy from the nearness of him. his presence was so overwhelming, so comforting yet so jarring. 

he came to a stop off to the side of the building, leaning against the wall, brows knit as he looked you over. “you’re real,” he said after a moment, his voice thicker than you’d heard it in all your visions, “you’re here. how are you here?” “i live here,” you told him, “what do you mean i’m real? you’ve seen me, too?” 

“seen you?” he repeated, a sarcastic laugh leaving his lips, “i’ve been looking for you for months. you were here the whole time?” you nod, watching the way his mouth forms words like it’s the most entrancing thing in the world, “how long have you had them? the visions, i mean. i thought i was insane,” he scratched the back of his neck, pausing like he was hesitant to even admit it. you thought back to his arguments with dean about his abilities, and you wondered for a moment if he felt like he couldn’t tell anyone at all. as if you’d ever make him go through it alone, as if anyone would understand more than you did. 

“they started when i was younger, like twelve or thirteen. it didn’t really get bad until a couple years ago, though. that’s when the headaches and everything started. can you do anything else?” you shook your head, keeping your thoughts of how you’d been trying to manufacture new abilities to yourself, “no, just the visions. i’ve never met anyone else who has them, yknow,” “me neither,” a sad sort of smile formed on his lips, “i’m sam, by the way. but i guess you already knew that,”

you laughed at that, at the ridiculousness of the entire situation, smiling as you told him your name. he repeated it, and you felt a chill down your spine, like every nerve was on end. “i’ve pictured this for so long,” you told him as an easy silence fell between you, “did you think about it, too? god, sam, i need you to know how much i’ve thought of this, of meeting you. i hope i don’t sound crazy, i just feel like if anyone could understand, it would be you, and-” he cut you off, resting a hand on your shoulder, and the small contact was enough to have you trembling. 

“i’ve thought about it too,” his voice was softer than before, like he was confessing some sort of secret, “i’ve looked for you, i’ve- i’ve thought of what i’d say when i found you. you’re so much more beautiful in front of me than in my mind,” he laughed slightly, his cheeks flushed like he’d embarrassed himself, “is that weird to say? this whole thing is just insane, i don’t know how to navigate it,” 

“you’re perfect,” you smiled around the words, and hot tears filled your eyes, tears of relief and shock and this overwhelming, sensationalizing happiness. being with him, finally,  was like coming home for the first time in months to find everything exactly as you’d left it, like praying to god every night just for your wish to finally come true. “i don’t really know what we’re supposed to do now, i really don’t care,” i really can’t bear to be apart from you, you rambled on, “i’d say we should get to know each other, but i guess we already do, don’t we?” 

“wouldn’t hurt to know more,” he gave you a half smile, “i’m staying at a motel up the road, we could go there. if my brother hasn’t already taken that bartender back there,” you laughed at that, scrunching your nose slightly, feeling once again stricken by the easiness of being with him. “my apartments not far, if you wanted to just come there. might be less busy,” you joked, and he nodded, no hesitation in his voice as he said, “yeah, let’s go to your place,”

he was a vision sent from below above, sat on the couch in your apartment, looking around at the decorations and taking in everything about your space. you allowed yourself a brief moment to recede into your mind, picturing a life where you came home to this everyday, a life where you and sam had met under normal circumstances, started a normal life together. you were only slightly ashamed to think of how you preferred it this way, preferred the intimacy the two of you had developed, the affinity you had for the man you’d only known inside your mind. 

it was better this way, you told yourself. no room for error, no room for growing apart, no room for rejection. it was only you and sam, inside this strange, unnatural bubble. you knew him in his private moments, in his desperate arguments for his father to stay, in his childlike peace when he was alone with his brother, no worries at their door. you knew him when he missed his mother, knew the pain he only allowed himself to feel when no one was there to witness. no one but you, of course. always you. 

“do you have family here?” he asked, breaking the silence you’d slipped into. you nodded, sitting on the edge of the couch across from him, “yeah, my dad lives on the edge of the city. no siblings, though,” “and your mom?” he asked, and your chest ached, the way it always did when she was mentioned. the way you knew his did, too. “she died when i was a baby,” you told him regretfully, “same way yours went, actually. house fire,” 

“you knew about my mom?” he looked slightly taken aback, slightly scared, for just a moment, and you nearly panicked at the way his eyes widened. don’t reject this, you pleaded with him in your mind, as if he could feel it. “yeah, i had visions of you and dean talking about it,” you nodded, “i’m sorry if that’s strange for you, i didn’t mean to pry. i couldn’t really control it,” 

it’s a blatant lie, but you know he won’t see through it. he doesn’t need to know the lengths you went through to get to know him better. not yet, anyway. “it’s alright,” he said after a brief moment of anxiety charged silence, “i know you can’t help it. it’s not like either of us can,” either of us. the words replayed in your mind like a sonnet. he knew, he knew it better than anyone, what you went through. sam was just another part of you, the only extension of you you’d ever known. 

you spent the next few hours talking endlessly, from anything to your school experiences to your visions to your favorite foods. it was so easy, so freeing, so right. it was like someone had made him for you, or you for him, you didn’t mind either way which came first. at some point, lost on you, you’d mustered up the courage to bring up the vision you’d had of him and the thing you’d later discovered to be a vampire. he didn’t look even the slightest bit surprised or affronted, just nodded, “dean and i hunt things like that; monsters. we’ve been doing it since we were kids. my mom didn’t die in just a house fire, actually. it was this demon, my dad’s been hunting it ever since. there’s things out there,” he paused, looking down at a scar on his arm that you longed to know the origin of, “horrible, twisted things,” 

“demons,” you tested the word on your tongue, having only read it in books, or on the dim light of your laptop screen, “so my mom, do you think she went the same way?” he looked at you so softly, so sympathetically, like he hadn’t gone through the same exact thing. you were struck by his selflessness, by his ability to want to comfort anyone after all he’d been through. “yeah, i think it is the same thing,” he said softly, “after i started seeing you in my visions, i tried to figure out how we’re connected. the same demon went after us,” “us? but they killed our moms,” your brows knit in confusion, “what would it want with us?” 

“have you ever wondered what gave you these abilities?” he asked, a seriousness on his face you’d only seen during his arguments with his father, “did you not wonder what did this to us?” you had wondered, deeply. there was a time when that was all you thought of, the only thing you genuinely cared about. you’d searched tirelessly, until you became so frustrated and angry that you couldn’t do it anymore. 

“yeah,” you nodded, “i do wonder, i just never got close to figuring it out, i guess. so what are you saying?” he looked at you, hesitating before placing a gentle hand on your knee, like he was bracing you for horrible news. you had a fleeting thought that sam could make a death sentence sound like a lullaby, like anything he said would be so glorified that it couldn’t even touch you enough to hurt you. 

“the demon that killed our moms fed us it’s blood,” he said almost regretfully, like it pained him to say it, “that’s what gave us these abilities. we weren’t born this way, it was- it was forced onto us. we were turned into this,” you felt a rush in your veins, something like waking up, but tamped it down so you could focus on sam, on the way he looked almost sick. “so there’s demon blood in my veins,” you clarified, shocked by the lack of shock you felt, by how much it made sense. you’d always felt like you weren’t completely normal, even before the visions started. you’d felt everything was mildly beneath you, like you were just going through the motions until you achieved something greater. like this life was just a stop for you, as if you had anywhere else to go. 

sam nodded, his thumb brushing against your knee soothingly, and you shivered slightly with the simple touch. “i know this isn’t easy to hear,” he said gently, “you can take all the time you need to process it. just please, don’t feel the need to go it alone, alright? i know it’s daunting, but this doesn’t make you bad. this isn’t condemning you,” you felt like he was speaking to himself more than to you, but you nodded anyway, thanking him quietly. 

this wasn’t condemning you, but the excitement you felt at the prospect of what you were truly capable of surely was. you tried to focus on anything other than the thrumming of your veins, of the way you felt warmed over, the burning familiarity of recognition all through your body. you finally knew what you were. 

“do you need to talk about it?” he asked softly, all concerned eyes and soft expressions as he looked at you, “are you processing it alright?” “i’m fine,” you said a little too quickly, “just thinking it over. i’m fine,” he just nods along, and you try to will yourself to stop wishing he’d ditch the whole we’re so cursed act. you don’t know if he’s just an exceptionally good person, or you’re just too easily bad, but a strange guilt makes a home in your chest regardless, replacing the yearning with something deeper. 

“so if a demon made us,” you hesitated, trying to find the best way to prevent sounding completely power hungry and insane, “then hypothetically, we would be stronger if we got more of its blood, right?” his hand on your knee stilled immediately, a sort of panicked, cold energy emanating from him. “hypothetically, yes,” he said like you pried it from him, like he was unable to lie, “but that would be a total misuse of our abilities, it would be a sin. we’d be abominations,” the words sounded so rehearsed, so preached, you had to resist the urge to ask who did this to him. who took this beautiful, terrifying, powerful boy and made him feel like he was doing something wrong?

 “our only sin would be curiosity,” you told him, and his hand slipped from your knee fully, leaving you with a cold seeped into your bones. “you can’t talk like that,” he said firmly, “do you understand? this isn’t natural, and to indulge in it- it would be wrong,” “wrong?” you repeat incredulously, “something did this to us, sam! they could hardly blame us if we just wanted to know more,” 

he stood from the couch, and a new wave of panic swept over you at the prospect of him leaving, your eyes wide and your mind desperate to make him understand. “you should be focused on how to get rid of this, not to make it worse,” he said, voice tight, “maybe this was a mistake,” 

the words struck you harder than a physical hit, and you nearly recoiled, tears pricking your vision. “a mistake?” you repeated, voice wavering, “sam, how could you say that?” his eyes softened at the hurt in your tone, and you could tell you almost had him, almost made him see. “this-” you gestured between the two of you, “this could never be a mistake. we’re meant to be, sam. this was inevitable, you couldn’t truly think it was a mistake, could you?” 

“i didn’t mean it,” he finally sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, taking his seat back with a silent resignation, “i just can’t let myself think of what could be, it’s not right. i hunt these things, i don’t- i can’t become one,” “sam,” you said quietly, and before you could stop yourself, you were at his side, your hand on his arm, “you’d never be anything other than good, okay? i know you well enough to know that,” 

he looked at you with such tenderness, such pure emotion, in that moment. like you’d taken his world and simplified it, like you’d opened a door he hadn’t known was there. you knew, then, that you had him; that sam winchester would follow you anywhere.

[little-miss-fandom-freak]

Honestly, could i have the reader talking with Eric (Creature Commandos) and like, basically telling him that maybe the reason why he's been chasing after bride for 200 years is because she was 'made' for him and he's too scared that if he let's her go he won't find love anywhere else and that he needs to apply himself elsewhere?

sorry if it would be OOC, but I have had this thought in my head for days now and I need to do something about it

also, thank you for all your content, I really appreciate it

I actually LOVE this idea. Look I am a certified Eric hater but I'm a suckered for a good redemption arc. Little note; for the sake of the plot, the reader has the ability to teleport themself and others.

Also that last little bit really tugged at my heart strings a little bit, I'm so glad you like them 🥹

It happened again.

Eric found Bride and is trying to "rekindle their love"; which for some reason, meant extreme violence and brute force. Luckily, you were there to help Bride in her battle against him.

"Why must you fight this, my bride?!" He yelled with anguish as the two if you tried to make a quick escape. Eric had launched himself twords Bride, and he would've gotten a hold of her if it weren't for you quick movements. Eric had grabbed you instead, and in a split second the two of you were gone.

When the two of you arrived at wherever ir was you sent yourself to, Eric threw you off of him.

"What? Where am I? Where is my-"

"ERIC!" You yelled. The silence afterward was deafening. You sighed as you back hit the wall. Sliding down and holding your head in your hands, you looked up at the man. "Do you ever get tired of all this?"

"Tried of what?!" He stopped his foot. 'He's no better than a toddler.' You thought.

"Of chasing after a woman who clearly has no intrest in you!" You snapped.

He scoffed and crossed his arms. "She is very much interested in me! This little game of cat and mouse is all just foreplay for her."

You cringed at his words. "I feel like if she's done nothing but run from you since the day she was created, maybe its a sign thar she doesn't like you."

"But-but she was made for me!" He groaned. "She made to be my bride!"

"Do you not see how terrible that sounds?!" You asked, raising your voice. "Her entire identity is tied to you. She hasn't had a moment of peace, because of you! You have to see how insane you look; chasing after a woman who - despite being made to be with you - DOESNT WANT TO BE WITH YOU!" You sighed. "Why do you keep chasing her?"

Eric just stared at you in disbelief. "Be-Because.... I...." He didn't really know. He slowly made his way twords you, sliding down to the spot next to you. "If the woman who was made to love me, doesn't even love me... then... then will anyone ever will? Am I that unloveable?"

You felt bad now. You couldn't image how he felt; chasing after the same woman for 200 years, one that he was promised would love him, just for her to hate his guts and fight him on sight. What he's been doing still isn't right, but he wasn't given a chance to grow.

Sighing, you placed your hand on his knee. "There's a common phrase for times like this. 'How can you learn to love another, if you can't love yourself'. Maybe that's what you need, a chance to focus on yourself before you find a partner."

"But I've dedicated my entire life to being with her... how am I supposed to just forget about her?"

"You don't have to forget about her, maybe just try redirecting your attention." You thought for a moment. "First, I think you need a friend."

"Ah yes, like Richard Flag!" He said cheerfully.

"Um, maybe not him." You said carefully.

Eric frowned, looking back at his boots in thought. "What about you?"

"Me?" You were taken back by his statement. "Why me?"

"Well, based on the movies and television shows I have seen over the years; a friend is someone who helps you with your woman troubles, and makes you feel better about yourself after a breakup. I have technically broken up with my Bride, and you were here helping me. Is that not what a friends is?"

You weren't quiet sure, in all honesty you only broight him here to give Brude a chancr to get away. But the more you thought about it, the less it seemed like a bad idea. "Okay, sure. I'll be your friend."

A wide smile grew on his face. "Oh how wonderful! We will be like Joey and Pheobe from the television show Friends! Have you see it?"

"I have." You said with a little chuckle. You watched as Eric began to describe his favorite moment between the two characters, but you couldn't help but internally hope that your words actually stuck with him. To you, Eric wasn't a horrible man. He was simply a child trapped in a man's body, a child who wasn't given a chance to learn or grow.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I hope you enjoyed this and if you have anything you would like me to personally respond to, message me or put it in my ask box because as of right now, Tumblr won't let me respond to comments :)

[yanderes-galore]

Could I Request a yandere arkhamverse harley quinn concept? -🎂

Sure! Writing Harley Quinn could be fun :) This felt a bit everywhere but most of my fics are me just letting my thoughts flow without planning so I hope you enjoy ^^

Yandere! Arkham! Harley Quinn Concept

(Primarily Arkham Knight)

Pairing: Platonic -> Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Violence, Manipulation, Anger issues, Grief, Kidnapping, Drugging/Gassing, Breaking and entering, Forced companionship, Delusional behavior, Clingy behavior.

Harley could work as a romantic or platonic.

Like... as a platonic she seems like she'd be really bubbly and act like a friend.

A psychotic friend but... somewhat of a friend.

As a romantic she'd be about as obsessive with you as she would be with Joker.

One thing that Arkham/Injustice Harley share with each other is their independence from Joker.

It's just that they deal with it differently.

Injustice Harley becomes a hero after the death of Joker.

While Arkham Harley commits to crime in the name of Joker.

This version of Harley actually gets more insane at the passing of Joker instead of better.

Harley would be a very dangerous yandere in general, but this universe may just make her worse.

Her obsession with someone new most likely starts sometime around Arkham Knight if she sees you in a romantic sense.

If she sees you in a platonic sense I imagine it could be whenever but for now I'll focus on Arkham Knight.

Harley is a yandere who feels she needs to be dependent on her darling.

If she sees you as a friend/ally then she sticks around you as she feels you'll ease her through her grief.

Which is strange as if anyone else tries to ease her grief she snaps at them.

Here's some backstory between you, up until Arkham Knight.

The friend route would make more sense if you "knew" her when Joker was alive.

Harley no doubt first had platonic feelings towards you, that's how her yandere traits would start due to her being with Joker.

She stalks you for a bit then breaks into your home.

She acts like you two are friends and is really bubbly and overly excited towards you.

While you barely know anything about the crazed woman who keeps breaking into your home, she feels she knows everything about you from just watching you.

No doubt spills about you towards the Joker.

She tells him she's found a new friend and that they simply must be involved with their plans.

Your "friendship" with Harley is very one-sided.

She somehow manages to find you and even drags you with her places.

At least once you've been a hostage for one of her and Joker's plans.

The entire time she's acting like it's a fun thing for you two to do.

"Mr. J said I could bring you to meet him~ I bet we'll have so much fun!"

You did not.

Despite your fear and forced compliance, she trusts you and soon you may even get used to being a target of her strange obsession.

Hell, maybe soon you convince her you'll be her "friend" if she just visits and doesn't pull you into any of Joker's plans.

She agrees... and never leaves you alone.

You and Joker are the ones she loves the most.

So when she loses Joker, her beloved, she only has one other person to cling to.

While you contact the police and Batman of Harley's obsession towards you, Harley realizes she needs the comfort of her beloved friend.

It's at this point Harley can stay a platonic yandere or split into a romantic yandere.

Harley would hunt you down, even if you moved.

When she does? She'll send her goons to pick you up and drag her to her little base she's made for herself.

It disappoints her that you may no longer be in your old home, but she'll find you.

You don't need to hide from her!

The moment your conscious you look so confused.

Only to see Harley staring with a grin.

"Hey there! Been awhile, hasn't it? Safe to say I think I've missed you...."

Harley would use her darling as a coping mechanism.

Like an old friend, one you never wanted, she sobs and rants about the loss of Joker.

The whole time you're tied to a chair and hoping Batman comes fast enough.

Then over time she'd shift the topic of her rants to you.

She rambles to you about how you've always been there and how much fun you two have had in the past.

Then maybe the conversation dips into romantic territory... her mentioning how she feels things for you without even meaning to say it.

The idea of her having romantic feelings towards you strikes fear in your gut.

Unfortunately, it's not your say if she has romantic intentions with you or not.

If Harley continues to just see you as a friend then she plans on making you her second in command.

Even if she liked you as a crush she'd take a similar route, although it changes over time.

She's physically clingy and often wants her darling beside her.

Harley would also find some sort of "fun" nickname to call you all the time, smiling the whole time.

If Harley held romantic feelings towards you... imagine if she tried to make you her new "Joker" in this universe?

She may try to get her hands on Joker blood, gas, or even some chemicals to force you into her new love.

Oh, Puddin'... you may be unwilling now, but she'll show you that you can be wonderful for each other.

Harley in this universe truly can't forget about her Joker.

She also adores you.

Why should she have to choose between the two of you?

Why doesn't she just have both?

Harley in this universe definitely seems like she'd brainwash and drug you into the next Joker.

The moment she sees traits of him in you melded with your normal personality, she's in love.

Ohhh, now she has you both!

She's never been happier!

While you're panicking as your personality feels split due to Joker... Harley is holding you and kissing you with happy giggles.

"Oh you're everything and everyone I love! Now I have you both once again... we... I can be happy again!"

By this point something is telling you to reciprocate the affection but you struggle with what to do.

Harley becomes fully dependent on you after this, simply happy she has her two loves in one.

Maybe you'll even let the whole Joker personality take over?

Then you'll be a ruler of crime.

This isn't a life you wanted.

But as the Joker's presence within you grows... you begin to enjoy it.

Then maybe you'll begin to reciprocate Harley's feelings.

Then you'll be everything she's ever wanted.

"I love you, Puddin'...!"

[turtlecleric]

Trapper!Raph >:)

CWs: violence, blood, bear trap injury, talk of death, including a known cycle of repeated deaths over time, gruesome, gory, and creepy things, feelings/thoughts of hopelessness and being resigned to death/pain, uhhhhhhhh horror vibes?? Based on the Trapper character and entire premise of Dead by Daylight

-

The mists are thick tonight. Thicker than usual. You can barely see fifteen feet ahead of you, and the darkness beyond seems almost tangible. Like some great cage in all directions. Even if you were to scale the impossibly high walls surrounding the estate, you feel like you would still slam into solid black if you ran far enough. Sometimes it feels as if the darkness itself is what's keeping you here, in this insane loop of death and suffering and fear. Maybe the darkness is just as alive as you are. A sentient, ancient being that feeds off of your anguish and terror.

A silly thought, maybe. But part of you believes it's the truth. 

It's so quiet here. Unnaturally so. Your shallow breaths and light footfalls feel like blaring alarms in the eerie silence. You know you need to watch where you step - always, always watch where you step - but you can't help glancing around every few seconds at the trees surrounding you. You can't shake the feeling that he's nearby, watching. Like he can see through this oppressive fog somehow and he's just waiting for you to lower your guard before he makes his move. 

Focus. Listen. 

You hear a generator. Somewhere to your right, you think, and it sounds like it's well on its way to being finished. So close to being done, actually, that you hesitate. You can't hear anyone working on it right now. Surely there's a reason that whoever started it didn't finish if it's that close. Maybe he found them and he's chasing them away. 

Or maybe it's a trap. That's his whole thing, after all. Traps. 

…But the generator sounds so close to being done. And you only need two more to escape this wretched place - at least until the darkness drags you back in.

Breathe. Focus. Keep going. 

You didn't think you could get more tense than you already are, but apparently you can. The fear is a constant, choking thing, but it's especially strong now that the trees are starting to thin. So strong that you're sick from it, that you can barely breathe through it, but you keep walking. Carefully stepping among the gnarled tree roots, one eye on the ground and the other on your surroundings. It's just trees and mist and darkness in every direction. Everything looks the same, like you're walking in circles, but the sound of the generator is getting louder, so you know you're going in the right direction. 

A shout in the distance has you gasping and stumbling over your own feet. It's not close, but it's not far enough away for you to feel safe, either. You push away the tightness in your lungs and keep walking, even as a longer scream tears through the air. 

He's caught the last of the others, then.

You consider going to save the person. No doubt they're being carried to a hook. You're not sure why, but usually that's what happens when you're caught. You've been thrown onto one plenty of times before. The pain is indescribable - having a rusted, metal hook shoved through your shoulder, your own weight dragging you down as you hang there and pray to a god you no longer believe in that one of the others will be brave enough to pull you off before you're consumed by those terrifying tendrils that come from the sky. 

Your chest aches just thinking about it. 

A third scream sounds, and you get that distinct feeling you always get when someone is hooked that confirms your theory. Maybe… maybe you should-

There. The generator. You were right; it's almost finished. The pistons are moving quickly, the rickety thing so loud that it sounds cacophonous in your ears. Shouldn't take more than a minute to get it done, and then you only need one more to power the exit doors before you're free.

You'll finish the generator. Then you'll go save that person. Yes, that's what you'll do. 

You glance behind you, looking for a hint of that terrifying mask he wears somewhere among the trees. You're being paranoid - that scream was too far away for him to suddenly be close enough that you could see him - but you keep scanning the treeline anyway. You notice a hook nearby and feel a phantom pain in your shoulder. 

Come on, focus. Keep walking. You're almost to the gen-

Something snaps. Sharp, intense pain flares in your lower calf, and you try not to make a sound, you try, but a jagged shriek rips out of your throat anyway. You fall to your hands and knees, your heart in your throat. Thoughts splintering, your fingers reach toward the source of the pain and find metal. 

You've stepped in a bear trap.

Stupid. Stupid. Always watch where you're stepping when it's him, you know that, that's the number one rule and you've broken it. Stupid from fear, getting ahead of yourself, you've stepped right into one of his traps - and he definitely heard you. He always does.

You try to shift your weight so that you can get a good grip on the top of the trap, but even moving an inch has you crying out and freezing in place. For a long moment you can only shake and whimper and try to breathe. Every twitch sends shooting pains through your leg, waves of nausea and dizziness making it hard to focus on anything aside from the pain. 

Still, you've got to at least try to get free. He's almost certainly on his way. You need to get free and run - but fuck, fuck, you can't even see straight. You don't think you'll ever get used to how much it fucking hurts. The surreal, lightheaded feeling. The way your very bones seem to tremble. It hurts. It hurts. 

It'll hurt no matter what, you tell yourself. And it'll hurt more if he gets his hands on you. So you shift, inch by inch, and you grip the top of the trap, and you try to focus past the sparks dancing in your vision. 

The teeth of the trap have embedded themselves deep into the flesh on each side of your lower calf. Blood gushes between the teeth, soaking the fabric of your torn pants and making both the metal and your fingers slippery. 

Fuck.

You take a shuddering breath and try to adjust your grip. You just have to pry the trap open. You've done it before, and you can do it again. It's simple. Simple, but not easy. 

You can do this. Focus. Deep breath. Pull.

The teeth start to pull away, and more blood gushes out. Your ears ring, an intense dizziness making your vision blur even more, your arms shaking from the effort, and - you lose your grip. The teeth hadn't even fully retracted from your skin, but you can't help letting out a choking sob as the trap snaps back into place. Fuck, it hurts. Your chest heaves, your whole body trembling as you moan pitifully through the pain. 

You can't do it. You can't get out. Too weak, too tired, too stupid. You're trapped, you're trapped, you're trapped-

And then. You feel it. That unnatural, inexplicable something that tells you he's close. A sound, a feeling, like your own thundering heartbeat, but so much more. You look around, frantically searching for that telltale red light that accompanies him everywhere, wiping desperately at the tears blurring your vision, probably smearing blood across your face in the process. It doesn't help you see any better - only makes the smell of copper that much stronger in your nose. Movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention, and helpless dread settles in your stomach like a stone. 

It's him. The Trapper.

You take in the hulking figure. The slow, lumbering gait. Just his silhouette is enough to make you freeze like- well. Like prey, caught in a trap. Normally you'd be scrambling to pry the trap off, desperately trying to get away, but… not this time. Maybe it's the blood loss. Or maybe you're just tired of fighting a pointless battle in an endless war that's impossible to win. Either way, instead of trying to free yourself, you watch him stalk closer in a daze.

The monsters in this place are all unique. Some look just like humans, while others are so horrific it makes you nauseous just thinking about them. The Trapper, though… he's something in between. An enormous humanoid… turtle? You think so, yeah. With spikes jutting out along his arms, his shell, his long, thick tail. He wears a filthy pair of overalls, frayed at the edges and covered in dirt and viscera. His spikes have poked through them in several places, as well. His mask, a horrific, grimy thing that was once white, covers all of his face except for the eye holes and the opening over his mouth that's twisted into the shape of a grotesque smile. The cleaver he carries is almost the size of your entire torso, and you can see blood still dripping sluggishly from the blade. 

He's getting closer. Slow and steady, as always. You've never seen him run - and isn't that strange? That you can sprint for half an hour without stopping, and somehow he manages to keep up with you the entire time? That's odd. Then again, everything about this hell is odd. You can't remember the last time you ate or drank anything, yet you feel no hunger or thirst. You've died countless times, yet here you are. 

You're not sure why these are the thoughts fumbling around in your head. You're not sure why you're still just watching him advance. Is this what it feels like? To finally give up? 

The Trapper is almost upon you. Your heart throws itself wildly against your ribcage, begging you to run. Silly thing. Doesn't it know that there's no point? You'll die, and then you'll be back, and you'll die again. What's the point in even trying? This is what your life, if you can even call it that, is going to be like for eternity. Pain and fear and death. Over and over and over. 

Still, it screams. Run. Run away.

You keep watching him. The way the mist swirls around him is almost pretty, especially with the red glow that emanates from him, staining the ground in front of him a deep crimson. When he gets close enough for that red light to wash over you, you wonder if your heart might actually leap from your chest and run away without you since you refuse to listen. 

He's so close you can feel the heat radiating off of his body. So close that you have to angle your head back to keep your eyes on his mask. His arm raises, and this is the part where you should look away. Or shield yourself, or beg for mercy, or- something. But nothing has ever made a difference in the past. Why bother? He'll strike you down and toss you over his shoulder and carry you to that hook you saw nearby. That's just the way it is, now that you're caught, and anything you do now will just be delaying the inevitable. 

So you watch. And you wait for the strike. 

…The strike doesn't come. 

He's just… standing there. Looming over you. His hand still holding that great cleaver in the air. Now that you're paying attention, you can hear his heavy breaths - unsteady, with the hint of a growl in each one - starting to come a little faster. 

That's… new.

You stare up at him. He stares down at you. After what feels like an eternity, the cleaver lowers, and he- he drops it.

What?

Never. Never. Not once in the entire time you've been trapped in this hell has a monster dropped their weapon. Even when stunned, or blinded, or while watching the last survivor sprint through the exit doors - they've always kept a firm grip on their weapon. You wouldn't have been surprised if the weapons were somehow bound to their hands, in fact. 

And yet. 

He moves, slow and steady, to settle on one knee. Even kneeling, he towers over you, the red light that seemingly comes from nowhere making you squint until your eyes adjust. You're still panting, little whimpers slipping out against your will. And he's just staring. 

What is he doing?

You glance from his mask to his hands. He's released his cleaver, sure, but those hands could easily crush your skull like a ripe melon. Maybe that's what he wants. Maybe he's tired of striking people down in the same way every time, maybe he wants some variety. 

No. You focus on his eyes. You've never been this close for this long, never been able to see what they actually look like beneath that mask. They're fully white - no pupils or anything - but you see… confusion there. Something tentative and unsure. Something you've never seen in a monster before. 

His hand reaches toward you, and a spike of panic has your next breath stuttering in your lungs. You wait for a blow, a bruising grip around your throat - but it doesn't come. His hand has three fingers, you realize. Not as though two are missing, no, but more like that's just how he was born. 

You're not sure why that's what you're focused on at a time like this. 

Two of his fingers brush over your cheek. His skin - scales? - are rough, but it doesn't hurt. He's… gentle. It's almost a caress, the way his fingers trail along your jaw. 

What is happening?

You focus on his eyes once more. The confusion you see in them is more intense now, and you can see the hints of his brow furrowing beneath the mask. 

Earlier you'd been stupid from fear. Now you must be stupid from blood loss, or just plain stupid, because in the next second you open your mouth to whisper. 

“Trapper?”

He inhales sharply. Blinks. And suddenly the red light is gone. Suddenly you see his pupils, suddenly that overwhelming something you always feel when a monster is near dissipates. His breaths come even faster, a hysterical undertone making you worry for him. 

This creature has killed you before. Why are you worried about him?

He shakes his head, a jerky, panicked motion, and pulls his hand away from your cheek. You could swear his eyes look almost - afraid. Darting between your bloodied face and your leg in the trap and the foggy woods that surround you both. His eyes settle on yours again, and you swear - you swear - that you start to see his eyes shine with tears. 

You don't have time to think too much about that before his hands shift to grip the bear trap around your leg and snap it open like it's nothing. Once again, you can't help but let out a pained shout between clenched teeth, the dizziness and ringing in your ears coming back in full force as more blood flows sluggishly from the puncture wounds. He doesn't even need to throw you on a hook, you think deliriously. He could just leave you here and wait for the darkness to take you, as long as no other survivors come along and help. But that's not an option, since the last survivor is on a hook right now. Even if they were free, there's not much time left, anyway, since you can already feel yourself starting to-

-

Motion. Dull, rhythmic thuds. Harsh panting, tinged with something like panic. Someone is carrying you, each step jostling your leg and turning your thoughts to static. It takes a few minutes before you remember. Before you realize. 

You passed out. That's what happened. Opening your eyes presents you with the blurry sight of the Trapper's mask above you and a starless sky beyond. 

Oh. He's carrying you. To a hook? But there was one right by where you were, why would he have to run to- 

He's running. He's running. 

You try to say something, but it just comes out a garbled mess. Even you aren't sure what you were trying to say. He doesn't respond, but he does glance down at you. His eyes are wild, but not in a way you'd ever expect. There isn't fury or bloodlust there. Instead, you see fear. Desperation. Guilt. Things you hadn't thought the monsters in here were even capable of feeling. You also realize that he's carrying you bridal style, cradling you close to his chest. Usually he just tosses people over his shoulder when he carries them to a hook. 

So many things that don't add up here, so many things out of the ordinary. What happened? What changed?

Where is he taking you?

You turn your head, looking in the direction that he's running. Your vision is still blurry, and you can't make out anything but vague shapes through the mist and darkness. Your head rolls back, and you catch the unmistakable sight of those inky black tendrils reaching down from the sky in the distance, twisting and curling until they breach the top of the treeline.

The last survivor. You'd wanted to save them, but if those things are descending for them it's too late. Not that you're in any state to lift someone off a hook anyway.

You're sorry. Fuck, you're so sorry.

You blink and suddenly the Trapper isn't running anymore. Instead he's shifting you in his arms. That was odd. Did you pass out again for a few seconds? You can't really tell, but you're distracted by the flare of pain in your leg that the movement causes. 

Focus on something else. 

Again you twist to look forward. You're shocked to see that he's brought you to the exit doors, and he's pressing a hand to the switch. You're not sure what he's doing, exactly - it won't activate unless all the generators are up and running. 

Wait. Why did he bring you to the exit doors?

You can't focus. Can't organize your thoughts. Can't even lift your head for more than a few seconds at a time. Surely you're close to bleeding out at this point. Maybe all of this has been some strange hallucination that your brain cooked up while you lie dying on the ground, still stuck in that bear trap. Sometimes the monsters do that - leave you there to bleed out. Sometimes they just stand there and watch you as the light leaves your eyes, guarding the area so that no others can help you. 

A faint red glow distracts you from your thoughts. Your eyes focus back on the Trapper's hand against the switch, and you're shocked to see his hand glow red. It's not the same red that usually accompanies him, though. This feels… different. Just as strong, but more… pure. 

A blaring horn cuts through the air as the exit doors grind open. He shifts you in his arms once again and starts to carry you through the doors. You can see the dark, empty field beyond. Your path to freedom and safety, temporary as it is, sends a rush of excitement through you. Incredulous, you stare up at the Trapper as he kneels and carefully lowers you to the ground inches away from the edge of the little area that separates the walled estate in one direction and the open field in the other. Behind him, you can see the grounds of the estate starting to shake. Angry red lines crack the earth, and little tendrils of darkness start to curl up from the shadows. 

The Trapper is watching you. Holding you upright with a hand supporting your back. You try to blink away the blurriness, but you can't. Can't focus. Can't think. But you know freedom is within reach. You only need to crawl across the threshold and you'll be fine. It doesn't make sense, but as long as you cross the threshold you always make it back to the campfire. Even if you're on the verge of death, you make it back. 

And he's brought you right to the edge. As far as he can go. No monster has ever been able to cross the threshold. 

You must have finally lost your mind. He isn't holding you here, isn't trying to stop you from leaving, and yet you haven't moved. Not only is he still very capable of killing you, even without the cleaver he seems to have left behind, but you're also on a timer. Once the exit doors are open, there's only so much time before the darkness swallows anyone who hasn't escaped. It's a quick death, sure, but incredibly unpleasant. Just the memory of what it sounds like for your bones to crack and crunch inside of you sends a shiver up your spine.

But… this is all so strange. You're half convinced that you're dreaming. A monster showing any sort of mercy is unheard of, much less a monster helping you escape. Could this be another trap, somehow?

It's at that moment that you hear him speak for the very first time. His voice is a rumbling, scratchy thing that sounds like it hasn't been used in ages. Cracking at the edges and colored with something timid and pleading.

“Please,” he whispers. “Go.”

There are things you want to ask. Things you want to say. You didn't even know he was capable of speech until now. But you're running out of time. Every second that you delay is another second closer to death. Dying is never easy, never pleasant, but you seriously consider waiting it out just to get more time to experience whatever the fuck is happening right now. You have no clue how long you've been stuck in this hell, but it's been long enough that you've started to forget things. Like your mother's maiden name. Your address. What color your best friend's eyes were. And in all the time you've spent here, nothing like this has ever happened. You don't know if it ever will again. 

He nudges your thigh with his free hand. Gentle but insistent. You have to blink a few times to focus on his face - mask. Mask, it's a mask. You wonder what he looks like underneath it. 

It isn't until his hand closes around your wrist that you realize you had started reaching toward him. “Mask,” you mumble, hearing the slurring in your own voice. You think you might be dangerously close to passing out again. Somehow that fact doesn't bother you as much as it should. 

“It doesn't come off.” He clears his throat, releasing your wrist. “I've tried.”

That must be uncomfortable. Stifling, even. Does that mean he doesn't want to wear it? Who put it on him, then? And why?

His voice interrupts your thoughts again, but you don't quite catch what he says. Something about sorrow and meaning… or, no, that's not exactly what it was. You're drifting a bit, you realize. Having trouble keeping your eyes open. You feel him nudge you again, a little harder this time, and manage to pry your eyes open long enough to catch his gaze. You see tears there. 

Crying. He's still crying. 

Why do you care? 

You glance behind him. The grounds of the estate are almost unrecognizable from how warped they've become. You need to go. But for the first time, you're wondering what it's like for him. Does he wake up at a campfire once the trial is over, too? Is he stuck on the estate until the darkness whisks him off to another location with new victims? Does he even want to kill people? And how did he even end up here in the first place? You'd always thought the monsters were sort of - part of it all. Just like the dilapidated buildings and the black sky, something that was created just for the purpose of torturing you and the others you've seen between the short reprieves offered by the campfire. 

Was he stolen away from his life just like you were? Is he just as trapped as you?

Time is almost up. If you delay any longer it'll be over, and you can't stomach dying when escape is right here at your fingertips. So you lean, falling onto your forearms, and start to drag yourself over the threshold. 

Just before you're clear, you glance back. He's still there. Watching. Kneeling. You can't be sure, but you think he's… trembling. 

What must it be like? Watching you crawl away while he's stuck behind?

You swallow thickly, hesitating. You can't stay, and you can't take him with you, but you also can't leave without saying something. “Thank you, Trapper.”

The mask obscures his expression, but you see his hands tighten into fists. “Raphael,” he says weakly. Something in his inflection makes you want to turn back and sit with him until the darkness takes you. But you don't. “My name is Raphael.”

“...Thank you, Raphael.”

And you crawl away.

-

tag list: @yorshie @luckycharms1701 @thejudiciousneurotic @khayalli @thelaundrybitch @mxalmighty @justalotoffanfiction @shakeyourtrees

[year2000electronics]

do you have any tips or suggestions for someone wanting to make their own oc story? your ocs and their stories are so insanely cool but i have no idea where i’d even begin to make one!

also happy y2kvr-versary ! late i know but it was still the ask blog that caused me to follow you and i’ve just stuck around for your other content after. :)

HMMMM lemme just spill a bunch of my thoughts all at once, this is just some stuff i personally like doing with my own oc stories! by no means is this a comprehensive list and i am not a professional!

1. accept the fact that you’re probably going to need minor/side characters. of course that isn’t always the case, there are story types that only focus on a handful of characters, but let’s use the reckoning as an example: even though i love all the characters there dearly, it’s about sinclair and his donning and subsequent subverting of the “mythological hero” mantle by taking on the vices’ challenge. montez and duncan, the other two archangels, are there to serve as a secondary antagonist in holy orders and bring some more life to the story’s world respectively, and That’s Okay. recognizing that not all your characters are gonna be the most specialest boys is a great place to start with structuring an oc story imo!

2. KEEP AT IT. the reckoning as it exists now didn’t truly come together until 2020, which is when the ask blog was made. cardine (the city the vices reside in) is such a key, important concept that drives the story along and the reckoning wouldn’t be nearly as good without it, and that only got introduced in one of the final drafts pre-ask blog!! reworks, practice with laying out the events, thinking and re-thinking of stuff and spending years with it is really good. it’s healthy. i mean a lot of great films and tv get ‘saved’ at the last minute from being terrible by one terrible concept being scrapped so revising and not being afraid to change things is your best friend

3. learn some rules. i’m of the firm belief that storytelling should be an all-access hobby for everyone, so you don’t have to read all of save the cat and then write out a full script or anything, but like. turn on a movie you like, or read a book you love. think about what they’re doing to convey primary themes to you. pick out the themes, actually, that’s good too. being able to pick up on themes that aren’t just being stated to you as if it’s dialogue from sonic heroes is a great teacher on how to subtly weave those themes into your story

4. don’t be afraid to break those rules! a lot of that stuff is great to pick up but at the same time they’re YOUR characters, and if you find yourself getting bored by playing too “by the book”, nobody said you can’t change how things work. for example, a lot of my oc stories have “villain protagonists” because i just really connect with the way ‘villains’ present themselves in media. if you find yourself fixating on a side character and brushing your main character aside? screw it! you can just make the story about them! what if a 7/11 clerk went on an adventure instead of the main guy!!

5. INSPIRATION IS YOUR FRIEND. WEAR IT ON YOUR SLEEVE. i don’t mean you have to publicly disclose every single thing you were inspired by, but the amazing digital circus is REALLY big right now, and gooseworx has told people IHNMAIMS and the raggedy ann movie were big inspos and she clearly loves those things because they uplift the work higher! (plus it gave people a new appreciation for those things) and, imo, understanding what inspires you and celebrating it is a lot better of a mindset than going into something out of sheer spite (like you’ll see a lot of people online making very inflammatory “i alone could fix a piece of media that had to go through an entire writer’s room as well as corporate mandates, gosh why doesn’t everyone just Make Things Good?” type posts on social media, and i find myself straying more and more away from that). best example i can think of are all those very ill-fated “original alien stories” that su criticals made back in the day that were even more confusing than the gems and everyone had to pretend that “of course it makes more sense for the aliens to be flowers, gosh, why didn’t rebecca sugar think of this? we’re so smart”. my point is hate and shame can fizzle out quickly but creativity is forever

6. and of course, always make sure you’re actually having a good experience with the process. fun, catharsis, importance, etc. if it sucks, you can literally hit the bricks. i say that with experience because before my original superhero story existed (iris of the storm), there was another (problem students). it was dormant as a story for a really long time because i had accidentally made a superhero story without any of the superhero tropes i loved, but i couldn’t just… delete it all! OH WAIT. YES I COULD. i started it all over and got rid of ocs that i was glad i made but don’t need anymore, and i’ve never been happier cos iris of the storm is actually fun for me.

BUT YEAH THATS IT. thumbs up

[nomorefstogive]

Path To Nowhere Headcanons: Langley

Good Evening ladies, gentlemen, and all things that lie between, and welcome to this newest display of our wanton insanity. While we work on updating our Genshin Impact story, A Guide To Mending Broken Wings, on Ao3, we have decided to have a bit of fun with something that is somewhat novel to us.

That being our attempts at headcanons, this one focusing on the SFW ones as we plan to make a second one to focus solely on the NSFW ones, without managing to make an entire damn fic out of each entry lol. In particular, we will be starting with our headcanons for the sinners of PTN, with all of that said, let us begin!

Ah! We will also be using a Female Chief when we mention the Chief in this fic, we hope this does not bother anyone, but yuri is a passion of ours and fem chief was practically born for being paired with all of the lovely and dangerous ladies of PTN. 

First up, we have the Silver Spider of Dis herself, head of the 9th Agency and wielder of a gun to make Alucard from Hellsing ultimate proud-

Langley: 

SFW Headcanons

1. Like Zealous-Box on Reddit, I believe she is actually a rather nice boss to work under, although I also see her having the mentality of 'These are my agents to bully and not yours' and as such will not tolerate any outside factors weighing down on them. Debt? She'll subtly pay off the one they owe. An issue with their kids' schooling? Welp, that school is under investigation now. And so on.

2. She has trust issues as a result of having been betrayed many times in the past. It's the reason she is so quick to put a 'Mark' on someone, so if they betray her she can put them down as soon as possible, however, it can also serve as a sign of trust to those who have proven themselves to her.

A way of saying 'I always have your back, so long as you don't double cross me,' as she could use the 'Mark' to find them if need be. Of the few people she trusts, the Chief is the newest to a very small circle and as such is under her watch.

3. The Chief is her 'Little Rookie,' and no one else's. She is their superior and she will not tolerate anyone else trying to poach someone who is hers from her.

If someone tries to give the Chief an order, she will tell the chief to ignore it, before she has a nice 'Talk' with the person who tried to order her rookie. Said talk may involve her cane and their skull becoming intimately familiar with one another.

4. She hates the Old Men who run Dis. She finds them to be both incompetent and Corrupt to the point she has many times fantasized about removing them and playing kingmaker to find suitable replacements for them, but the threat of Pharma and others keeps her from going through with said dreams, afterall it is better the Devil you know then the unknown ones. She is loyal to the city, not the suit-clad rats that run it.

5. She sleeps with her pistol under her pillow. She likewise has one on her nightstand, another strapped under the bed, and many more scattered all across her home. She even has her room at Minos, it is less a cell and more a room because the Chief has accepted they are largely running more of a rehabilitation center/halfway home/apartment complex at this point, outfitted with several guns of varying caliber hidden across it.

6. She treats her stay at Minos like a vacation from her superiors, and can often be found napping with her hat pulled down over her face and her cane over her lap, Lady Maria style, or doing any other number of things to help try and relax from all the stupidity she deals with daily.

7. She encountered Suspect R once, the event left her absolutely terrified of the woman to the point of suffering nightmares of the woman and her power for several months afterward, this being what led to her meeting Chameleon, who came to be her counselor.

To this day she is terrified of meeting the woman again, and fears that should that day come she may not be able to muster the courage to actually face her. What makes it all the more traumatic to her, is that R did not even try to fight her, she simply overwhelmed her by virtue of her sheer presence alone, and this has led to Langley fearing the idea of just what the woman is capable of if she actually tries to fight.

8. Like KhandiMahn on Reddit, I think that she does collect cute things, although I personally feel she collects things such as children story books and fairy tales and has a single stuffed animal that has been with her since childhood, where it was her only real friend, that she has kept well maintained all these years.

She cannot sleep well without her stuffed animal and would more than likely have a panic attack should it be destroyed. The Chief earns brownie points with her when they find it laying around in the washroom and patch it up before she finds them fixing it in their office, Langley almost begging them to give it back to her with the chief doing so and agreeing to not tell anyone else while Langley hold her old friend to her chest.

Needless to say, Langley threatens them to keep quiet despite what they have said and heads off to get some actual sleep, the chief smiling at their superiors' antics as she leaves.

9. She is not a morning person, at all. Her subordinates consider the idea of waking her up early to be the equivalent of walking into the Rust without a weapon and with a neon sign strapped to your chest saying 'Eat Me'. She is in fact barely coherent or aware until she has coffee in her, and is in particular quite fond of Summer's coffee, the one that keeps the Chief up for a whole day in the supervision incident, though it barely affects her.

10. She suffered a leg injury that makes her occasionally have issues with her balance while walking, hence her cane. She added all of the gizmos and gadgets it contains later on, and has recently had Summer update some of them. Among them being a taser-like function that packs as much punch as a cattle prod, an option to remove the handle, which is attached to a small pistol, and a needle filled with adrenaline with a separate one being filled with sedative.

11. She cannot stand spicy food and has a not so secret sweet tooth. In particular, she is quite fond of strawberry or blueberry flavored ice cream but also enjoys coffee flavored versions of the frozen treat as well. She has a separate freezer in her home that is filled with nothing but ice cream. Her subordinates know about it but are wise enough to not say anything because she frankly deserves it given all she has to deal with. 

12. She frequently has migraines and as such carries around a pair of ear plugs, a pair of sunglasses, and a bottle of aspirin, as strong as she can obtain it without going on the blackmarket, and has a special room in her home and cell that is outfitted with complete sound proofing and no windows. 

Her subordinates have come to recognize the signs of one beginning to form, and will work to get her out of whatever situation she is in and either back to her home or to somewhere she can ride out the oncoming pain till it passes. 

The Chief encounters her when one is forming and takes her to their office to rise out the pain with them pulling down blackout curtains and giving her a pillow to rest her head on as they go to leave, only for Langley to stop them and ask them to stay with her during it and until it passes. 

13. She is somewhat touch starved, but she has had bad experiences with physical contact from her childhood and from her struggles throughout her life, and as such is somewhat adverse to it. 

That said, once she feels she can trust someone implicitly, of which there are few, she will typically be the one to initiate contact, typically through light brushes against their shoulders or by threading their fingers together.

If she ever reaches the point of allowing for herself to embrace someone, or allow for them to embrace her, then it becomes readily apparent that she is quite clingy and will allow for just how touch starved she is to become apparent as she tries to maintain contact for as long as possible or initiate it whenever it is possible for her to do so.

It will be worse still if she has nothing to do, and she knows the one she is holding has nothing to do, in which case they had best be prepared for a lengthy stay.

14. She has something of a fascination with spiders, often pausing to admire their webs whenevers she gets the chance, or allowing them to scurry across her hand or nest in the corners of her home, she also has a terrarium filled with various breeds from harmless if annoying Jumping Spiders, to lethal Brown Recluse and Black Widow spiders. 

Curiously, even the most hostile breeds of arachnids seem to be somewhat docile in her presence and also seem to display something akin to obedience to the Silver Spider of Dis, perhaps owing to an unknown attribute of her Sinner Power or for other unknown reason. 

She is particularly proud of having managed to get her hands on, and subsequently raise, a Female Goliath Bird Eater that she has named Spook, it is unknown if the Spider is normal or not, as it has lived for almost 10 years past its life expectancy and has shown remarkable intelligence. 

All of that said, the chief most certainly did not appreciate it when Spook landed on her shoulder while visiting Langley, the ensuing scream could be heard well across the Bureau and most of Dis.

15. Her driving is…let us just say it is something that necessitates boeing both soundly buckled in for, and having made sure that your last will and testament is in order, as Langley tends to pay less attention to speed limits and traffic laws, than she does on getting where she needs to go fast.

There are many reasons her agents trip over themselves to drive her somewhere, and most of them are owed in part to the sheer amount of accidents she has caused over the course of her time behind the wheel. 

16. She has a somewhat odd relationship with Tetra and Bai Yi, as she has hired the 2 to do jobs for her, and by extension the 9th Agency, before and while she has had many complaints about Bai Yi’s antics in the past, she cannot help but admit that the 2 are among her most trusted independent contractors for when she needs something done outside of her own jurisdiction. 

She occasionally provides them aid by subtly having charges against them revoked, or by having them bailed out of sticky situations, though she always expects them to repay her in some way once she has done so. 

17. She has something of a rivalry with Eirene, the two often being found playing chess against one another and speaking, though few of those who have managed to find them during these games are able to understand just what it is they are speaking about. 

This rivalry also manifest as Eirene going out of her way to purchase assets the 9th Agency is interested in, be it structures and companies, or hiring individuals they were interested in recruiting and then using them as leverage to force LAngley to play further games with her both at the negotiating table and at the chess board. 

18. She has a fascination with Crache and has her eye on her as a potential recruit for the 9th, her ability to effectively control shadows and to appear out of nowhere having the potential to make for not only a lethal agent but perhaps also someone that, if taught correctly, could become a greater legend than even herself in the fields of espionage. 

For now though, she is content merely monitoring the girls growth and ensuring she continues to develop along the right paths, occasionally she will provide little tests and challenges for the girls ability as well as subtly raising the education level of her tests to see her strive to grow, but outside of that she is keeping her hands off of her for fear of a certain nurse catching wind of her interest.

She despises needles and someone with a gun that shoots them is as such quite a bother for her to deal with. 

19. She once attempted to deal with Nightingale’s work out of curiosity for just what the adjutant has to deal with on a daily basis, she promptly had a small mental breakdown after the first hour, crashed from an overdose of caffeine near the third, had another mental breakdown near the fourth, and upon seeing just how much was left gave up and fled to her cell.

She has since made it clear that no one is to speak ill of the Adjutant, be they Sinner or Agent from the 9th or otherwise, any person who can handle that much bullshit and not lose their minds deserves not only the highest of praise, but also whatever the hell else they want or need, whenever they want or need it. 

20. She has a personal stamp made in the image of a widow like spider with a hypercube on its thorax that she uses to stamp all of her documents with, she once attempted to add a webbing design to it…it did not work like she thought it would and resembled more solid circle of ink than anything else and so she tossed the web and went back to the simpler spider design.

21. Her main gun is called the “Silver widow”, she has several spares with similar names, from a sniper rifle called the “Black Widow”, to a shotgun called the “Brown Recluse”, she has likewise had each of the weapons inscribed with the design of the spider they are named after, her main gun bearing the only custom emblem out of the lot with it being her own spider symbol, a widow like spider with a hypercube in place of an hourglass on the thorax. 

22. She shares a feeling of fond exasperation for the Chief and her usual aids, Hella and Hecate, as while they do get results, their methods tend to be…rather unique and occasionally very entertaining to watch and or hear about, but she is also somewhat wary of the most unlikely of the two Sinners for her own reason. 

She sees the Chief as something of a protege, though it could also be argued she seems to have a borderline romantic interest in them, or perhaps it is the growing bond between them simply showing just how lonely she truly is behind the mask of the leader of the 9th.

Regardless she tends to go out of her way to keep an eye on the eccentric Chief of Minos, occasionally going out of her way to aid them from the shadows or protect them from the various elements of Dis that just seem incapable of grasping just under whose protection they are.

As for Hecate, she finds the quiet and artistic girl to be somewhat pleasant to be around, always silent unless she is spoken to or needs to speak and always sketching she is one of the very few to have encountered Langley while she was having a migraine and not earned a bullet between the eyes as she closed the curtains of the room they were in and gave her a pillow to put her head on. 

When she asked why she helped her, Hecate merely looked at her and tilted her head before saying; “You have been kind to the Chief, and the Chief says I should help people if they are in pain, and you looked like you were in pain. Is that not a good enough reason?”

Langley will deny to her dying breath that she gave the young woman a head pat after she said that, and Hecate herself will be strangely quiet on the subject, though there will be a faint glimmer in her eyes at the memory. 

Since then, she has had something of a soft spot for the young woman, typically it is one shown by making sure she is alright upon returning from a mission or by encouraging her to grow beyond her current state of being, typically by arranging tests for her or challenging her to chess, she can proudly say the young woman is showing progress in her growing education.

As for Hella, one would expect her to despise the feral gremlin of Syndicate, what with her foul tongue, disrespect for authorities, and penchant for causing trouble wherever she goes, but in truth she finds her to be quite entertaining as all it takes to cause a spectacle is to say the right words to wind her up and then point her at something as she watches the fireworks. 

She also harbors a grudging respect for the young girl, as at one point she found herself confronted by Hella in one of the many hallways of Minos, the Syndican casually leaning against a wall as Ninety-Nine leaned against the wall across from her.

She had been intrigued from the moment she saw the oddly calm and composed look in the little gremlin’s eyes as she pushed herself off the wall and walked towards her, stopping in front of her and looking up just enough to meet her eyes as she spoke up in an oddly calm voice.

What followed was something she did not expect, the little B-Rank Sinner meeting the eyes of the Spider of Paradiso, an S-Rank Sinner with a kill count in the hundreds if not thousands, and telling her that she didn’t trust her, nor did she like her authority over the Chief, but she would tolerate them.

But if she betrayed the Chief, if she betrayed them or hurt them in anyway…well Ninety-Nine’s fist striking the hypercube reinforced wall with enough force to cause cracks to spider web across the wall and dust to fall to the ground as she pulled her mutated hand out of the pit she had born through it with one strike finished her sentence. 

The display was met with her aiming her pistol at the younger Syndican fast enough neither could blink before the cold metal was aimed at her forehead, the taller Syndican snarling as her eyes began to burn crimson as her power began to surge, only for Hella to do something that caught them both off guard.

She laughed.

She looked Langley dead in the eye, and she laughed as she lifted up her hand and pulled the gun flush against her forehead, the cold steel meeting her skin in a frigid kiss as she unblinkingly met Langley’s gaze.

“Go ahead, pull the trigger you eight legged Eastside bitch. We both know you don’t have enough bullets or strength to keep me from coming back before you can put Ninety-Nine down, and how long do you think that fancy cane will keep us back huh? Think a taser and a few knives and a little pea shooter are going to stop us for more than what? A few minutes? An hour? Doesn’t fucking matter, eventually one of us will break it, then what? How long will you last with that bad leg of yours? I give you about 10 minutes before one of us breaks it again, and this time you won’t have anyone to save you. So go ahead cow, put one between my eyes, I. Fucking. Dare. You.”

As Hella spoke she had reached her hand up to grip Langley’s wrist and begin to rest her smaller, yet more heavily calloused hand, over hers and begin to push down on the trigger finger after she thumbed the hammer back, never once breaking her gaze as she and Langley kept meeting each others eyes. 

Langley could feel Ninety-Nine’s gaze on her as she moved closer to her sun’s side, her posture telling Langley that the moment she squeezed the trigger, she would be fighting the brute up close and personal and she doubted even a round from her gun would stop her.

And so, she pulled her gun back and gave an amused chuckle to the young woman and her hulking companion. 

She looked down into Hella’s eyes and offered her a simple nod of understanding as she holstered her gun and began to walk away, the pair letting her pass with their peace said, though she soon stopped to call over her shoulder to them.

“I’ve known some of the best FAC soldiers and Agents in my life, and none of them have even half the guts you do brat, I look forward to seeing how you’ll turn out, little girl from Syndicate.”

Since then she has kept a close eye on the little gremlin, all the while wondering just what is truly going on in the head of the little B-Rank that had the guts to stare her down like that, because now that she has seen a glimpse of what lays behind the facade of a brat, she can’t help but wonder just what kind of beast stands beside the Chief. 

23. She is bi-sexual, but prefers either females or feminine or effeminate looking males, she is also one to very much wear the pants in any relationship, though she will have her softer moments, especially after a long day of dealing with the bullshit she deals with and her leg beginning to ache on her.

All she will want after visiting her partner afterwards, is to have her leg massaged while she closes her eyes and gets some sleep as she dreams of the day when she finally snaps and sets her paperwork on fire. 

24. She can be quite protective of those she has grown close to, and even more so in regards to those she considers friends or potential partners. Expect the Spider’s web to be thoroughly wrapped around these individuals as she maintains near constant surveillance of them and those around them.

Any fool going after them will have not only the Spider herself after them, but all of the 9th gunning for them as well, because their boss has earned those few treasured individuals after all the shit she has been through and anyone that tries to take those that make her happy from her, had best start digging their grave, cause whatever gods they worship have washed their hands of them. 

And that is about all for the Headcanon we have for the silver Spider of Paradiso at the moment, we may come up with some more in the future but for now this is where we will be ending this little chapter of this mess. 

Till next time, take care and stay safe everyone.

[loz-the-noob]

I find Marie’s body language in Return of the Mammalians really interesting because I can use it as Momrie propaganda BECAUSE it’s a really great physical representation of a side of her personality we don’t get to see that much in the game.

There are only a couple of instances this can be applied to in Return of the Mammalians but because I’m bored and desperate, I can stretch it to three, with a fourth scene where I think it could be improved.

Hold on to your tentacles! You’re probably going to think I’m insane after this.

I can’t believe you actually want to read this.

So, the first example I have AND the one that inspired me to write this mess is the scene during the construction of the uh, the machine thingy (does it have a name?) where Callie leaps at Marie to hug her in celebration of completing their task. And I MEAN leaps. We can’t see the whole of their bodies but judging by the suddenly acquired height difference, Callie is completely off the ground at this point. Given that the scene ends in a freeze frame, we don’t see the full force or speed of the hug-tackle either, but what’s clear is that Marie is prepared for it. Just to give myself a bit of focus because I have NO idea where I’m going with this; if the Marie-is-a-Horrible-Cousin Truthers whose splatoon knowledge ends like 6 years ago are correct, wouldn’t Marie have gone ‘Ew. UGH. CAL *hair flip* why are you TOUCHING me?’ or something? Or at the very least be completely unprepared to catch her? And that’s the thing! She doesn’t just hug her back - she CATCHES her. As shown by this here low quality image vv

Marie’s arms come up under Callie’s in a scooping motion. She is fully aware of her cousin’s physical recklessness and is completely prepared to catch her and keep her safe. I mean, the fact that Callie trusts her enough to just… fling herself at her is telling enough.

Alrighty. Next point GO!!

After Cuttlefish (I don’t like calling him that. Let’s call him Craig) after Craig gets Sucked Dry by That Bear, the Squid Sisters seem… mildly concerned, which is probably to keep the upbeat and comedic feel of the game while sacrificing a little emotional realism (coming back to this later!), but after they see he’s fully conscious and capable of floating by himself for some reason (?) everything’s Suddenly Fine Again. Except the world being in immediate danger, obviously. But here’s the thing (did I say that already? Well, there are 2 things)! For the remaining portion of the game this side of the end credits, Marie is just… holding Craig. As afore mentioned though, he can float. She doesn’t NEED to be holding him but she just is. Whether that’s because she’s happy to see her grandfather safe or whether something inside her soggy little brain saw something smaller than herself and told her to protect it is a mystery, but either way, that is some quality… body language… there…(again, lost my point. Weirdly, whenever I think about someone being held by Marie, I seem to lose focus. Huh.)

Anyway, here’s a picture of Marie holding Craig. Look at how she’s trying to engage him in something he could easily be left out of. Does this image not bring you joy???

Moving on briefly from all the Marie-talk, let’s talk a little Callie. I’m honestly thrilled about what they did with Callie’s body language in this game. She’s full of energy and quite hands-on, which is exactly how I expected her to be, even though this is pretty much the first time we see her physically interact with other characters in the entire Splatoon series. It just feels right.

It completely makes sense that Callie would spend the majority (why did that just autocorrect to Major Titty. Why.) of the pre-boss cutscene literally hanging off Marie’s arm, and the awesome thing about that is that Marie doesn’t pull away or look irritated by her cousin’s constant GRIPPING and SHAKING of her arm at all. I don’t know about you, but if I had someone attached to me like that while I was trying to think of a master plan, I’d be pretty annoyed. Unless, of course, it was Callie. I’m getting off track again here. My point WAS that Marie is so, so chill. I hate it when people try to portray her as angsty because she just… isn’t.

What all this body language shows is that Marie is a supportive, nurturing well of patience and ANYONE THAT SAYS OTHERWISE WILL BE FED TO THE BEASTS.

Which is WHY I think that during the scene where Craig is slightly rehydrated by the Captain’s tear, it would make way much more sense to have Marie reach out a hand to touch the Captain’s shoulder, or at least do something other than freezing there with an expression reminiscent of a damp, shocked cat. Now that Nintendo seems to have got their act together a little in terms of cutscenes, it would be nice to have more examples of characters (Marie. Marie is characters) using their body language to visually convey the finer points of their personality which may have been overlooked by some people *cough cough* Marie Trut-💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

Struggling to find the point of this ‘argument’? So am I. What even is this? I’m not reading it back before I post it, that’s for sure. Gnight.

[buckyarchives]

The Domestic Life Of Living With a Runaway Assassin [chapter one.]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x soulmate!reader

summary: you hate many things in life. You hate soulmates. You hate the avengers. You hate guns. You hate lost snorers and complicated relationships.

Bucky Barnes is associated with all of those things, yet you can find yourself hating him

W.c: 6.9k

Author note: did not think this was going to actually get notes. I forgot how bad my wiring was back then and going through and rewriting all of it is just. Ugh. I’m too lazy.

masterlist

Today was going down as the most inconvenient day ever. 

It was 10:30 pm, and you were sitting in some stupid coffee shop, the only one that had free Wi-Fii in your area because yours is down for the next 24 hours. The coffee tastes like shit because of-fucking-course it does. This place closes in 30 minutes and you have all that time to send in all your week's work to your boss, which is also due in 30 minutes. You weren't even going to think about the fact you spent all day having to listen to ongoing construction outside and having to run your roommate all around Queens to help her get comfy and organized at her dorm. 

You wanted to kick someone, honestly. 

As you tried your best to focus and very frantically type away at your keyboard. You were probably going to break your keyboard at some point tonight, either by typing too hard or just simply throwing it across the fucking room in a fit of rage. 

A woman, maybe in her mid-30s – if it matters, walks up to you and reminds you that the place closes in half an hour and gives you a free, pity coffee. Probably noticing the growing under eyes bags or seeing you yawn into your hand every 7 minutes, give or take. 

You had chugged the coffee and put everything you had into the next 20-something minutes and you sat back after your third look over everything to make sure you didn't miss any mistakes that could possibly get you fired. You were finally done and could go home. 

Closing your laptop and packing your shit up, you wave to the lovely lady probably waiting for you to leave so she can close up. But because nothing goes your way and New York is just the most wonderful place to live, especially with the avengers. You don't make it out the door before you hear rapid gunfire rattle your ears and suddenly you’re ducking beneath the first table you find. 

Your day could not get any worse, you thought.

Maybe you could have just crawled up in a ball and accepted your fate of being killed midst the 7th random gunfight of the month, you could even make it on the news! Nope, fate had other ideas and someone just has to save you. 

Your ears filter out everything besides the sound of gunfire, glass shattering, and people screaming and yelling. It's too fucking late for this. A firm hand grabs yours and before you can get whisked away and snatch your bag because your life is worth risking for your laptop and books. You swear you got whiplash from how fast you moved away from the scene, only seeing a black blur of a human in front of you. 

You regain your senses, most of them. After being pushed and crouched in a back alley behind the now-destroyed coffee shop, you hoped the lady was okay. catching your breath and hearing frantic shuffling next to you. A man, tall and built, dressed entirely in black with a plethora of weapons attached to his body. He glances at you for a moment and you think he looks familiar, maybe he was an Avenger. God, you hate the Avengers. His eyes continued to scan the dark area, before settling down next to you, eyes trained on one end of the ally. 

He has a messy mop of a head, you can't really see his eyes clearly but you definitely notice the insane-Robert-Pattinson's-batman-amounts of black eyeshadow around his eyes. He has a black mask on too. Okay, so edgy Avengers. Haven't heard of him on the news yet. Like you even watch the news. 

You must have been staring for a little too long and too hard because the mystery Avenger takes notice of it and his bushy eyebrows furrow at you, looking at you like you had personally offended him. Then, you notice his eyes and are a little, only a little, taken aback by their intense blueness and beauty of them. You barely notice what he says. “I'm sorry, you probably don't feel very safe with me.”

You scoff. “I don't even know who you are.”

The emo Avenger freezes and looks at you with wide eyes like you grew two heads. Or you were the crazy one between the two of you. “What?” you question him and he mumbled and sputtered under the mask. You motion for the mask, telling him to take it off. And he slowly rips it off his face, his very pink lips are parted and he's breathing hard and fast. 

“You.. what did you say, your words.”

Wait.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Your mouth falls open and you really want to kick something, or him. “You're my soulmate?” you said maybe a little too loud and it came out harsher than intended. He looks hurt by your tone and if it wasn't for the shock taking over your head, you would have felt bad. 

Today is the most inconvenient and the worst day of your life.

“Wow doll, you're the first person I've met that sounds disappointed to find their soulmate.” you ignore his comment and especially ignore the nickname, hoping that wouldn't stick. You wanted to go the fuck home. 

“Can I leave?”

Your soulmate narrowed his eyes at you. “No.”

“Why.” your eyes narrow back into his and just for a moment you realize you’re now in an impromptu staring contest with this man in some dirty back alley, hoping you don't get shot. “Listen, man, I have work tomorrow and I'd rather not get shot or dragged into some avengers bullshit.

He rolls his eyes, but you're not done. “I really don't like the Avengers. Seriously, you couldn't have chosen any other job? The number of cars I've seen the hulk throw and then miss–”

“I'm not an Avenger.” his bushy eyebrows furrow, plus the black war paint makes him look intimidating. If you weren't pissed,  you might have been a little scared. Only a little.

“You really don't know who I am?”

“Am I supposed to?” you fire back. The ego of this guy!

He sputtered for a moment, “No, I guess not.”

your back hits the brick wall, sigh to yourself, and slump back down. You made yourself small. Now nursing a monstrous headache.

A frustrated grunt comes from the dark brunette. “Ok, ok, ok, ok… I'm going to walk you home.”

“No.”

“Yes,” he says, you just realize you don't know his name. “You said it yourself, you don't want to get shot. I’ll make sure that you don’t.”

You were really tired, letting people win wasn't something you did often. You'll make an exception. You huff and blow some stray hair away from your face. “What's your name?”

He pauses, “Bucky.”

“Well, Bucky.” you bring yourself to your feet. “You bring me safely home, quickly with no little side quest. That's it. And then you turn around and don't come back to my place.” you grab a hold of his hand to drag him along but you're met with cold, hard, metal. He flinches out of his skin, and metal. Your eyes travel up his arm. 

“You’re an amputee?”

Bucky looks confused. “What?”

“Nevermind.” you shook your head and continued to drag him along to your apartment. You were so ready to go the fuck to bed. You hoped this walk home wasn't painful, but when do you get what you want?

Bucky was confused. Your pace matched his as you walked side by side to your apartment. The gentle wind brushed against his skin and flew through his brown locks. He was walking next to his soulmate. You were his soulmate and it seemed you wanted nothing to do with him. 

Bucky knew very well he was way out of his time but he couldn't come up with a coherent answer to why. Was this new generation against the universe? Was this some weird trend? Unless you lied to him and did know who the winter soldier was, that would make sense. But, you seemed pretty persistent that you did, in fact, not know him (which the more he thought about it– he felt good that you didn't know). You must not read the paper, or watch the news. You thought he was a goddamn avenger!

He glances over to you, your lips. You were chewing on your bottom lip. It was painted red. You look beautiful with the dim yellow street light shining down on your face. “Don't do that.”

Bucky's voice is soft and gentle. He doesn't recognize it.

Your eyes trail to him. “Do what?” you ask

“That.” Bucky pauses in his spot on the sidewalk, takes a few steps towards you and he brings his flesh hand up to your mouth, slowly grazing his thumb across your split lip. “Don't chew so hard on your lip like that. I'm sure it hurts.”

Bucky's eyes are trained onto your lips, he doesn't dare look up at your eyes. But you are staring at him with widened eyes. You felt like you were on fire.

Too close. You pull away. “Okay, this is my apartment. Bye, Bucky.” 

And just like that, you're quickly walking into your apartment lobby, you glance back at him and give Bucky a sincere smile before leaving his sights. Bucky stood there feeling like an idiot, completely forgetting any government or hydra issues he was dealing with earlier.

Bucky was going to walk away but his intrusive, no,  protective – as he would describe it – thoughts took over. He jogged to the other side of the building, hoping he would be able to figure out which apartment you lived in without going too far. He saw a light turn on and noticed a figure walking by, your figure. This wasn't stalking, no. Bucky was just making sure you made it to your home, safe and sound, he was just looking out for his soulmate. As he should. So, not stalking. And maybe, if bucky only really needed it, he would remember that window so he could pay you a visit. Not stalking you, he just cares about you. For some reason.

Bucky can hear Steve calling him a punk in the back of his head. He missed steve.

On the other end, you dragged yourself into your apartment and dropped your bag the moment you reached your room. Not caring to clean yourself up you flopped on your bed, with a long and painful groan. You felt a small weight down on your bed and you turned your head to see our cat sitting down next to your head. 

You smile and bring your hand to pet his head. “My savior. You are the only man I need.”

A soft purr vibrates from the felines, followed by a meow.

You sigh. “You're right. I need a shower.” 

Your mind wandered in the shower, as the water trickled down your body you couldn't help but bring your hand to your shoulder blade. Your finger traced around the words on your back. Your lip tug at your bottom lip. You nibbled at the already raw skin. Don't do that. You could practically feel the warmth of his hand on your face as your mind flashes back to when he was standing so close to you just moments ago. 

Bucky. There was no way you were going to let him haunt your head now. You turned the warm water off and grabbed your towel in annoyance. Drying yourself off and heading the fuck to bed. Praying that maybe when you wake up this whole day would be a dream. No soulmates, no getting shot at, and absolutely no getting flustered outside your apartment by someone you met an hour ago. 

–

 Bucky couldn't wait to see you again. He has been on the run from Hydra and Steve Rogers for too long; bucky had a hint on who would find him first. One night everything got to be too much. Parts of what hydra did to him are still very much a part of him, it was tearing him apart. It was getting harder and harder to diffrerencate what was bucky, the winter soldier, or this third feeling of pure absence of someone he didn’t know yet. He needed someone, anyone. He needed you.

You heard someone call for your name, they kept shaking you. You just wanted peaceful sleep goddamn it. You needed it. You rustled in your bed sheets, waving your hand at your roommate. She said your name again, and again, and again and ag–

“What!” you look over to see her, barely, in the dark of the room. “I'm trying to sleep!”

“There is someone in our living room.” she barely whispers.

Oh. “are you sure?” you squint at her. You don't know if she can even see you clearly enough.

“Yes.” another scared whisper.

What does a person around here have to do to get a full night's sleep for fuck sake? 

Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head. Pulling back the covers and throwing your phone at your roommate. “Call 911 if I scream or take longer than I should.” you grab the metal bat in the corner of your room.

 The fucker that decided to rob you tonight picked the wrong house, knowing the amount of pent-up rage you had; you were sure you could knock out fucking Capitan America if you wanted. Just imagine your boss's face. You sigh, loud and hard footsteps echoed through your apartment. Rounding a corner and pulling the bat high up and–

Cling!

You braced for impact. You don't get it. You look up at whoever, whatever you hit. “You!”

You are angrier than you were when interrupted from your sleep. What is he doing here? In the middle of your living room, at least he's not wearing his stupid, edgy superhero get-up. Just normal clothing and a baseball cap, but you could see the outline of a gun through his jacket. 

“Can you put the bat down?” Bucky’s holding the bat, stopping you from landing a hit to his head. 

“No. what are you doing in my living room.”

His face scrunches. Pulling the bat down and yanking it from your hands. That fake arm of his was stronger than you expected. Bucky lets out a pained sigh, “I don't know but will you just listen to me and not hit me, please?”

You feel bad. “Maybe.”

Bucky looks at you and you swear he looks like he’s going to cry. The moonlight shining through your windows makes his face look sharper, defining his features more. You think maybe this is a dream because he looks really good. Bucky looks at you like you are his whole world, or maybe you will be someday soon. “I just…”

You’re quiet, you listening to him. Bucky realizes that maybe he will cry tonight. “I just need to talk to someone, anyone. Be with someone right now or… or…” he trails off, not wanting to think about what else could happen.

you feel terrible. “Do you not have someone else than a soulmate you've only known for an hour?” you joke, but he looks at you like it's definitely not a joke. Bucky's eyes are trained on the floor as he shakes his head.

His head jerks up when your roommate walks into the room. “Do I still call 911?”

“No!.” you and bucky yelled at the same time. Eyes snapping to each other after the syllable left your mouth, eyebrows furrowed and spite heavy on your face. Whilst Bucky looked one wrong move away from a nervous breakdown. Weird dude.

You motion to your roommate to tell her to go back to bed but before you can get any words out she’s shoving past you to get too bucky. “Wait.. are you... I’ve seen you on the news.” her hand raises to her face to cover her gaping mouth. Her eyes go wide and she suddenly looks like a ghost. “Oh, my god.”

What the fuck. “Seriously, jasmine go back to bed and stop gawking at my soulmate.”

She shouts your name like your mother would when you started cussing. “You are not serious. Do you know who this is.” her pointer finger goes towards bucky aggressively. Bucky looks panicked, you wonder why but based on this mood earlier; it was best to ask questions later. It was time to play dutiful soulmate. 

“Look, jas.” you grab her by the shoulders. “I don’t know and I don’t care. Just go to bed, please?” you guide– no, drag her out of the room and give her a final nudge away, despite her weird shouts about a winter something. You couldn’t care to listen.

“I’m sorry about her. She gets paranoid.” you release a breath you forgot you were holding, followed by a plop of the couch. Bucky settles awkwardly next to you. “You really shouldn’t go breaking into people's houses, buck.”

Bucky gets whiplash at the nickname, his mind goes to Steve and suddenly he feels out of place. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, you barely hear him. “I should go, this was stupid.” Bucky goes to get up and head toward the fire escape again but you’re quick, grabbing his wrist. Bucky could have pulled away from you if he wanted, but he crumbled under your touch. Bucky holds his breath like he’s going to drown.

Bucky’s days kinda blend together. He likes routine, but there was no routine to have when you're doing what he does. You met him two weeks ago, it felt a lot more than that, or less. He couldn't tell but your touch made him feel like everything was so far away, he caught his breath for the first time in weeks. 

Bucky thought about spilling it all out, his past, his everything. But that would defeat the purpose of coming here. That talk could wait. “I'm sorry that you got me as a soulmate.”

You smack your lips and scoff. “As your body should say– uh, somewhere.” you wave your hands dramatically, “I don't even know who you are. Nothing to be sorry for, yet.”

His lip quirks up. “Except scare your roommate half to death.”

“Maybe wouldn't have happened if you used the doors.” you smile at him, Bucky’s sure he wouldn't be able to see it without the soft light of the moon shining on your face. And maybe it's just his super soldier-enhanced senses, either way, he’s soaking it up like it's the only time he’ll ever see it. 

“Doors aren’t really my thing.”

You scoff. “I'm not sure what that means but, at least go through my window next time.”

“Noted.”

“And knock!”

His lip quirk turns into a small grin. “Also noted.”

Bucky glances over at you, you’re biting your lip again. He wants to kiss you. He settles for pulling your chewed lip from under your teeth before it bleeds, just as he did that night outside your apartment. You smile, thinking that maybe you'll let him stay around for a while.

You realize that Bucky didn't walk you to your door that night, and didn't even make it inside the building. Your eyes furrow, and confusion and… amusement fills your body. “So did you stalk me the past few weeks or did you just kindly ask my landlord which unit I lived in?”

He pauses, hoping you wouldn't ask about that. “I wasn't stalking you, I just notice things.” 

You laugh out loud, and he's caught off guard by how nice it sounds ringing in his ears. “That's literally what a stalker would say.”

“I'm serious, I've been busy doing stuff these past weeks.” Bucky tried to reassure you he wasn't camping out on the roof of the building across your window like an actual stalker would. You haven't decided if you were going to believe him. You just laugh because you feel weirdly good with him in your presence. You curse to yourself, why did the universe always have to be right?

You don't care to respond so Bucky continues. “So you're not going to ask me about what your roommate was talking about.” he turns his head to look at you. He can practically see the gears turning in your head, and he gulps. 

You shake your head, eyes trained on whatever is in front of you. “Nah.” you look at him.

Bucky thinks you're the most interesting person he's met in a long time. He’ll test the waters. “What if I'm dangerous.” he narrows his eyes at you.

You narrow yours back at him. “If you're not going to kill me or you're not an avenger, I'm not too worried.”

“What do you have against the avengers?”

You groan. “It's a long story, but they are the reason I don't watch the news and why my roommate is a paranoid freak.”

Oh. so you really don't watch the news. Bucky thinks. He feels guilty when he feels a sort of relief go through his body, followed by more panic realizing he had to explain everything to you soon. Not now though, god no, not now. Maybe he could get by with not telling you at all. Bucky mentally punches himself in the face, no that wouldn't be right. Plus he was sure your roommate would babble to you about how badly the news painted him. Maybe him telling you first would be a better idea. 

“Have you ever heard of the winter soldier?”

-

The golden rays of the sun showed down onto Bucky's face, he looked over to the window hearing the loud bustling of city life below him. Your curtains are brown with white detailing. Bucky shifted on your living room couch, he gauges his mind for the memories of last night. Everything was still all so hazy. 

What day was it? Oh, last night. He tried, really, to get out the truth to you. Fumbling over his words and trying to even remember who he was, it was too much. But you, a god-given gift, told him he was too tired to talk, gave him water, and sent him off to bed on your couch. 

“You can give me your tragic backstory tomorrow, get some sleep weirdo.” you had said to him before literally pushing him onto your very comfortable couch, before returning to your room for the night.

Bucky didn't sleep, he felt oddly safe and comfortable. But he couldn't sleep. Honestly, he was close to dozing off before your roommate had woken up just before sunrise to quietly go off to work, he assumed. Bucky couldn't tell what time it was, he was guessing it was probably around 5 or 6 am. He ought to get up soon and leave. Should he leave without saying something to you? Is that rude? He was sure you'd be okay with getting him out of your hair, he was already enough of a problem to people around him. Bucky gets up to grab his boots.

“Did you even sleep?” Bucky flinches, confused as to how easy it was for you to sneak up on him. He looks up and sees you leaning against a wall, assuming you just woke up. You're still dressed in comfortable clothing, your sweater falling down, giving him a full view of your collarbone. Your skin glows in the soft sunlight. Bucky shook his head in response.

You hum, your feet shuffling across the wooden floor as you make your way into the kitchen. You start making your coffee and Bucky follows. His eyes go to the table, is he intruding if he just sits down? He stands in the doorway and watches you make your drink. You turn to bucky with an oversized mug in hand, deadpanned. “Can't believe I'm soulmates with a stalker. Sit down.” 

You motion to the seat next to you. “Not a stalker.” bucky mumbled, and you scoff.

“You want something to drink? I got tea, coffee, juice, anything your heart desires.”

Bucky pauses. “Water?” 

“Boring.” your eyes roll and you grab a bottle of water from behind you. Handing it to him, his finger brushes against yours. Bucky’s eyes dart to see your reaction, but nothing.

You get comfortable in your chair and open up your phone. Bucky is still sitting across from you, glancing between the door, window, and his water. He tries to look anywhere but at you. You quickly notice, a smart-ass comment comes to mind but you decide against it. Keeping the comfortable silence going for now.

You glance at Bucky, noticing the way his hair was still a mess from whatever he was doing last night. Quickly you realize this is the first time you've seen him in natural daylight, his eyes are beautiful and his usually dark hair looks closer to a light brunette. You could imagine going out on a date with him if he wasn't so dark and broody, but doesn't that just add to the appeal? Maybe.

You set your coffee down. “So…” trailing off, bucky finally makes eye contact with you. “You want to try again?”

Bucky's eyebrows furrow. 

“I still haven't told me who the winter soldier is and it's taking everything in me to not use the internet.” you wave your phone around in the air before setting it down next to your coffee. Bucky purses his lip. “But, I respect you and wouldn't do that.”

Bucky's eyes are trained on the table, his mind trying to find any starting point for this. Should he just tell you about hydra? Start from the beginning with the 40s, fuck, he barely remembers any of that. He's not good with words anymore.

“Can I just…” he pauses, tapping his finger on the wooden table. “Show you?”

It was a bad idea, a really bad idea. Bucky told you that but you'd instead not question him why, bucky wasn't going to elaborate on that either. With both Hydra, the US government, and Steve Rogers looking for him, being in public wasn't the safest. Especially at such a hotspot for Captain America bootlickers and history nerds. 

After many lazy complaints from you, you and bucky made your way out of your apartment together. Bucky wore the best casual disguise he could conjure up, and you and he stood in front of the Smithsonian museum.

Bucky glances over to you, a reasonably confused look plastered on your face. “Why are we at a museum?”

“Just follow me and don't draw attention to yourself, please?”

Instead, You roll your eyes and go ahead of him. “Stalker activity.” bucky hears you mumble before he follows you into the front door.

“What are you showing me, stalker.” bucky walks side by side with you, your presence is comforting in the crowded area. He noticed a group of elementary kids walking around, probably on a field trip.

“Stop calling me that.” he mumbled, “Captain America exhibit.”

Bucky looks at your hand, he could grab it. Only so he doesn't lose you in the crowd, just to keep you safe. Not because he wants to hold in, not because the quick graze of skin this morning left him wondering what it would feel like to hold you. Bucky decides against it and keeps walking.

“Isn't Captain America the like co-leader of the avengers or something?” you ask, bucky just shrugs? You see the large blown-up screens of steve roger and roll your eyes. 

Bucky's eyes lock on his memorial tribute. “Don't freak out and you can ask me questions after we leave.” 

Your face is littered with confusion again as you look at him, but you nod and turn to where he's looking at. 

“..Best friends since childhood, James ‘bucky’ Barnes and steven rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield…” the voice spoke, highlighting a memorial on bucky. Your eyes widen after realizing the bucky standing next to you was the one talked about.

Your eyes travel to the photos of Bucky. One standing next to Steve Rogers with big smiles plastered on their faces, and one of just him. His hair is shorter and he looks much younger. There is a shine in his eyes you don't see now, a bright look that hadn't been snuffed out yet. Bucky watches you as you process the information given to you, watching for any negative or even mad emotions. You lean closer, reading the sign. Bucky was from Brooklyn, a sergeant in the military, he had 3 sisters and he was born in 1917 and he died in 1945. Well, obviously he didn't actually die, more like presumed dead.

“That's…you?”

bucky nodded slowly, eyes trained on the photo of him. He couldn't even recognize himself anymore.

Bucky scans the area, looking for anyone that may have recognized him. he lets out a very shaky breath. “Okay, we've been here too long let's go.” he really wanted to grab your hand on the way out. You don't look at him on the way out. God, did he ruin this already? He wants to punch himself.

You both make it outside, the cold morning wind gives you whiplash. It feels good. You turn to look at bucky and he kinda looks like he's going to have a mental breakdown, you don't blame him. What you just saw explains so much yet, leaves you with more questions than before. You don't think. You grab his flesh hand in hopes of being some comfort, praying that it doesn't make it worse. It doesn't. Bucky doesn't flinch this time but feels his heart jump out of his chest. 

“Are you done with being outside or can we go somewhere?” bucky gives you a nervous and almost… pained look. “It's safe, hidden away and I know the owner,” you reassure him. Bucky reluctantly nods. I'll go anywhere with you as long as you keep holding my hand. And with that, you drag him through new york to your favorite-less-likely-to-get-shot-up coffee shop. It's small, always empty and the owner is an actual sweetheart. 

The bells ring as you waltz in, bucky very close behind you, still holding your hand like a lost child. “Gary! Honey I'm home!” you shout with a wide, playful grin on your face, bucky gives a sigh of relief after noticing that it was indeed empty today. 

An older man comes out from the back, along with a girl who looks like she should be in high school behind him. You wave and give him a warm smile, leaning over the counter slightly, “the usual, please?” you glance back to bucky, “.. and a water?”

You turn to bucky. “Sit anywhere, I”ll be right over in a second.” 

He hums, releasing him from your grasp and suddenly he feels a little empty and more awkward than before. He goes to the table in the farthest corner. Front door. Window. Back door. You. he checks off the list and settles against the wall.

You grin. “How’ve you been holding up, old man.” you tease. 

Gary, the owner. A wonderful and long-time friend of yours. When you first moved to new york years ago this was the first place you went to. You became a regular and you watches workers come and go, you came here when you needed quiet to work or sometimes just to snag a free drink from Gary since he just adored you so much. 

His niece, Emma, was in high school now and worked here for the past year. You would help her study during her breaks and in return, free coffee, and pastries. She was a good baker. You didn't have family here in the city so they were the closest you were going to get to anything like it.

“Not too much, dear.” Gary gave you a warm smile, his eyes squinting. He glances over at bucky in the corner. He laughs “Got a pretty paranoid date over there, I can see his eyes hitting all the exits.”

You scoff, not expecting any less from him. “Not a date, but sadly my soulmate.”

“Finally!” Gary’s eyes light up, and you give him an annoyed look. “Oh be happy about it! Emma won't stop nagging about how she hasn't found hers yet.”

“Have not!” you hear the girl shout from across the bar. You laugh and shake your head. 

Gary hands you your drinks and you bid him a quick bye, knowing he’ll just go back to his crossword puzzles in the back. Heading back over to sit next to bucky and hopefully find out he's not a zombie that's been raised from the dead.

“Your water, sergeant.” you joke, praying it doesn't hit a bad spot. Bucky was surprised by the name, he can't remember the last time someone called him that. His body feels weird.

You don't speak for a moment. You sip at your drink, hoping it will kick it as you didn't get your needed caffeine intake for the day as bucky was dragging you out the door to the museum.

You look at him through your eyelashes, he still looks like he's going to break down any second. 

“Are you a zombie?” 

“What?”

You set the cup down. “You died. So you must be a zombie. I can't believe I'm soulmates with a stalker zombie.”

Bucky's lip quirks up. You're such a dork, he thinks. He almost laughs, it more or less came out as an amused scoff. “I'm not a zombie, I didn't die.”

“Museums these days… always spreading fake information,” you mumble into your cup, taking a quick sip. Bucky smiles, slightly.

“No, I…” bucky trails off, you keep up with the jokes yet you give him a comforting, understanding look. “I fell off a train in the war, I was supposed to die.” bucky catches his breath, talking shouldn't be this hard. “I didn’t, Hydra found me and put me on ice.”

Your eyes perk up in understanding, “like Captain America, right? So why are you on the run then?” bucky looks down, and both of your hands are cupped around your drink. He wants to grab it.

“I'm not Captain America, I did a lot of bad things when Hydra had me. I killed…” Bucky trails off, and memories of Hydra came back to him. All he hears is the sound of guns, and all the blood, he can still smell it. The electricity buzzed in his head as Hydra did their best to strip everything from him, take everything out of him, and then put it back in. bucky can see it all.

You grab his hand and it stops, he just feels you. Your hands are so warm and he wants to cry suddenly. “You don't have to tell me, I do know about Hydra. They did fucked up shit, I know. I'm sure whatever you had to do, wasn't your fault.”

You lean in. too close. your hand raises to his face and you wipe away a stray tear. Had he been crying? 

Bucky lets out an unsteady breath. He can do this, you deserve an explanation. Bucky repeats in his head. He squeezes your hand gently. “They turned me into an assassin, they gave me a mission, and… I did it. I didnt know who I was before, but I didn’t... I didn’t know anything. I just knew my target.”

Your eyes are focused on him. “They had me on ice for most of it, like steve, that's why I don't remember anything. It's all so… foggy. I was sent on a mission and when I completed it I got put back under.”

“And when they needed me again, they'd just bring me back up again.”

“Like I was leftover food for them.”

You don't speak, you didnt dare to right now. Bucky's eyes were filled with anxiety as he watched you process the information. Your eyes fell, and you fiddled with your coffee cup. He saw you bite your lip again, he wanted to remind you not to. But the comment was lost in his throat. Bucky felt sick.

Say something. Please.

Your eyes glance at the silver metal shining between the cuff of his jacket and glove, something shines in your eyes, Bucky’s not quick enough to catch it before you're looking down again. Bucky is now convinced he ruined things on the first day of actually knowing you. He feels like he's going to throw up. Bucky is uncomfortable in his seat and suddenly the fresh warm air of the cafe makes him feel like he's suffocating. He goes to leave and never looks back, but your quicker this time. Grabbing his metal wrist before he gets the chance to stand. Bucky doesn't flinch this time.

“Buck, sit down.” you look at him now. “I don't hate you, calm down.”

He gulps. “You're scared of me though.”

“No.”

Bucky blinks at you, once, twice. “Why. I've killed so many-”

“Don't do that, bucky.” you shook your head at him. “Don't do that to yourself. I'm not dumb, you were a prisoner of war, a victim. You had no choice.”

A victim… he hadn't heard that word be used to describe him. 

Bucky's throat goes dry. His leg bounces under the table, he can't look at you. Bucky's eyes dart to the clock. Tick, tick, tick… the door. The other door. He feels trapped. 

You whisper, “bucky.”

Your name is the only thing that manages to escape Bucky’s lips. He sniffles, “Listen, I’m sor-”

“Hey, guys! Everything okay over here?”

 Emma's cheering voice interrupts Bucky, you both flinch back and your hand retracts from Bucky’s hand. He feels cold. Bucky's cold hand wipes away any extra tears left. You mumble a quick response, and a few thank you’s and she left a muffin in front of you. Bucky hears her footsteps receding. He should have heard her coming up, when did he get so useless? That could have been an enemy and, boom. He's dead. 

You push the blueberry muffin in front of bucky. “You like blueberries?” bucky looks at you, the muffin, back to you. Your lips are in a straight line, but your eyes are smiling. 

“Plums.”

You were caught off-guard. “What?”

“I like plums.”

You hum in response and split the muffin in two. One for you and one for bucky.

The next hour is mostly silent, bucky ordered a coffee of your recommendation. Well, more like you ordered it for him and guilt-tripped him into drinking it. It was sweet. You ordered another large cup and bucky takes a mental note to make you drink more water in the future. Your hands grasp your coffee and a book, he wants to hold it again. He wonders what it would feel like to hold you, all of you. 

He looks at the crossword puzzles you stole from the back for him. How could he possibly do a crossword puzzle when you're sitting in front of him? Bucky would glance up at you and he'd catch you looking at him, he looks away, and vice versa. Bucky is not shy, but sometimes he just gets nervous. How could you not? I mean, just look at you.

Your book falls from your grasp. “I don't want to intrude, but you are my stalker so I think I'm allowed to just a little.” bucky rolls his eyes. Your tone turns more serious  “Just tell me if I am intruding though…”

Bucky doesn't respond and lets you speak. You're hoping you are not going into a sensitive area. “How did you get out… is that why you're on the run?”

Bucky inhales sharply. His eyes flutter. A simple no was all he could push out. You don't know bucky well, but the look he's sporting is enough for you to stop asking any more questions. 

The clock reads 9:30. Shit.

“Fuck. work, I forgot about work.” you stand from your chair abruptly, the wooden chairs scraping against the floor. “I- we gotta go.”

I have nowhere to go, bucky thinks quickly. Before standing up with you, he doesn't say anything.

Grabbing both of your cups and chucking them in the trash, before returning the books to the counter. Bucky just stands there awkwardly, watching you. You notice and mumble a quick, “stalker” under your breath. Bucky pushes back a small grin. You gab his metal hand, covered by a glove, and push something into his hand. a key?

Bucky's eyebrows furrow but before he can get anything out. “You can't possibly think I’ll feel good knowing my soulmate is out on the run, probably sleeping behind some dumpster like a raccoon?”

“My roommate doesn't get home till tomorrow, and use the door his time!”

And with that, you’re speed-walking out, a soft jingle from the door as it closes. Bucky stands dumbfounded in the middle of the cafe as he blankly stares at the key in his gloved palm. His legs feel like jello. A soft cough from behind bucky brings him back to earth, it's the old man.

“Don't break their heart, I may be old and..” the old man, you said his name was Gary, looks bucky up and down. “...you may be big, but I'm sure I got a good right hook in here somewhere.”

Bucky feels warm and normal. Like he was a 15-year-old boy meeting his date's dad again. Bucky nods.

“I promise I will keep ‘em safe.”

tag list; @i-l-y-3000 @ivywasmaroon @waywardcrow @alana4610 @ozwriterchick @slytherinambitious @wintermischief

[thedisablednaturalist]

People should get reimbursed for commute time

If it takes someone over an hour to get to work, that should be part of their pay.

Many people have to commute long distances/through areas of slow traffic because they cannot afford to live closer to their workplace. This is also why work from home is a big thing.

If corporations want people to return to their offices, they need to make it appealing enough. I'm not going to fight through traffic for 2 hrs in my free time just to sit at a computer all day, when I could just stay home and don't waste that time.

Corporations would be forced to invest in local affordable housing, perhaps even affording housing credits. They would need to invest in local infrastructure (which in the US is falling to pieces) and improve public transport in their area (faster commute -> less cost to the company, less cars on road -> traffic moves faster, employees without cars would still be able to get to work). Also people would be less stressed and actually take the time to drive safely because they wouldn't feel the need to rush. It would make companies actually take an interest in how their workers get to work and investing in local communities.

I live sort of near DC. We have a HUGE amount of workers commuting into the city and its surrounding cities. Retail workers also have to commute to these cities and suburbs because they cannot afford to live in those areas. My boyfriend commutes an hour to his part time job at a kennel in a rich town. A lot of people live in the more affordable, lower income, far away areas in the nearby states because housing prices in my area are fucking insane. I knew someone who commuted 2+ hours to work and 2+ hours back. There are people who drive even more than that.

And where do these employees have to live? Food deserts. Crumbling infastructure. No parks, no walkability, no public transport, bare bones everything. Only the cities which only the few can afford have basic infrastructure. And even the people living there have to commute to OTHER even richer areas. There's a ton of places where housing developments have just been shoved and are surrounded by nothing but farms. There's nothing local to do, so everyone goes to the closest town and city. It's also why you see a lot of older towns have abandoned main streets. Why have your business cater to the 100 people who live there when you can be in a city with thousands?

There has been some recent interest in paid commute times. 1 2 especially with corporations trying to get workers to go back to the office. Personally, I love working in my office because having a separate space outside my home helps me keep work and home separate and allows me to focus easier since I'm not in "home mode". I don't have room for an office in my parents house so working from home kinda sucks rn even though it would help a lot since I'm disabled. But it is nice being physically near my coworkers, even if it gets annoying sometimes. Also many jobs involve fieldwork (like mine!) which can't be done remotely anyway!

There would be incentive for corporations to keep their employees close AND provide more remote work options for those living farther away. As well as matching pay to fit rent/housing prices in the area (or vice versa).

Also there needs to be something done about corporations having their entire workforce sourced from another country entirely, working for pennies. But that's an even more complicated situation that I don't have experience in.

[fels-fantasy-hoard]

A general reminder to gms to never turn a recurring or tag along npc into a plot device as your players will notice and it will piss them off (rant incoming)

The last dnd game I was in as a player I wound up leaving due to this exact thing. My character’s whole deal was protecting and caring for a child npc that shared their tragic backstory. Unfortunately for me, this npc became the gm’s favorite new toy and not only did they make this npc more powerful than every one of the players and more intelligent than all of us, the dm used them to facilitate literally almost every plot point from the moment I joined the team.

I spent so much in game time dealing with this npc’s bullshit that I barely had any time to actually get to know the other characters or make any meaningful bonds with them. This npc was constantly dragging me away from them and derailing the story because the gm used them like a carrot on a string to create drama. I don’t even know what our goal as a party was other than collect the macguffin and take down the government because every plot after I joined revolved around finding this npc because they ran off or protecting them from their own idiocy or having a crisis because this npc wants to kill themself.

I cannot describe to you how annoying it was walking into every session expecting this npc to act in any consistent way. One session they would be moping about how they don’t belong in this world because they are too smart for their own good and the next they are being manipulated and kidnapped like a normal 5 year old by someone plot convenient so the party gains plot relevant information. One session they don’t want to use their insane power because it’s too much and the next they want to practice by torturing people and animals and the next they leave the fortified base to go flower picking to drag the party to learn more plot relevant information. Every single session I was dealing with an entirely different character whose levels of intelligence and emotional maturity changed on a dime to suite the gm’s needs. It was exhausting and this on top of a few other things made me leave the group.

If a player hands you something like this, show some restraint. Please. Especially right after they join the crew. I’d say restraint is one of the most important aspect of being a story teller in general.

I gave this gm two big red buttons with my character and they pushed both of them immediately. The dm brought in my characters personal antagonist session 2, before I had any kind of bond with the crew and was at the point where when I had the option to have my character lose their memories of this antagonist I took it just to remove that button because I could immediately tell this gm has zero restraint.

I talked with the dm out of session and asked them to tone it back because ever since I joined literally every single plot had my character at the center and she kept pushing me/my character to drastic measures that were preventing my from actually interacting with the rest of the crew or even learning what our goals were. For fuck sake I removed my character’s memories of their antagonist because they were nearing the point of saying fuck it and leaving the group just to escape this person.

Did the gm listen? No. Not only did they continue dragging my character’s antagonist into the plot, they kept using this npc to create drama and push the plot forwards in inorganic way.

If you have to use an npc as a plot device, then at least keep their characterization consistent. If story is the main focus of this campaign, it’s like watching the gm reach into the game and tell you directly: hey, hey, players, go here for plot. It breaks the immersion. If it happens on occasion, that’s fine it’s bound to happen eventually. But when it’s happening every session… oh boy is it extremely annoying and hits one of my biggest pet peeves in writing: seeing the hand of the author. There are a million ways to make a plot hook feel in congruence with the story and the world. If you need to take an npc out of character to make it happen, your players will notice.

Tldr. If you are running a long form campaign- use restraint. I promise you that holding back and waiting to push the big red buttons your players give you will be so much more rewarding for everyone if you wait. Don’t force the story. Let it breathe.

[terranceholdsapencil]

So Ive watched Boom and initial thoughts

S14e03 "Boom" doctor who spoilers

-immediately knew these guys were dead.

-susan twist what are you doing in my ambulance

-killing someone because they'd take four weeks to recover is insane but also works great as the endpoint of capitalism

-casual reminder that I adore 15s theme. Its very different from other Doctor's themes but its lovely.

-skye boat song?!?! Two played that on his recorder back in the web of fear

-"One wrong move, and BOOM. I go all food mixer"

Great line, 10/10

-"everywhere is a beach eventually"

I hate that this made me think of Rose

-"Why, does a landmine have lights on it?" "*groans* capitalism" "Excuse me?" "Flashy lights play well in a showroom. Modern warfare. Death by salesmen"

This is just. Oxygen but instead of a space station its warfare. Jamie Mathieson basically wrote this already. But thats okay I will still eat it up

-lesbian gymkhana. Noice.

-"IiIm not even screaming yet"

THAT'S THE RIGHT ATTITUDE 🫵

-smelted :)

-"i was trying not to show off" well thats new cause you always show off

-"you are brave." "mm." "And you are wonderful. And I forgive you for being incredibly stupid"

Do you know what that reminded me off? The dead boy detectives staircase confession. Come on, you hear it too:

"Also, I cannot BeLIEve you would risk your entire existence coming down to this operatic horror show for me. That is so FUCKING stupid its unbelievable" "Sorry. No version of this where I didnt come get you, is there"

-"I went down to the beach, and there she stood, dark and tall, at the edge of the wood. The Sky´s too big; Im scared!, I cried, she replied: Young man, dont you know theres more to life than the moon and the president´s wife?"

Was she erm , was she nice, the presidents wife?

Ah, well, that was a lie put about by the shabogans. It was the presidents daughter. I didnt steal the moon, I lost i..

Id know you anywhere.

12 AND CLARA MENTIONED?!?!?

-"Life is cheap. Patients are expensive"

Just as I said. War oxygen. Theyre fighting the algorithm. And capitalism.

-"war is business, and business is booming"

-"and my name is the doctor ""the doctor isnt a name" "yeah. haha! And I not even a doctor."

Was the degree in cheesemaking a lie? What about the lego? Doctor, have you lied to me?

Medicine, science, engineering, candy floss, philosophy, music, problems, people, hope, and practically everything :(

-"Great name, Mundy Flynn. You should marry RUby, then you´ll be mundy sunday. Go on, get married, Id laugh every day."

NOW THATS MY TYPE OF HUMOUR 🫵‼️

-"Ive met sentient Mud. lovely girls. I mean grumpy, yeah, but you try lying around with your face full of mammals all day."

I thought of the morax from the witchfinders first but yeah lovely girls

-"im a much bigger bang than you bargained for.

im a lot more explosive than I look and honey, I know how I look."

Originallt I was just a fan of the first line but something about the doctor being in a very bad situation but going "Im hot af :)" is... lmao

-SNOW??? SNOW STOPPING MID AIR???

-"do you get-get-get it?"

-the way he said "girl" in "now you need proof, faith giArl?"

-DAD TO DAD???

I reallt liked the theory of Susan coming back but this might also hint at a general doctor-family thing. Maybe his child

-when everything worked out the soundtrack was the same as during the tardis reveal in the star beast. I had to stop the episode cause that score made me FEEL things. I could not the heck focus on 15 with this soundtrack on cause. Uhm.

....

Im so sorry but this tardis reveal is so so so SO special to me so playing the same music is actually vile. Because. No I wont be able to focus on the actual episode. I couldnt focus on the actual episode because 15 sang a song 2 played on his bloody recorder. You cant use a TARDIS REVEAL SCORE.

-"What happened" "well, its uh, its kind of hard to sum up. I think if I had a diary it would be a little bit too exiting for words. I think I could write it with drums. Can you write a diary with drums? I bet I could."

IS THIS A THOSCHEI REFERENCE?! 🗣🗣🗣

-the sky is like actually super pretty on kastarion 3

-"quite frankly, your life span sucks" HAHA

-"fish fingers and custard is mt favourite" FISH FINGERS AND CUSTARD?!

-"A sad, old man once told me. WHat survives of us is love."

-irs actually insane how happy the tardis "vworp vworp vworp" makes me. Everytime the tardis disappears I giggle like little kid.

-im sorry but the next ep is SO intriguing Im very excited for next week, more excited than thid one actually