#maniac limited series

[rosegoldenatlas]

Smallishbeans hadcanon/au that connects every series he in like a spiderweb of idk anymore

sorry its all in image form I did this while on a four hour drive and it didn't wanna save.

Anyways that's all of it for now. As you can tell I love fae folklore and putting my own spin on it. Byee

[mug-wortz]

*Throws c!Martyn in a jar and shakes him around like a maraca*

[inthe-dark-tonight]

Falling into My Sins

chapter one: back in the alleyway

dbf!joel x fem!reader series- loosely inspired by the song skin by soccer mommy

chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 chapter 6

summary: it’s your first night out since moving back with your dad after graduating college. while at the bar you meet an attractive mystery man and end up hitting it off. things get heated when you convince him to dance with you.

word count: 2.7k

series rating: E (18+ mdni)

warnings: no outbreak AU, age gap (reader is in their 20s, Joel is in his 40s) alcohol consumption, light swearing, slight dubious consent (things get heated while drunk), pet names (sweetheart, babe, etc.), no use of y/n, no physical description of reader.

notes: this is my first time really writing anything so i’m very nervous to post this , i've also been working on one other fic but i decided to post this first. thank you for taking the time to read and any feed back is welcome & appreciated xo <3

also thank you so much to @shatteredbaby for proof reading ily so much bby, and @pr0ximamidnight for also proof reading, letting me ramble like a maniac and helping me with ideas ilysm. i appreciate you both so so so much <3

It’s your first weekend going out since you’ve moved back home with your dad. You’ve just graduated from the Art institute of Chicago in the spring, but your lease wasn’t up on your apartment until August so you stayed near campus until then. Now that you’re back, some of your old friends from high school offered to take you out as a sort of welcome home. You’re just finishing getting ready when you get a text from your friend Aya.

We’re here!! Hurry up Dee is getting impatient!

You roll your eyes and smile. Typical. You’re a bit nervous since you haven’t seen them in about a year, but you’re sure once you’re out it will feel like you weren’t even gone. You throw on a jacket and run down the stairs, grabbing your keys as you go.

“I’m leaving!” You call out.

“Have fun bud!” Your dad shouts from the other room.

Your parents had recently divorced while you were away, so it’s just you and your dad now. You feel kinda bad leaving him alone when you just got back, but you’ll make up for it.

You close the front door behind you and run down your front porch towards Aya’s car. As you get closer, the passenger window rolls down.

“Ahhhhh you’re back!!!” Your friend, Dee, yells. You laugh at her reaction and open the back door to the car.

“Hey!” You slide in and buckle your seat belt.

Aya turns around with one hand still on the wheel. “Long time no see! Tonight’s gonna be fun,” she says with a smile.

“We’re taking shots as soon as we get there,” Dee says with a sly smile and you laugh, leaning back fully into the seat as Aya drives, heading for downtown.

As soon as the three of you find a bar, Dee keeps her promise and orders you all shots and they send you to find a booth while they wait for the order. There aren’t many people in the bar yet since it’s only nine, but it’s slowly filling up. You look around the place, taking in the large bar that runs across one wall with stools gathered around it and across from it is the booth seating you’ve sat in. There are a few high top tables scattered around the perimeter of the bar, a pool table to the right of the door next to the large dance floor in the center that’s currently empty, and the sounds of eighties and nineties rock hits filling the large room.

As you’re looking around, the door to the bar opens and two men walk in. The first man has long dark curly hair, a patchy beard, and he’s wearing dark jeans paired with a tan jacket and brown boots. The other man has shorter dark hair, a similarly patchy beard streaked with gray, and he’s wearing dark jeans paired with a green flannel and brown boots. He’s quite handsome, you think – broader than the first man, his frame stretching the fabric of the flannel to its limit. Your eyes flick back up to his face, taking in the curve of his nose, the crease between his brows and dark brown eyes. When your eyes meet, he’s looking right at you and you immediately glance away, embarrassed that he caught you checking him out. When you dare to look at him again, his gaze is still locked on you.

“Okay, let’s do this!” Dee says as the girls approach the table with a round of shots and a drink for each of you.

Your eyes snap away from the man’s and you smile at them, grabbing a shot glass.

“To celebrate your return home,” Dee says, raising her glass for you to toast against.

You tilt your head back letting the cold liquid slide down. You close your eyes and wince as the sour flavor with the aftertaste of vodka that burns your throat. When you open your eyes again you’re met with the stranger’s warm brown eyes on you still, a shy smile on his face before he turns towards the bar and leans on the wooden counter. You set the glass down on the table and look back to your friends.

The three of you sip on your drinks for about thirty minutes or so, talking about school and catching up on life. At some point while you were all catching up, the bar switched to playing early 2000s music as more people came in. You find your eyes wandering towards the gorgeous man every few minutes, admiring his side profile, the way his hand is wrapped around his beer bottle and his shirt is rolled up to expose his forearms.

You all finish your drinks and Aya is pulling you and Dee onto the dance floor. “Come on!! I love this song!!!”

You don’t recognize the song, but you follow them onto the floor dancing and smiling as they sing along. You find yourself looking towards the bar again hoping to catch the man’s eye, but he’s gone.

“I’ll be back, I’m going to get another drink.” You say loudly over the music.

The girls just nod and keep singing along. You make your way through the crowd that’s formed in the place and find the bar. Your eyes are still scanning, looking for him, when all of a sudden someone comes up beside you, leaning onto the bar. From the corner of your eye you can tell who it is. You turn your head and it’s the mystery man. He’s even more attractive up close, a dimple on his right cheek as he smiles down at you, slight creases next to his eyes. Your eyes travel down towards his broad shoulders and the skin on his chest that’s showing where his shirt is unbuttoned.

“Hi.” the man says while smiling down at you. His voice is like honey, deep with a southern drawl.

Your lips slightly part as you hesitate for a second “Hi.” you finally say back.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He nods towards the bar.

You shake your head in agreement.

“What are you havin’, sweetheart?” He asks.

You clear your throat. “Whatever you’re having.” You smile.

“Hm.” his lip quirks up as his eyes roam your form. The bartender comes over and he orders two beers, then his eyes are back on you. “You here with friends?”

“Yeah uh, I was out of town, I just got back so we’re celebrating.” You decide to keep it vague.

“Well,” the bartender comes back with your beers and he hands one to you. “Welcome back.” He smirks, then you both take a sip.

You can’t help but watch the way his hand wraps around the bottle as he brings it up to meet his lips. You take a few sips of your beer, eyes still locked on him, then place it back on the counter. You’re feeling a little more confident now.

“What about you,” you place your elbow on the table and rest your chin in your hand, looking up at him. “Who are you here with?”

He looks over his shoulder into the crowd, an amused look on his face. “My brother.” You follow his eyes to see his brother sitting in a booth with a girl, leaning into her as they talk.

You giggle then turn back to the man. You’re noticing some similar features now that you know they’re brothers.

“You two come here every weekend chatting up girls and buying them drinks?” You bite your cheek and give him a teasing look.

He nods his head slowly looking down at the bar where he’s leaning on his forearms and lets out a small laugh. “Every now n’ then.” He looks back at you, a slight flush on his cheeks.

“Mmm bit of a player huh?” You lift your brow, teasing him some more.

He’s laughing again, it’s a deep chested laugh that makes his shoulders slightly bounce. “Wouldn’t say that, haven’t had much luck recently.” He looks from your eyes to your lips, then back to your eyes.

You nod your head taking another swig of your beer “So, what do you do for a living?” You ask nonchalantly.

“Uh,” he rubs the back of his neck. “I’m a contractor.” that explains his broad shoulders.

You bite your thumb and lean a little closer to him, arm brushing up against his. The alcohol is definitely taking an effect now. You’re checking him out again, and it’s not subtle. The way his shirt fits snug around his biceps, and his jeans fit his waist just right. He takes another sip of his beer and your eyes lock again.

Then suddenly a song you recognize comes on, Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado. You hear your friends squealing on the dance floor as the song starts, causing you to whip your head towards them then back to the mystery man.

“I’ll be right back.” You smile at him sweetly, finishing off your beer and setting the empty bottle on the table before leaving to join your friends.

You get out to the floor and they hold their hands out towards you, smiling and singing along to the song. You’re swaying your hips to the beat, mouthing the lyrics as you dance. Your hands are moving up and down your body, over the tights you’re wearing and slightly bunching up the short slip dress you have on. You’re lost in the music, then suddenly your eyes lock with the mystery man’s again, darkening as they watch you move. He’s leaning up against the bar, beer in one hand and the other in his front pocket.

‘Promiscuous boy you already know

That I’m all yours, what you waiting for?’

You’re mouthing the words, eyes never leaving his. You tilt your head to the side and give him a cheeky smile before moving your hands over your hips again. He lifts his hand out of his pocket, beckoning you back to him with his pointer finger. You shake your head no, and mimic his motion telling him to come to you. You turn away from him, back towards your friends, then glance at him over your shoulder and mouth, “Dance with me.”

A few moments later you feel a large warm hand run down your arm, and the back of a hand runs over the nape of your neck and down your shoulder before resting on your hips. You turn your head to look and it’s your mystery man, looking down at you with desire in his eyes. You turn around, still in his grasp, and wrap your arms around his neck, bringing your body flush to his.

You’re swaying with his hands on your hips now, grinding up against him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he leans his forehead against yours, taking in a deep breath. You tilt your head up, heavy lidded eyes scanning his face and your nose bumping his, your parted lips allowing a shared breath in the scant space between your mouths.

Then he’s kissing you, one hand on your hip lightly squeezing, the other resting on your cheek. He lets out a small groan and slips his tongue into your mouth, a mixture of mint and beer fill your senses. You gently pull the hair at the nape of his neck, causing him to let out a sigh.

“Sweetheart.” His voice sounds gravelly and deeper than before. “I can’t take my eyes off you.”

“Then don’t,” you say, so low it’s almost a whisper, just between the two of you.

You’re so close to him, you can feel his arousal straining against his pants as you press yourself against him.

“Come with me.” he looks down at you while trying to catch his breath.

He kisses you again, hand resting on your cheek. You nod approvingly as he pulls away. He doesn’t hesitate, grabbing you by the hand and dragging you off the dance floor towards the door. You notice his hand is much larger than yours, a little rough and calloused most likely from his job. He looks back at you a few times, and you just stare at his broad frame as you follow him. You look at the way his hair sits so perfectly, eyes wandering to his large forearms as he pulls you along behind him.

Moments later you two are outside and he’s pulling you around the side of the brick building. He backs you up against the wall, lips immediately crashing into yours. His palms rest on either side of your face, thumbs roughly caressing your cheeks like he just can’t get enough.

“You were killing me in there,” He’s towering over you, your hands clinging to his forearms.

“Was I? Couldn’t tell.” you smile slyly.

He laughs and shakes his head. “You’re somethin’ else babe, deadly.” he’s kissing you again, hands moving down your body to your waist.

You grab at the fabric of his shirt near his chest, trying desperately to pull him closer. His large hands find the hem of your dress and move up over your tights clad thighs. You moan into his mouth, heat already starting to build at your core. Moans and heavy breaths filling the air as you claw at his skin. You gently bite at his lower lip then slip your tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss. As you lower your hands towards the waist of his jeans, tucking your fingers into the front and pulling his hips flush against yours, you feel him shudder. You let out a whine as you feel the imprint of his straining cock once again.

Then you hear the door to the bar bursting open and two familiar voices talking. “It’s okay, it’s okay, shhhh.”

You freeze as your lips leave Joel’s, wide eyes meeting his before stepping away from him to peer around the corner. He lets out a groan as he adjusts himself, one hand still on your hip trailing behind you as you near the corner of the building. Then you see Aya with her arm around Dee, rubbing her back. You stand up straight, pulling away from Joel.

“Oh my god?! What happened?” You sprint over to them.

“Oh thank god, we were looking everywhere for you.” Aya looks up at you. “Dee had too much to drink, we need to go.” She loops her arm into Dee’s. “I grabbed your things, where were you?”

Then you see her eyes wander to the broad older man shuffling up behind you and her eyes go wide. She leans in close to you and mouths “Oh my god”. You can feel your face heating up as you turn around to face him.

“You ladies need a ride home?” He looks down at you, concerned look on his face.

“Oh uh.” You turn back to Aya.

“No, we've got it covered-” she smiles at him.

“But thank you,” it comes out louder than intended. “I appreciate it,” taking a step closer to him you whisper “And sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it, Killer.” He flashes a charming smile at you.

“Killer?” You laugh at the nickname and he nods his head.

“We gotta go!” Aya yells out to you.

You whip your head to look at her, then your eyes meet his again. “Well, it was nice meeting you, mystery man.” You give him one last look and go to turn around towards your friends. He gently grabs your shoulder, surprising you.

“Wait,” it comes out soft as he whips you around to face him again. “Can I at least have your number?”

You hesitate for a moment. “What, so you can add me to your roster?” You try to hold back a smile.

“C’mon.” he looks away shaking his head, a boyish smile plastered on his face.

“Give me your phone.” He looks back at you, relief in his eyes. Then he pulls it out of his pocket and hands it to you.

You type in your number and put your contact name as Killer. You hand him back his phone and quickly get on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His eyes go slightly wide, and then you’re turning away, running towards the car before he can say anything. As you grab your jacket and purse from your friend and slip into the car, you smile at him before closing the door.

You watch him through the window standing there with his hands in his pockets as the car pulls away. Your mystery man, you hope to see him again.

ty for reading xo

tagging a few moots but np! anyone who wants to be tagged in the next one let me know :)

@nostalxgic @ilovepedro @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @beskarandblasters @jenispunk @tieronecrush @joelsversion @pedrospartner @canseethebrushstrokes @scrambledslut @isitmeulookin4 @tinygarbage <3

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #11.5 SPECIAL

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Let’s start from the beginning one last time.

Word count: 5,800

Warning: Heavy angst and character death. Dead Dove do not eat.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

Let’s start from the beginning one last time. 

My name is Miguel O’Hara, and in an experiment gone wrong, my genetic code was partially rewritten with Spider DNA, giving me superpowers.

My home is Earth 928-C where I was the one and only Spiderman... of my home dimension at least.

I invented and built a dimensional travel device that allowed me to jump between universes with the goal of exploring the limits of the multiverse. 

And then I met a woman in this other world who nearly died from a crazy freak accident.

I saved her of course.

Then I saved her again.

And again, and again.

... And again.

We fell in love, and I decided to stay with her in her world.

You know the rest. We got married. We had a life together.

I was happy. Really happy. 

For a while.

[Earth 383-D]

3 YEARS AGO

"Goddamn idiot bird," Miguel mutters under his breath.

Vulture is on the loose again, wreaking havoc on the city. The maniac is flying high above the city grounds, leaving a trail of mayhem in his wake. 

Miguel's been in pursuit for the better half of two hours. In that time, the bird has derailed the High Line, literally hit a traffic light and managed to knock over the spire on the Statue of Liberty as if he was flying under the influence.

Then somehow flew across town through Tribeca, along Lower Manhattan and Greenwich Village and now reached all the way to Midtown Manhattan. 

Dumbass ugly stupid bird. 

Miguel digs his claws into the exterior of the limestone and granite of the Empire State Building to steady himself, using the momentum to leap forward.

The Vulture crashes into a skyscraper 50 feet ahead of Miguel, and in the mad dash, he can see a man tumble out of the building head first to the ground from the 30th floor. 

Swinging forward, Miguel slings out a web from his palm, catching the screaming and sobbing office worker in midair and lands briefly against the windowpane. He ensures the man is secured to the building in a cocoon of webbing until the fire department can get him to safer grounds.

Miguel doesn't even get a second to catch his breath. From afar, he can pick up the sound of another window being crashed into by the unwieldy metal bird. 

Crap. 

It's impossible for Miguel to both chase the Vulture and keep everyone else in his path of destruction safe. One superhero can't be in two places at once (none that he has encountered).

Gritting his teeth, Miguel leaps off the building swinging freely into the air to make up on the lost ground between him and the metallic cuckoo bird.

He needs backup, and the backup is unfortunately running late.

Where is he? Why is he always late?

Does that man not understand that when someone calls for backup because of an emergency, the emergency part indicates that there's some urgency to it?

Flying through the air 100 feet above the ground, from the corner of his eyes, Miguel catches the familiar garish red flowing cape that billows from the cowl of the grand cloak and suit. 

Miguel would know that weird wizard get-up anywhere. 

"Strange!" Miguel calls out, and he can feel irritation rattle in his chest. "You're late! Where the shock were you?"

"The word you're looking for is 'fuck.' Where the fuck was I," the man responds with a sarcastic drawl.

Strange levitates through the air, effortlessly without expending any energy at all as he catches up with Miguel. "You gave me no notice. Be happy I showed up at all."

From a distance he sees the dumb bird soar high up into the sky and towards the all too familiar crowned roof of the Chrysler building. 

No. nononono. 

Why is he there? What is he doing there? Anywhere but there. 

His back flashes cold then burning hot as the Vulture makes a straight beeline for the familiar building.

It’s fine. Maybe he’s not going to fly in there. Maybe he’s just going to fly past it.

Miguel watches as the metallic bird soars up and up and up, past the midpoint of the building, past the 40th floor of your office and up to the 50th floor. The tight squeeze in his chest eases.

Then the vulture stops, mid-flight and looks down below, as if he changed his mind, before he descends again. 

Shit! Shit! SHIT!

He dives into one of the windows between the 40th and 50th floor. The sound of broken glass and shrill screams can be heard even from where Miguel is. 

Blood freezes in his veins and nausea overtakes him. Calm down. Breathe.. Maybe you’re not in. After all, Lyla’s security protocols would’ve been activated by now if you were. He would’ve been alerted. 

Soaring through the skies, Miguel reaches over to his wrist to punch in the dial for Lyla to check in and reassure himself you're safe. But his tracker blinks back in an alarming red, and he darts down his head towards the display.  

Error. 

His heart stops. 

The flying silhouette reappears through the shattered windows and the metallic harness strapped onto the vulture gleams bright against the sun.

It’s only then it hits him. Lyla's been deactivated by the madman's stupid Electro-Magnetic Harness. 

Why hadn't he foreseen that as a technical flaw?

Against the reflective glass panes, Miguel sees you, caught in the Vulture talons like a mouse captured by a large predatory bird. Every hair on his neck stands on end. His vision bleeds into red, blood roaring at the sight of it.

Kill him.

Miguel's gonna murder that freak for touching you. Crush his windpipe so he can't ever squawk again, then rip his throat out with his claws and feed it to the street pigeons for good measure.

Launching himself through the air, Miguel tears up the side of the building. The tempered glass beneath his claws and feet, shatters into sharp jagged pieces as he closes the distance. 

He is almost within reach. Only some 30 feet that still separates you from him. Leaping the final distance he slams hard into the side of the Vulture until metal crunches beneath his feet. 

Miguel roars until his throat burns with it. Palms gripping at the man’s jaw and prying it back to get at his bare throat. His fangs are ready to sink into the jugular. He can see the dark pupil of Vulture's eyes dilate with fear. 

Good. Miguel's anger will be the last thing this freak sees.

"Miguel calm down," Strange shouts at him from behind. "You're gonna knock her off."

Miguel freezes at the warning, forcing himself to hold still as he looks down to where you are dangling precariously from the Vulture's claws.

"Be ready," Strange shouts, and Miguel looks to him, not understanding what the hell he means. 

Strange rests his hand over the shiny blue gem hanging around a chain from his neck.

What does he mean by be ready? What is Strange going to do?

"What'd you mea–"

Miguel doesn't have a chance to finish the rest of his sentence. An unnatural force vibrates through him. A pulsating wave that pervades his senses, punching through his lungs and knocks him back. 

In an instance, you're propelled away from Strange and the Vulture, and you are freefalling towards the ground below.

Miguel leaps mid-air, arms outstretched to catch you as you plummet towards the ground below. His fingers clasps around your wrists, your warm skin against his fingertips.

He's got you!

Taking hold of you by the arm, Miguel pulls you into his chest as he wraps one arm securely around your waist.

Immediate relief fills him from the inside out as the adrenaline and the searing anger is already starting to fade now that he knows you're safe.

"You okay, nena?" he asks.

You nod, arms finding purchase around the back of his neck, and squeeze down tight. He swings you both to the safety of a nearby rooftop.

There's barely time for him to touch the surface, he hears the nearby explosion and sees Vulture crash into the concrete wall of the nearest building. 

Strange is levitating nearby, hands making wild gestures, presumably to perform some hocus pocus ritual. There’s a magical glow as strobes of light manifest out of thin air surrounding the Vulture from all sides and wrapping around him in a restraining bind.

Miguel sets you down. You're a little bit wobbly on your feet, and seeing you stumble the way you do has that protective streak spark anew in his chest.

Stupid Strange. He can't just do shit like that. 

What if Miguel hadn't reacted in time? What if you had fallen? 

This is why Miguel hates working with the guy, even if they’re friends. Always on his moral high horse about Miguel being reckless, then he pulls shit like this.

"Everyone alright?" Strange asks as he levitates through the sky to set feet close to you both on the rooftop.

Miguel grits his teeth with annoyance at the man’s casual demeanor when he nearly threw you out of the sky.

"Shock you, Strange," he spits out.

"Miggy..." you sigh in a reprimanding tone next to him. 

Stephen shakes his head at him. "I told you. It's fuck"

"Fuck you, Strange."

Sanctum Sanctorum is closer than home and Strange has, comfortable sofas in his ridiculously big mansion. Big enough sofas that Miguel can actually lounge in them comfortably without it feeling cramped. It's why, given the choice, he always prefer to regroup there, over your tiny apartment.

Besides, while the man's control over his magical powers can be suspect at times, he used to be a doctor. Supposedly one of the leading brain surgeons in the world, and Miguel is a lot more comfortable at the prospect of Strange giving you a checkover to make sure you don't need further medical attention than trying your luck at one of the local ERs.

"Follow my finger," Strange says as he shines a little flashlight into your eyes and moves his index from side to side. 

Your eyes follow him dutifully, and Strange proceeds with the rest of his medical check, asking you the boring standard questions. "Any symptoms of dizziness, lightheadedness, or a sense of vertigo?"

He fires them out in rapid succession, and a bit too perfunctory for Miguel's liking.

"Noticed any changes in your vision, blurriness or double vision, etcetera etcetera?"

Miguel's jaw tic in irritation at how Strange is putting in minimal effort and just going through the motions.

"Yeah, you're fine." Strange pats your knees, then whisks the flashlight away into nothingness with his cape.

That medical check wasn't anything close to thorough. Miguel crosses his arms over his chest. "Are you sure? Her feet were wobbly before, I wanted to make sure she didn't sprain her ankle."

"A little bit overprotective as always aren't we?" Strange says.

Miguel shoots the man a glare and Stephen sighs, "Her reflexes are fine, I don't think anything's sprained."

"Check again, you seemed sloppy," Miguel accuses.

"You know, I'm doing this as a favor because you’re a friend. Do you have any idea how much a medical examination by one of the leading neurological surgeons in the world would cost you normally?"

"I'll have Lyla transfer the money."

“No, it’s not actually about money just–" Stephen shakes his head, then sighs. "Nevermind.”

He gestures for you to drape your leg across his lap, then he reaches over to gently assess your ankle as requested.

"What is this necklace?" You ask. You lean closer to Strange, inspecting the blue gem where it rests against his chest.

Strange swats at your hand, the way an adult scolds a child with sticky chocolate smeared hands trying to touch the fine china.

"It's a protection amulet. When activated it forms a protective barrier that forcibly repels everything within ten feet of you."

"Huh," you reach back for the amulet undaunted by the earlier reprimand, fascinated and clearly enamored by it. "I'll give you fifty bucks for it."

Strange looks offended. "It's not for sale, and if it was it would certainly be worth a lot more than fifty dollars. It's a genuine magical artifact, not fake costume jewelry from the theater department."

You purse your lips, considering the amulet.

"Forty," you offer.

Miguel has to choke back a snorting laughter in his throat at the way Stephen's eyes goes wide in confused outrage.

"Wait, why is the price going down?"

“We’re in the middle of an economic crisis, Stephen,” you counter.  

Strange's head darts over to where Miguel sits, presumably for backup, but he's knocked on the wrong door. The man must be mad if he thinks that there is ever a world where Miguel would side against you.

"Strange, we both know it’s easier if you just give her the amulet." Miguel says. 

The man sighs, shaking his head in defeat.

"Be careful with it," he says as he drags the chain over his head to place it in your awaiting palms. "And don't lose it like the invisibility amulet with Mysterio. Had to spend a whole month clearing up your mess when that creep used it to get into the women's locker rooms at every local gym in Greenwich!"

"That wasn’t my mess! Miggy lost that one during an aerial fight. You can't blame that on me."

"You married him, so you're responsible for him. I consider you two jointly to blame."

"Now you're just lashing out," you shoot back.

Miguel watches the two of you in patient boredom, his head propped up by an elbow on the arm of the sofa. He expended way too much energy during the fight, and now he needs to refuel. 

If Miguel leaves you two to it, you'll spend an eternity bantering, the way you do. His stomach growls. He wants food. Wants wantons and beef ho fun and a dozen custard salted egg buns for dessert. And the longer you two are at it, the longer it's going to take for him to get it.

"Nena," he calls out, "I'm hungry. Are you two done? I want to go for dinner."

You shoot Miguel a quick smile, pulling out your wallet and take out a wad of green bills then fold it into Strange's hand with a happy grin.

Strange looks down at the crumpled up money in his hand. "Wait, you're only giving me thirty? I thought we said forty."

"You still owe me like ten bucks from mini golf last week."

Strange pockets the money with a grumble. "Unbelievable." 

“C’mon,” Miguel says as he stands up and gestures to the both of you with a curt nod of his head towards the door. “Let’s go. I’ll pay for dinner this time,” Miguel says, and that seems to abate Strange’s outrage somewhat as the man grabs your coat from the sofa cushions and offers it to you.

Life on Earth 383-D is strange.

Life here is borderline primitive. The technology is something out of the stone ages.

Social media is a wasteland. Reality TV is a dystopian concept. And he doesn't understand who Kardashian is or why everyone is obsessed with her and her family. 

He does like fax machines though. They are basically teleportation machines and it boggles him that the people of your dimension do not seem to understand its potential.

The one thing he will give this version of earth credit for is that the food here is nice. Everyone in his home dimension is too health conscious, and fried food has long been banned by the government for the long term damage it does to the cardiovascular system. 

He also likes the life that the two of you have built together here. You have a home in that tiny shoebox apartment. You have friends. Strange friends. Like the Doctor who flies around with the help of a magic cape and now practices the mystic arts after a gap year in Asia. A young girl whose main superpower is the ability to communicate with squirrels. Then there’s that ugly red-masked wise-cracking, katana-wielding maniac who never dies.

Sadly, your friends are not the only thing that is strange about your surroundings.

Miguel perches himself on top of the Chrysler building sitting hunched over on the ledge of the roof. He’s drained and bone-tired, chasing down a helicopter that had gone haywire and was hurtling towards your office building. 

Luckily Strange was able to assist and sent it through a magic portal to crash into the Atlantic without putting any lives at stake. 

"Just had to do some cleaning up," Strange says as he sets his boots back down on the ground. 

Miguel doesn't answer him, staring out at the city view and the setting sun as he takes a well earned breather for a moment or two. New York is a bit of a shit hole, but it does look pretty from a high viewpoint, especially when the sun is setting, Miguel has to give this city that.

It's silent between the two of them. Or at least it is until Strange decides to break it with a harkle of his throat. When Miguel doesn't react the man does it again, coughing discreetly in a clear attempt to get his attention.

Miguel doesn't say anything about the man's sore throat. He ran out of the lemon drops you bought him as snacks hours ago, but he does tilt his head up at the man.

"She's been getting into a lot of these incidents lately. More than usual, more than any normal human for it to be a coincidence" Strange says.

The whole of Miguel's back stiffens.

"Have you noticed the abnormal uptick in strange unexplainable supernatural occurrences lately? Indoor tornadoes. The rain of poisonous frogs outside of whole foods. A sinkhole appearing right next to the cafe your wife frequents."

Miguel doesn't love the insinuations. Even with his lips pressed tightly together, Miguel can feel the small muscle in his jaw flex like a nervous tic at the mention of it. Because yeah, he's noticed, kind of hard to miss when your wife's life is in constant peril at all hours of the day.

Ice storms in July that hit right outside your workplace. An inexplicable solar flare causing a blackout that had every single vehicle within a 5 miles radius go haywire in the dark near your apartment. A swarm of mutated mosquitoes with a venomous bite that chased you down Central Park. 

The incidents are occurring more frequently. They are also getting increasingly bizarre and dangerous.

No one can say it’s just bad luck when the daily occurrences around you are defying the very laws of nature itself. Something isn't right with the universe, and he's not sure what else there is to do except pretend that everything is still ok.

"What are you implying?" Miguel asks through gritted teeth. 

But for the first time in the years that Miguel has known him, Strange's talkativeness is nowhere to be found. He doesn't answer Miguel. He's smart that way, the clever bastard. Knows that if he says one wrong word, Miguel is going to unhinge his jaws like a feral alligator and snap at him. 

Strange has said what he needed for Miguel to know exactly what he's getting at. The man just meets his eyes with an intentional stare, not shying away from Miguel's glare.

It's not like the thought hasn't crossed Miguel's mind. Not like it hasn't been keeping him up at night, every night.

Even though you've always been accident prone and suffered from bad luck, at this point it's a mathematical impossibility that anyone would run into as many near death incidents as you have.

This isn't by chance. It's by design. Miguel's suspected as much for a while now. He just doesn't know whose design and why.

"It's not her fault," Miguel spits out.

"I never said it was."

"Even if what you are saying is true..." Miguel stops, and stares down at his fisted palms with a sinking feeling in his guts. "There's nothing she can do about it to stop it. You can't put that on her."

"Whether she knows about it or not, if it's true, none of this is going to go away.

Strange walks over to where Miguel is, sitting down next to him.

"It’s been escalating in severity," he continues. "There are strange universal energies attached to her. There’s warping of the universal order and space around her. We don't know how bad this can get, if we don’t do anything about this, it could unravel the fabric of reality itself."

Despite the calamity of what Strange is implying, his voice is even and calm as he says it as if he might as well be discussing the weather. That trait has always annoyed the shit out of Miguel.

"What are you planning to do if this continues?" Strange asks.

It's such a silly question. Strange says it as if this is a multiple choice question. But for Miguel there's only one correct answer. 

"Protect her. I have to. She's everything to me."

Miguel is staring into the sunset bu all he sees before him is your face even though you aren’t here. The happy smile that he wants to preserve forever. He tries to fight the ache that's building in him at the thought that it would go away.

"Strange, don't tell her. Please. She doesn't need that burden."

He fists his palms into his side.

Miguel never liked asking for help, but even he knows that if what Strange is saying is true. That if the universe for some unfathomable reason wants you dead, then he's going to need all the help he can get.

If Strange has figured it out. Then it's only a matter of time before others do as well.

Soon enough, you won't just have the universe coming after you but every superhero and villain combined in a united front to take out the common threat that you pose to this entire universe.

Even Miguel knows he can't do this alone and as much as that helplessness tastes like failure and bile in his throat, he can swallow his pride if it helps keep you safe.

"Stephen, you have to help me save her."

From behind, Strange rests one hand on the corner of his shoulder. The weight of it feels like a promise being made. For the first time in a long time, Miguel feels like he can breathe just a little bit easier.

"I will do what I can, my friend."

Weeks go by. There are more incidents. Runaway vehicles that go haywire. Electrical storm fires. Rain of poisonous locusts. 

Somehow he manages to protect you from it all. 

It just means that he has to be more vigilant, that's all. The universe doesn't rest and neither does Miguel now. Lyla has been set on constant alert to wake him up whenever he's napping at any small signs of abnormal occurrences happening near you, with an electric shock to make sure he wakes. Something the A.I. is taking a worryingly amount of glee in (which probably means he needs to retune her programming when he has time).

And today, today Miguel was meant to have a Sunday lie in. Universe be willing, his goal was to sleep all the way into the late afternoon and then you had promised to take him to IHOP and get him all the pancakes he could eat for late breakfast.

But right now he's not asleep. He's trying to. But there are hushed words and whispered murmurs, buzzing in his ear that keeps trying to drag him away from sleep.

It's you and Strange.

Judging from the distance of the noises, you're both standing outside in the hall. The fact that you two are trying to be quiet makes it worse. If you'd spoken in normal volume he could tune it out as white noise, but the conspiratorial quietness of it all makes the hair on the back of his neck tingle with alertness.

Fuck's sake. He swears to god if you two are gossiping and making fun of Hercules’ costume (or the lack of it) again.

It's too early for this crap. Don't you two know that people are trying to sleep? He was up all night chasing crazy Kraven worshippers releasing animals from the Brooklyn zoo. Miguel had to gather wild zebras and crocodiles all the way down East Village til 4am.

With a groan, he drags himself halfway up along the mattress, about to go and growl at you both to be quiet, when the cluttered noises register as words and the fuzziness of sleep clears momentarily.

"He'd destroy this world for you."

Huh? What are you two talking about?

Miguel's too groggy to make sense of the context of what's being said. Even with his super hearing he has to focus to make out the words.

"You can't let him."

Irritated, he gets out of bed and walks to the front door to swing it open. The first thing he sees is you standing with Strange in the hallway. You jump at the suddenness and look up at him with wide eyes.

You have the worst poker face of anyone he's ever seen in his life.

"What are you two jabbering on about this damn early?" he asks.

He'd expected the two of you to act coy, maybe a clever 'wouldn't you like to know' retort back from the Mystic. Instead, Strange's face is entirely inscrutable, tone serious as he responds.

"We were just catching up. Nothing important. I need to head back," Strange says, then he turns to you with a meaningful tilt to his head. "Think about what I said."

"What was that about?" Miguel asks you as he watches Strange step through a portal and disappear.

You don't say anything. There's a worried frown etched between your eyebrows as you bite down on your lip.

Something crawls under Miguel's skin at the whole interaction.

You're oddly quiet the whole afternoon. Deep in thought and walking around as if in a daze, which unsettles him.

It's not difficult for him to guess what's wrong. He might have been half asleep when you and Strange were whispering in the corridors, but Miguel can put one and one together. Having two PHDs and a lifetime's experience of working in theoretical physics gives you that leg up.

In a last ditch effort to get you out of the uncharacteristic blues, he orders a dozen of your favorite cupcakes from that tiny shop in New Jersey. It costs an arm and a leg to have it couriered, but it'll be worth it if it makes you smile. 

Then he sits down next to you on the bed and places the pink pastry box down on the mattress. It's your favorite place to eat cakes and it’s why you two always end up with crumbs and frosting all over the sheets.

You happily cram half a cupcake into your mouth in one bite as you eat, and he watches you contently. If there was any fairness in the world, this quiet idyllic moment could last forever. In a good world, Miguel wouldn’t have to burst this perfect bubble. 

Sadly, this world is neither fair nor good sometimes. 

"Strange said something to you right?" Miguel asks. 

You still next to him, clearly torn between whether or not to share what was said to you, probably in secret with the very intention of being kept away from him. 

“Nena,” Miguel tries again, and you close your eyes taking a deep breath, caving into his prodding. 

"Strange thinks that my incidents might be correlated with the strange natural occurrences lately."

That fucking asshole. He knew it. Irritation pings across his jaw, and Miguel bites it down. He tries to reel it, forcing back the rant that wants to surface. Instead he tries to focus on you instead of his own anger. 

"We don't know that. It could just be a series of coincidences," Miguel tells you. 

You nod, but Miguel's not an idiot and neither are you. He can see the worry creasing your eyes as you look down to your lap. 

Putting down the cupcake, he reaches over and links his right hand with yours. 

"Nena, don't worry.” He cups his free hand over your cheek to drag you up to meet his eyes.

“I'll fight the whole universe to keep you safe if I have to. Nothing's ever going to harm you so long as I'm here. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. You're the most important thing to me."

You smile at him at the words, but there's a wistfulness to it that embeds a dull ache in his chest that he wants to physically rub away to make it stop.

You lean into his touch, until your forehead presses up against his and the physical touch blunts the ache in him for a moment, putting it on pause. 

"You’re the most important to me too," you say.

The sky itself cracks open not long after. 

It doesn’t take the combined forces and intellect of the entire world too long to hone in on you being the root cause. Soon enough every superhero, mutant, villain and alien starts coming after you. Because hero or villain alike, no one truly wants their world to end, not if it’s not on their terms. 

Mysterio tries to kidnap you by the elevator in your apartment building. The Human Torch even tries to burn the whole building down. The Punisher tries to murder you point blank outside your office.

Miguel can’t remember the last time he slept. He’s running on fumes. Day after day, he feels like he’s getting by on borrowed time. 

The friends and allies you have thin out fast as the threats to the world increase in severity. Miguel never imagined having Deadpool standing outside his door stating that the life of one single person cannot outweigh the universe itself. 

It’s all so stupid. None of them know what they’re talking about. A lynching mob with their torches and pitchforks. Never stopping to think whether harming you could trigger something much worse.

If Strange is right and you are the knot at the center of the fabric of reality that is coming apart, then ripping that out leaves a hole. Miguel gave up on explaining that fairly quickly because he realized that theoretical consequences doesn’t matter to an angry mob scared of facing the reality of extinction. 

It all becomes a blur. 

Exhaustion eats into his bones, until he can no longer tell the days apart. No matter how many times he saves you, disaster is always waiting just around the corner. 

And now he’s chasing down the Green Goblin to the top of the Chrysler building from the 61st floor, where the green freak has cornered you to the edge of the rooftop.

Miguel is already out of breath, running away from the coalition of superheroes and villains that are hot on his heels, trying to stop him from saving you. 

Adrenaline beats fast in his veins as he keeps running. Miguel is only able to make out those in pursuit in brief glimpses. The bright blue spandex suit of Reed Richards as his freakishly long elastic limbs stretch towards him. The blocks of metal hurtling towards Miguel, missing by inches and crashes into the side of a building as Magneto’s form hovers nearby. 

He ignores them all, not sparing a glance behind him. He just has to keep moving. It doesn't matter that his muscles scream and burn in exhaustion. Doesn't matter that his head dulls with a heavy ache from lack of sleep. He has to keep going for you. Has to save you.

He's so close, he's almost there.

From the corner of his eyes, he makes out the familiar garish red flowing cape fluttering against the blue sky.

Strange.

Miguel marginally relaxes, at the sight of the sole ally he has left in this universe. He leaps across the rooftop, into the temporary safety of the observatory deck.

His feet doesn't even reach the ground. Something restrains him from behind. Bright lights materialize out of thin air. It wraps around Miguel's limb with the strength of unbreakable manacles, hugging him so tight it restricts the flow of blood to his fingers. Then he’s brought down to his knees. 

Miguel whips his head back and Strange stands there, hands formed in a holding gesture.

“What are you–”

"I'm sorry," Strange says.

Miguel snarls at his restraints, wrenching and twisting in every direction he is able to even with the limited range of motion, but it's to no avail. The harder he struggles the more forceful the restraints seem to close in on him, mirroring his strength.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this. I really hoped there was another way but every life in the whole of the universe is at stake, Miguel."

Hot burning anger spears through him, and if he could he would raze it all to the ground with it. This place, this world and this fucking traitor standing there can all fucking burn. Miguel is gonna kill him. He's gonna kill this fucking bastard. He can't believe he trusted him.

“Strange, fucking let me… Stephen!”

He hears your pained shout and snaps his head towards the sound.

Miguel is only ten feet away from you. Ten measly feet from where the Green Goblin is holding you by the ledge of the rooftop. He can still reach you, if he can get free he can still save you. 

Tearing through the magical binds, there’s a bone-cracking sound in his shoulder. Searing pain spreads through his arm. For all his struggles, he doesn't know if he’s even an inch closer towards you. 

He watches you drop from the ledge. 

It's a pin drop moment where everything stops. His heart is no longer beating. 

No. This can't be how it ends.

He's moving forward, even as the sharp restraints digs into his limbs and flesh and burrows in with an excruciating ache. But the pain doesn't matter. All that matters is you.

It claws into him, and digs and tears, until he is sure that his entire limbs are going to be torn off, but he doesn't stop, keeps pulling against the resisting strength that surrounds him, rips against the hindrance embracing every ounce of the pain until finally, the pressure gives.

There's a cacophony of sound that's left behind him as he leaps through the air. He slingshots downwards, cutting through air as he tries to reach you.

Miguel catches your hand and relief fills his chest.

"I got you. I got you," he murmurs. He's not sure if those words are to calm you or himself.

Pulling you up in defiance of the pull of gravity, he tries to haul you up towards him. Your hand squirms in his, and if you keep going you're going to slip out of his grasp.

"Nena, don't move," he shouts in alarm, but you don't stop, twisting in all directions, making it harder for him to get a better grip.

What're you– You're resisting against his strength, why would you...

It hits him with a sickening realization.

You don' want him to save you.

"Stop!" he shouts. “Stop!”

You shake your head, tears filling the corner of your eyes that flow upwards and everything is upside down to him. 

"We’re out of time. You have to let me go,” you say. 

His fingers squeeze down even harder at your words, refusing to hear it. 

“There's still time. There are still other options. I can still save you!” 

Your hand reaches for the amulet pressed against your collarbone. Dread floods every nerve in his body as he sees your fingers squeeze around it.

"No!" He shouts. Screams it so loud it burns in his lungs. But deep down he knows it's not going to make any difference. "Nena, don't!"

The wind whips too loudly against his face. The sound of your heart pounding so painfully hard in his ear that it's deafening and he knows that sound will haunt him forever. 

You're scared.

He sees your lips move, but he can't hear what you're saying.

But he's heard these words so many times before from your lips that he knows them by heart. 

''I love you.''

An invisible force blasts away at him, it shatters through him through his limbs and torso into the very soft tissue of his stomach and makes his teeth shake. He's propelled upwards, unable to control his movements or defy the gravity that he's learned to navigate after all these years mid-air.

He holds on as hard as he can to your hand, but it doesn't matter. His fingers slip, his grip is lost.

You're falling through the sky.

Miguel doesn't remember much after that.

Somehow he makes it back onto the ground.

Somehow he finds you amongst the cracked dirty concrete. 

Somehow, despite falling from over a 100 feet your body is still intact where it lies lifeless on the ground.

Your bones are broken though. Body limp and soft in his arms in a way that has never felt more wrong to him. His only consolation is that you're still warm in his arms, and he thinks that maybe if he just doesn't let go, if he holds you tightly pressed to him the way he is doing now, it'll remain that way forever.

The sky has cleared above. There are no cracks in the azure blue canvas.

This world is saved. 

His world has ended. 

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To @thirstworldproblemss who has been with me on this journey since chapter one without her enthusiasm and her companionship and friendship and listening to my wild ramblings about this story, I would never have set out to write this thing. She gave me so much joy in the process, she also gave me her time and her skills and brainy talent to help me process and brainstorm this into a shape that I was excited to share with you all! You also have her to thank for that devastating last line.

@guruan who has been a constant well of inspiration with her amazing art, her bright sense of humor and her sharing of theories of what's going to happen! You've made writing this story so much fun!

Author's note: Here we go guys, we've officially entered the final arc now. With only three chapters to go! I am so excited to share the remaining puzzle pieces with you all!

[fanaticsnail]

i love your sapsorrow series — even more when i read that Shanks snippet where he thought he was safe OH GOD AHAHAHA please!!!

Ah, you see. They all think they're safe from the clutches of the foul curse of Sapsorrow. Their knees shall bend, their backs shall break and their hearts will perish before her mighty claim - should they ever fail in their task to woo their intended.

(Image Source)

Sands of Time

Themes: Sir Crocodile x f!reader, reluctant bride, enemies to lovers, kidnapping trope, rake!crocodile x royal!reader, forced proximity, longing from afar, injured x caretaker, time limit to love, haunting spectre, Sapsorrow fairytale au, suggestive themes, forced/arranged marriage.

Mihawk Sapsorrow masterlist here, Shanks Sapsorrow here, Masterlist here

Sir Crocodile's intentions below the cut.

.

“What is this? A fitting gift for an apprehensive bride. I shall gift this to my intended before we wed on the morrow. Perhaps it will be near enough for her to open her legs and share her bed tonight.”

Hunched over the writing desk, half-moon glasses drawn down the bridge of his nose, sat the hulking sir crocodile. He shook his head, unsure of what commotion was going on behind the door of his darkened office. A wedding? Unlikely. 

Managing inventory, arranging wage statements and smirking at his half-composed letter to the lord of Kuraigana regarding his collection of debt; his ears pricked at a whisper of motion within the room.

“It has been found, reptile,” the echoing voice sinisterly whispered. A rumbled roar began erupting within the chasms of his chest as he released fragments of sand out to grasp the ghostly form of the witch to encase her spirit in a layer of dust. 

“I was rid of you, witch. You have no claim over me nor my soul,” he growled, prompting the spectre to unleash a wave of echoed maniacal laughter. Her voice was haunting, her tone was low and deliberate as she taunted further. 

“I was lost to you, but now found and will be placed on the finger of a bride within the hour,” she taunted, slowly raking her undead soul towards him. Strands of her hair began moving as if beneath the crashing waves of water, her sinister smile and unblinking eyes bore into the hulking man in front of her.

“What conditions have been laid to have you curse me, witch?” he asked, sitting back in his chair and removing his glasses, “I had your band stolen from me by the Don of Dressrosa, thus casting your curse onto him, not me.” He chipped the end of a thick cigar, drew it to his lips and ignited the tip with the flick of his flint. 

“To answer first: she has laid no such conditions as yet,” the spirit confessed as nonchalant as a spirit could ever be, “And to answer second,” her spectral essence passed through the desk and stood still, towering over the form of the crocodile, “My curse cannot be given twice to the same individual.”

Sir Crocodile held his breath. His usually bored and slackened jaw was now clenched firm atop his cigar. 

“What must I do, witch?” He spat, staring up into the cement eyes of the ghost of Sapsorrow as she smeared her sharpened canines down at him. As Sapsorrow began to bare another thought down onto the crocodilian man in front of her, an echoed voice rang throughout the room.

“I am not cattle to be bought with such an item, nor am I simply a broodmare to bear your spawn within my belly. You think this enough for me to share my bed on the eve of our wedding? I would never.” 

Sir Crocodile bore his eyes into the ever rising smirk of the Sapsorrow Queen in front of him, listening to the echoing words ricocheting from the chasms of his mind and reverberating in his soul.

“If you desire me to be your bride, you will have me love you with all that I am. You will earn my affection, you will slave for my adoration - but my love will be only passed onto you when I truly think you love me completely in return.”

The malicious laughter echoed throughout the room, the sands currently revealing the Sapsorrow spectre falling atop the desk, littering the papers and ornaments scattered below. 

“Make haste, Sir Crocodile,” she taunted him once more, “She is set to marry him on the morrow. That should put a damper on things, do you not you agree?”

Sir Crocodile began to shake, his shoulders stumbling below his aggression. He violently thrust his forearms down atop the desk, his balled fist of his remaining hand indenting beneath his powerful thrust, the tip of his golden hook sunk into the mahogany and encaptured it within his circlet. 

“H-How,” he began, his voice staggering as his mind caught up with the conditions laying claim to his soul, “How could someone measure that? How could someone ever dream of proving that level of blind devotion?”

“Therein lies the rub, reptile,” Sapsorrow’s echo felt further from him now, flittering up towards the ceiling akin to the smoke from his sour cigars, “You may never truly earn it, and I may yet collect the debt of your soul.” 

“You have a year,” her voice began to crack as it faded up further, “Until the sands of time pass the last grain to conclude its final hour, your form shall crack like glass and your soul will belong to me.”

-----------

Notes: I will be working on Shanks, Buggy and Sir Crocodile spinoffs once the Sapsorrow Au fic is concluded for Mihawk. If there is a gentleman you would like to see flung into this particular fairytale curse, let me know and I will aim to create it! I only have 10 rings to work with!

There are other fairytale au's in the making, if you enjoy an interpretation with your beloved characters:

@gingernut1314 is doing "The Luck Child" for Buggy

@writingmysanity is doing a "Hans My Hedgehog" interpretation for Corazon.

@sordidmusings is doing a "Three Ravens" interpretation for Sanji.

@cinnbar-bun has many a thought about the Crocodile, and I am looking forward to see what she comes up with.

Allow me to take the opportunity to thank @since-im-already-here, the "smol snail, fanatic in the making," for making me do this one. I love writing for it, and it's amazing to see how many there are of you that enjoys being whisked away with my words.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @carrotsunshine @feral-artistry @i-am-vita

[arc-misadventures]

Dragon Faunus AU: We see that Jaune has fire breath. But could we see something where after he learned how to use aura, maybe get something akin to aura breath? That or some godzilla traits and have him glow when he uses it now.

Gorjia eh?

~~~

Who Will Know?

The log was ripped to shreds as, Jaune’s razor sharp talons tore through the hunk of would like paper. Ripped apart wood chips, and torn up metal plates littered the floor as a result of, Dr. Oobaleck’s rampant testing of his abilities.

Oobaleck: Excellent! Well done, Mr Arc. These test will prove highly valuable at testing the limits of your faunas abilities.

Jaune: Thanks for helping me with this Dr. I’m sure my friends could have help, but I’m not so sure about the whole data collecting aspect of it all.

Jaune, and his team, along with team RWBY made their way to the, Emerald Falls in order to run a series of test to determine, Jaune’s faunas ability. Considering his rather unique nature as a faunas, tests needed to be done. The only reason they were doing it outside was to be away from prying eyes.

And, potential property damage.

Oobaleck: Think nothing of it ! Why, this research opportunity is unlike any other I have been tasked to do. I relish the opportunity!

Jaune: Well, glad someone enjoying themselves, bar Nora…

As if on cue, Nora slammed another log before him with her usual wild eyed maniac gaze within her eyes.

Nora: Again!

Jaune: Must I? I mean, I’ve already shredded an entire tree. Possibly more than that.

Oobaleck: No, we have gained enough research on your talons, now it is time to test you ability to breath fire!

Yang: Whoo!

Ruby: Yes!

Nora: FINALLY!

His friends suddenly drew out sticks with marshmallows at the end of them, Jaune couldn’t help, but stare at his friends dumbfounded.

Jaune: Serious?! Is that the whole reason you’re here; For smores?!

Yang: Yes.

Ruby: Absolutely.

Nora: Hell yeah!

Jaune sighed as he turned his head as he looked towards the rest of his team.

Jaune: Can you believe…?

Jaune saw something that surprised him, but really shouldn’t have surprised him. The rest of his friends with marshmallows on sticks. What surprised him the most however was that, Weiss had several of them on the end of her rapier.

Jaune: Really? And, seriously, Weiss? I thought you would find smores too pedestrian for your refined pallet?

Weiss: I thought so too, then, Ruby shoved one in my mouth, and I became hooked to the taste of it! Now, less talking, more smore making!

Jaune: Oh gods…

Oobaleck: Now, now students! There will be time later for smores, class is still in session!

NPRRWBY: Naww…

Jaune: Yay!

Oobaleck: Now then, since we already know the much control you have on your flame. Lets see what happens when you let loose with your fire breath.

Jaune: Uhh…?

Jaune nervously looked around him, before addressing his teacher again.

Jaune: You want me to let loose with my fire breath…

Oobaleck: Yes.

Jaune: In the middle of a flammable forest?

Oobaleck: Worry not, Mr. Arc, Ms. Schnee’s surplus of, Dust should prevent any accidents from happening.

Jaune: Will it?

Weiss: Depends on how strong the fire is.

Jaune: Oh… Okay… Haa… Let’s do this then.

Oobaleck: Direct your fire to the tree in front of you. This one is relatively father away from the rest. This will prevent the fire from spread. Hopefully.

Jaune: I heard that.

Nora: Lest talking, more fire!

Jaune: Haa… Okay, let’s do this…

Jaune turned towards the tree, and took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and a torrent of fire erupted from his mouth. Growing bigger, and bigger as it drew farther away from, Jaune. A huge cloud of fire engulfed the tree, lighting it ablaze in seconds. Jaune held his flame for a few seconds, until he stopped admiring his handy work in a stunned, but an oddly thrilled feeling.

Yang: Whoa… That was intense…

Blake: That trees still green; ‘green’ trees are harder to burn, and yet this ones going up in smoke…

Ruby: You think we should have done this inside?

Pyrrha: Well, the fire alarms would have been triggered because of all the smoke so…?

Nora: Yes. Burn. Burn the trees, burn the city, burn the world… BURN…

Ren: Okay, semblance time for you.

As, Ren said that he channeled his semblance into, Nora, removing her maniacal smile as she fantasied about the world being engulfed in flame. Ren, then turned to, Weiss giving her a pointed look.

Ren: Weiss?

Weiss: Huw, what?

Ren: The fire?

Weiss: Oh yes, the fire!

With a few flicks of her wrist a glyph appeared above the tree, before dumping gallons of water atop the tree, instantly putting the fire out leaving them to watch a cloud of steam rise up from the trees charred remains.

Jaune: Whoa… Did I do that…?

Oobaleck: That is quite impressive; Your ability to produce a controlled jet of fire is akin to a flamethrower. Though naturally produced in your body it behaves like most like natural fuels used in modern flamethrowers. While testing your abilities we have determined that you can control it like a blow torch, with same fine percussion, and intensity required to melt metal plates. Here when you ‘let loose’ the flame will burn at a high heat, a high rate of intensity, and seemingly sticks to the target’s surface. Even though you were breathing fire for a few moments, you managed to go a few cm’s deep into the wood. This is quite the impressive natural weapon you posse, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: And, deadly… I should probably refrain from using this in training bouts, and matches.

Oobaleck: I agree; While running some tests on human, or faunas opponents would be advisable to understand the extents of your fire’s effects. I will ask you to refrain from doing so, because of the unknown potential affects of said fire.

Weiss: Wouldn’t, Jaune’s fire behave like the, Fire Dust I use in training matches?

Oobaleck: The effects of, Mr. Arc’s fire is similar, but acts differently to the effects of your, Dust, Ms. Schnee.

Weiss: How so?

Oobaleck: While you’re aura would act as a protective blanket preventing the fire from burning you, the fire will slowly be chipped away as you are bathed in fire. You therefore could easily avoid your aura from braking by moving out of the fire. However, even if it’s only a glancing blast of, Mr. Arc’s fire, it would not only take off a substantial chunk of your aura. What’s worse, the fire would stick to you until it is set out.

Yang: Meaning if my aura broke, and he bathed me in his fire, it would still be on me, then I would get set on fire?!

Oobaleck: Correct. The results of which would be quite… severe.

Pyrrha: Uhh… Save the fire for the, Grimm then, Jaune.

Jaune: Will the fire go out with the, Grimm though?

Blake: You will have to test that out, Jaune.

Jaune: Should I?

Ruby: Carry some, Water Dust on you incase there’s a fire.

Jaune: That could work, so long as I don’t eat them when I get thirsty again.

Weiss: Wait, did you say you eat dust?

Oobaleck: On to the next test! Mr. Arc, I want you to breath fire until you run out!

Jaune: Testing my capacity?

Oobaleck: Exactly! Begin when you are ready, Mr. Arc.

Jaune: Okay…

Jaune opened his mouth again, and a torrent of fire erupted from his his mouth settling the tree ablaze in seconds.

The others watched in stunned amazement as his fire burrowed deeper into the tree, creating a hole of fire from the shear ferocity of the fire.

Yang: Okay… I think the passing glance would incinerate you.

Blake: Least it would be quick.

Pyrrha: I don’t think that’s a comforting thought.

Nora: BURN!

Ruby: Uhh… Ren, she’s doing it again…

Ren: On it.

Weiss: Is he opening his mouth wider?

Pyrrha: Yeah, I can see his fangs.

Jaune’s mouth had indeed widened, and his fangs popping upward as the force that he was breathing fire seemed to intensify. Causing the fire to burn hotter, and harder, reducing the tree to ashes in seconds.

Pyrrha: Hmm… His stance is becoming more rigid, and he seems to be flexing his muscles to maintain his posture.

Yang: Not to mention his flame is growing stronger since he started doing that.

Blake: How intense is his flame going to get…?

Nora: Oh cool! Jaune’s hair is glowing!

Pyrrha: Wait, what?!

As, Jaune’s fire breath was intensifying in it’s rampant destruction, his hair started to glow to a golden white hue that shined like a flashlight in the darkness. They watched that while his hair started to glow brighter, the blue flames erupting from his mouth started to narrow in its wide berth, but strengthen even more in its intensity until…

A narrow beam of golden white fire erupted from his mouth, blasting through a dozen trees within fractions of a second. They watched in what could only be stunned horror as, Jaune’s head moved side to side, cutting a large swath of the forest in seconds.

Jaune continue to breath fire until his head suddenly shot up, and his mouth snapped shut. His fire was extinguished as steam seeming rising out from his mouth as his lips devolved into a deep snarl. The glow of his hair slowly faded as a deep guttural growl echoed deep from within his mouth as he servied the destruction he wrought upon the forest.

Jaune: Haaa…

Jaune: …

Jaune: Well… Ain’t that something?

Jaune turned to look at his friends, teammates, and teachers, all of whom seemed to look on in stunned horror at the raw destruction, Jaune had wrought upon a whole forest in a matter of seconds. Even, Dr. Oobaleck looked on in shear shock for a few minutes before he managed to collect himself, and continue on with the test.

Oobaleck: That was quite… Impressive, Mr. Arc, I did not expect your fire to… evolve as it did, and cause such rampant destruction within a few seconds.

Jaune: That’s putting it lightly…

Oobaleck: Indeed. Stay where you are, Mr. Arc, I need to add additional tests considering these new developments. Ms. Rose would you be so kind to measure the distance from, Mr. Arc to the end of his beam of fire? Ms. Rose?

Ruby, just like everyone else couldn’t help but stare on dumbstruck at the shear chaos, Jaune had inflicted on the forest.

Oobaleck: Ms. Rose!

Ruby: Huw?! What? Yes?!

Oobaleck: Could you measure the distance from, Mr. Arc to the end of the blast radius?

Ruby: Oh yeah, sure, on it!

Ruby placed the beacon at, Jaune’s feet, before exploding into a cloud of rose petals darting to the end. She was gone for nearly two minutes before, Ruby darted back with her head covered in a sheen of sweat.

Ruby: Whoa… It’s really hot over there…

Oobaleck: That is to be expected; The shear amount of damage, and the speed of which he did so shows the shear amount of heat was capable of producing. Now then; What was the measured distance you acquired, Ms. Rose?

Ruby: It was… 1.3 kms.

Jaune: Seriously?!

Ruby: Yeah… I checked it twice just to be sure.

Jaune: Okay, no letting lose with my fire then.

Weiss: Yeah, I think that would be a good I…? Hey… Have your horns grown bigger?

Jaune: Huw?

Jaune’s hands reached up to his head, and touched the bumps where his horns were only to feel two long bone’s extruding from the top of his head. They were two inches long, and one, and a half inches wide. They curved along the top of his head before moving upward to a peak of a crown at the end.

Jaune: Okay… That is an unexpected development… Do they… do they look good?

Blake: They look… great really.

Ruby: Yeah! They’re white with golden tips.

Pyrrha: It looks like you’re growing a crown.

Jaune: A crown? A natural crown… Sounds cool.

Oobaleck: And, yet they have grown at such an exceptional rate. It should have taken at least a month for them to reach this stage in their development. Perhaps it was due to the serge of power you were displaying during your blast.

Ren: Perhaps it was happening while his hair was glowing.

Jaune: My hair was glowing?

Pyrrha: A bright white! It was quite pretty really…

Jaune: Huw… We’ll have to check the film later then.

Oobaleck: Indeed we will. But, we are not done yet! We still have one more test left to do!

Jaune: We have more test to complete?! What’s left?

Oobaleck: To test your capacity to withstand fire.

Jaune: My capacity to do what?!

Oobaleck: Ms. Schnee, at your nearest convenience.

Weiss: Sorry, Jaune. But, it has to be done.

Weiss spun the revolver on her weapon as she activated the fire dust, then she pointed at, Jaune and a glyph appeared under his feet, and his eyes went wide in shock, and fear. He held out his hand as panic flooded his face.

Jaune: NONONONONO WAIT!

An exsplosion of fire erupted underneath, Jaune burning the ground beneath his feet. The blast last only half a minute, but the flame burned at a such a high temperature that when it stopped they were faced with three very prominent facts:

1: Jaune was indeed fire proof.

2: Jaune was absolutely furious.

And, 3: He was naked.

Ruby: EEP?!!

Ren: Uh oh…

Weiss: Ahh! Put that away!

Blake: Holy hell…

Nora: Hehe! Told you he had a zweihänder~!

Yang: Damn!!! You had that inside you?!

Pyrrha: Ha! Wait until you see it when it’s hard~!

Oobaleck: Impressive, Mr. Arc! You are capable of withstanding several hundred degrees! It may have only been a few seconds, but I hypothesize you could endure for several minutes, maybe even our since the fire had no affects upon your body!

Jaune: That’s… Nice…?!

Weiss: I-I-I’m so sorry, J-Jaune I didn’t mean to… Uhh…?! H-Help?!

Jaune snarled as a deep growl escaped his lips, he was furious, absolutely furious. He reached down and grabbed the chest piece, the straps burning off in the intense heat with the rest of his clothes. With this one piece from his armour, he coupd at least give himself a sense of dignity as he stared them down.

Yang: Uhhh… J-Jaune… E-Everything okay…?

Jaune: You ever… Any of you! Ever do that to me again; I will burn you… Okay…?

Ruby: N-Noted!

Weiss: S-Sorry, I just… Uhh…?!

Jaune: Now if you’ll excuse me… I need to… Redress myself… When my armour cooled, can you bring it to my room?

Nora: Can do fearless leader!

Jaune: Thank you!

Pyrrha: I-I-I’ll come with you, Jaune!

And, with that, the two members of, Team JNPR, leaving the others to deal with the aftermath of the tests. The other were left standing their many of the females of the group with a deep blush across their faces. For all, but one however; for, Dr. Oobaleck was having the time of his life with all the new found information he had gathered on, Jaune.

Oobaleck: Well, that was a resounding success! Wouldn’t you say so students? Students?

///

The inspirational music for this particular prompt.

It’s a great song.

Till later then.

[arikihalloween]

Wakfu art dump because yes

This post is gonna be super long because I will ramble IN DEPTH today

So huh if you like my rambling or my art just read ig, otherwise scroll away idk what to tell ya

Showing some of my art and ramble because wakfu is part of my current big 3 hyperfixations ( along with WH and Trolls )

So huh enjoy my growing insanity ( I compiled it in one post to not annoy people too much :')

Presenting my oc Sharm !

An (very pink) Eliotrope

She's based on my in game character but I kinda gave her lore and a story so

⭐INFODUMP about Wakfu in general ! ⭐

Basic infos for those who don't know anything about Wakfu :

Wakfu is a french animated serie made by the studio Ankama, who also made several mmorpg games ( and way more, like the amount of content and lore is crazy)

Most of the stories will take place on the World of Twelves, populated by 12 main races (with many variation)

And there is a 13th "main race", the Eliatropes, which is the race of the main character of the anime, Yugo

Eliotropes ( with a o instead of a) are a subrace of the Eliatropes ( lore is explained in the serie but I don't wanna spoil, so to boil it down, Eliotropes are unstable pale copies of eliatropes) [ they are playable in the game wakfu]

So, what about Sharm ? Well she was born a pretty regular Eliotrope. She had two "brothers", Chance and Vitali, who unfortunately ended up fading away with time ( mechanically, when an Eliotrope die, his/her essence will go to the nearest Eliotrope to allow them to live longer)

So Sharm was left alone for very long, and stayed in Eliatropes ruins she found. Those were overgrown by stasis ( type of crystals, very bad, generally associated with corruption and destruction)

However, the essence she got from her siblings passing could only last so long

One day, in a desperate attempt to not die, Sharm took stasis and...ate it. Chewed on the mf crystals, and surprisingly, an interesting reaction occured : it stabilised her essence. It also made her basically frozen in development, Sharm cannot grow anymore and her power levels are quite limited in quantity, unless she uses stasis.

So my girl went through the ages, she kept on researching on the remnant of the eliatrope race ( wiped out aside from a few) and became sort of an archeologist

Nowadays, Sharm travels from a country/city to an other, often with mercenaries she hires as bodyguards . The other two ocs in this sketch page are the said mercenaries

And the cat is called Noiraude !

Sharm needs protection because she is stupidly useless in combat

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

And also I have fanarts of Nora !

And also, it's time for the gremlin mode

The worst of the ramble

I kinda just need to scream for a moment

Beware, big spoilers for the serie ahead ! Stop now and go watch Wakfu !! It's all on Netflix ( season 1, season 2, then the 3 oav, THEN season 3 and you will be ready for season 4 :D)

So, this character is Nora (second drawing is a headcanon version of her)

Who is Nora ? She is the sixth eliatrope of the Council ( Eliatropes are rules by the six first borns of the race who can reincarnate along with their dragon twin)

Nora appeared for the first time in a flashback the episode "Quilbi" in season 2

In 2011

And back then she was in a flashback, so presumed dead from the war that wiped out the Eliatropes

BUT

Lately, as clips and trailers of season 4 of Wakfu has been released

It's confirmed that Nora is there

She's alive

She's in season 4

*grabs u*

2011

She has been my favorite character of Wakfu since her one and only appearance, alright ?

And now

12-13 years later

She is real

SHE IS REAL AND ALIVE IN THE SERIE

*maniacal laughter*

I will not shut up about it

Prepare for the fanarts

*retreats to the shadows*

[sonicjustbecause]

So far, what I except from Sonic Prime 3?

In the cave, Sonic holding back his tears. Certain things never change.

A furious Shadow. Something will calm him down. Or maybe he just calm dowm himself after realizing he is losing his cool.

Shadow more present in this serie, after learning to travel between portals. Yet he will stay in the background unless Sonic isn't in trouble.

Sonic will not smile often.

At least one maniacal laugh from Nine. Just once.

Shadow's tears (he is allowed to cry unlike Sonic).

Sonic almost dying. Like, at certain point everybody will think: 'What? did he truly died?'.

Nine will have no role in Sonic's using all his energy to stabilize the wordls and restore Green Hill. It will be all Sonic's doing.

Nine will meet and talk with Tails.

The chaos emerald and the black hole. And Super Sonic.

After coming to his sense, Nine will bring the prysm to Green Hill and this will save Sonic.

Sonic will not shatter.

The Chaos Council will have a umiliating defeat.

Shadow will not remove his limiters.

[sketchfanda]

Fic Challenges and Sketch-verse Lore and headcanons

To those that have enjoyed reading my stories especially a Little Moxxie love, consider this a little post for the odd challenge I may give you all every now and then. Mainly and especially to see if there would be any takers really eager to step up and try out some au concepts I may do a chapter or two on in my one shot fic series for my 3 main muses or concepts for others I’d be interested to see play out.

this will also see me sharing with you guys some more details on my personal headcanons and takes in the respective universes of my 3 main muses and then some, such as my take in the concepts of Hell and Heaven and the afterlife in the batshit insane world of Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel because not like that stopped this fandom whi omly had the pilot to go on long before we finally got the series on Amazon prime.

Now of course as a Little Moxxie Love has proven to be my quite frankly most popular fic, it’d make the most sense to base my first challenges on it so here it is maniacs. Let’s see how you guys manage your own spin on a Moxxie harem smut series based on these AUs with a few key terms and conditions of course.

Hellhound Moxxie

Angel Moxxie

So to keep it simple and sweet to the point, for many of you that've enjoyed my story A Little Moxxie Love, I'd like to see your own personal spins on it with any of these two particular AUs of your choice. Whether it's just a series of random one shots or your own full on serial multi-chaptered saga, run wild but remember smut is king. As mentioned of course just a key terms and conditions as follows:

1.Whether or not you just have Moxxie sleeping around with numerous women (and guys of course for those of you who like to fully run with his canon bisexuality) or go for your own personal harem choice, Millie is the alpha girl, being his wife and all. And like in a little Moxxie love you can make it that it's her kink from getting aroused watching her man be a stud....esp if she also happens to be bi herself.

2.Depending which option you take with Angel or Hellhound Moxxie, you can either have Millie still be an imp, which can add some taboo quality aspect to her lovelife with her man or also be an angel or hellhound but yes still every bit Moxxie's sweet sexy, kinky farmgirl wife. Just run with what you think you'd enjoy and feel works best. Regarding Loona, if like in the hellhound Moxxie and Millie image you want her to be an imp in Hellhound Moxxie,by all means get creative.

3.Definite regular partners for either version of Moxxie range from and to, and including of course, Loona, Verosika, Stella, pretty much any helluva or hazbin char that comes to mind but by no means limit yourself to just the Hellverse. As you've all seen with a Little Moxxie Love, crossovers make for a great variety, such is the spice of life. Demons, angels, humans, furries however you slice it and make it work.

4.Whether an angel,imp or hellhound, we all know there are constants when it comes to our sweet little possum. His love of the performing arts and theater, music and as that one short shows, he clearly knows how to use that mouth and tongue in the bedroom. and if you need a little violence,he's a skilled killer. I mean criminy Angel Moxxie would likely have demon girls willing to die by his hand if he was an exorcist on extermination day in Hell. After one last request for some passion of course....

So if anyone has any questions or thoughts they want to share, feel to ask but this is what I've got so far. A few regular commenters and mutuals on my discord server for my 3 main fics have given me a little friendly encouragment to see if there'd be any takers for putting out this challenge, so run wild, maniacs.

[suguriin]

Deck of Wonders: Akrasia

I know it’s been an agonizing month since I’ve announced the Niragi fic rec so here it is! <3

Warning!- There will be a section that contains smut fics so if you are uncomfy pls do not go over that area! (Especially those who are not mature enough to read)

These are the emojis that represent the genre: ( adding a new genre because it’s niragi >:| )

Dark - 🥀

Angst - 🌊

Fluff - 🍭

Series - 📚

Personal Fav - 🦢

^ - indicating same the author from above

I’ll be tagging the creators so give them the love they deserve! Thanks again for checking this blog out!

Strangelove 🌊🦢 - @syntheticfoxfire

You’re Everything You Once Hated 🌊🥀 - @sleeping-on-cracking-ice

call me by your name 🌊 - @sucx2bi

In Betweenin’ 🌊🥀🦢(?) - @littlewriterfullofwords

Hot Gum 🌊🍭(?) - ^

Bloody Comfort 🥀(?) - @keysmashingfantasies

Dangeruous Lovers 🍭 - @24hlevi

under the white light 🍭 - @jhynka

Irresponsibily Stupidly Losing You 🌊🥀🦢 - @sery-chan-13

Don’t Care 🌊🥀(?) - @girl8890

Antifragile 🌊🍭🦢 - @kkurades

Come Back Home 🌊 - @niragi-in-borderland

Other places, familiar faces 🌊 - @fireofjudgement

Every inch of you is perfect to me 🍭 - @bangtaninborderland

First Kiss 🌊🍭 - @planetariumwriting

I only play these games ‘cause you’re playing them, too. 📚🌊🍭 - @itsnamjoonssi

uncover 🌊🍭 - @prodbyblush

Love Is Chaos 📚🌊🍭 - @bts-story

WARNING: This section contains SMUT fics (those who are uncomfy avoid this section!) (tbh theres prob more smut fics than the PG rated fics lmao)

Niragi’s Favorite Toy 🥀🌊🍭🦢 - @niragis-thot

his. 🥀🌊🦢 - @kirisunshineboy

not so mr. nice guy 🥀(?) - @xy4n1d3

Blow. My. Brains. Out. 🦢 - @bangtaninborderland

The Pain Before 📚🥀🌊🍭🦢 - @niragisimp (my awesome moot ! ilysm <3)

only you 🥀(?) - @dracoscum

messy for me 🦢 - ^

Tease - @peachesnscream

OFF LIMITS 🍭(?) - @aliceinnaughtyland

Nasty Games 🥀🌊 - @kinkyniragi

Always you 🦢 - @so-many-fandoms-here

(another lovely moot mwah mwah ! 🫶)

paralysed 🥀🌊 - @niragiinborderland

CNC (kinktober) - @tofuxtea

NSFW Alphabet - @brdpch

Carnal Restraint 🌊 - @writeformesinpie

A helping hand 🌊🍭 - @overthinkingaddict

Maniac. 🥀 - @suhyoung-hoes

Headcanons 🍭(?) - @sweet-as-an-angel

Wanna Get Drunk and Nasty? - @nacho-privayuna

Sweet Distractions 🍭 - @fireofjudgement

Master/Pet dynamics - @munsonsvamp

Treasure 🥀(‼️) - @creamwh0re

note: i remember reading this one niragi fic where i think the reader is like new(?) or a doctor and then aguni brings niragi to readers room because he was like trapped in like a freezer (game) so she takes care of him I CANT FIND IT 😔

[letsplaydcttrpg]

What's next?

Cover images and blurbs below the cut!

Swamp Thing in Racing With the Rats: "In the full-length solitaire adventure, Racing With the Rats, Swamp Thing is infected by toxic waste and plunged into a horrific hallucinatory world, where he becomes trapped in a deadly delusion. The player must try to maintain his grip on sanity long enough to reverse the damage and return to reality."

Wonder Woman in Strangers in Paradise: "Danger threatens the first cultural conference between Amazons and representatives from Man's World. In the serene isolated lands of Themyscira, discord burns fiercely, seeking to rekindle the sparks of prejusice and force the people of Earth to ever remain...Strangers in Paradise."

Jonah Hex in Escort to Hell: "When you were back in the Old West you knew what was happening and what to expect. It is the 21st century. You are surrounded by an alien and hostile world, yet you have survived; you have gained a reputation here as one who can hold his own. Now you, Jonah Hex, face the greatest challenge of your life as an Escort to Hell!"

Green Lantern in The Otherwhere Quest: "Once upon a universe... A century ago, the failed Green Lantern Corps was summoned to the mysterious dimension known as the Otherwhere, and called upon to save it from the tyrannical Subjugators. Protected for all time by the strange forcefield called the Forever Barrier, the peaceful Otherwhere had become vulnerable as the Barrier weakened, threatening an invasion of anarchy and terror. To stop the deterioration, the Green Lantern Corps had to locate the Harmony Beacon...the one object capable of restoring the Barrier, but hidden to all but those who were truly noble and pure of heart. Today...A call for help is heard again, for evil Subjugators threaten the peace within the Otherwhere once more. With only hours remaining until total annihilation, a single Green Lantern must seek the ancient Harmony Beacon to restore the Forever Barrier. Can he succeed alone, where it once took the strength of the entire Corps to win the day?"

The Flash in City of Fear: "A morning's jog through Manhattan at a leisurely 250 miles per hour turns into a series of life-and-death rescues for Wally West, the new Flash. First, a maniac starts randomly shooting at commuters on a subway platform. After stopping this killer, Flash is informed by the police of a terrorist bomb threat in the Wall Street area. Flash is caught in a race against time as he attempts to unravel a web of mystery and intrigue. Determined to live up to the heroic legacy passed down to him by his predecessors, Flash must uncover the truth in time to prevent a disaster which will transform New York into a...City of Fear."

Superman in Countdown to Armageddon: "Has this ever happened to you? You are flying over Metropolis when suddenly your super-hearing picks up five different distress calls from around the world. All are urgent, all deal with the lives of thousands of people, but which one will you pick? Find out in this exciting adventure that pushes Superman to the limits of his endurance. Can he keep the earth from falling apart, discover the fiendish plot behind it all, use his super-computer in the Fortress of Solitude to find a solution, and still make his 6:00 newscast as Clark Kent? Only those brave enough to play this adventure will know what it's really like to be the Man of Steel."

[ireallyliketalldarksultrymen]

Updated Intro Post

WRITING MASTERPOST

fic/writing requests are: on/off (i’m currently writing what’s on the queue but pretty please send me asks of what you’d like me to write so i can start when i’m ready!!!!! if i like the request enough i’ll write it)

(btw if i’m not on here i’m probably on my alt @ireallyliketalldarksultrywomen cause i hit the post limit woopsies…)

my roleplay blogs are @ask-double-life-pearl and @ask-his-loyal-hand

I’m Em! You can also call me Emmett, Oli, Finn, Talia, or Sage

Im a (most likely) aro, transmasc, genderfluid, and POC (Nigerian)

My Fandoms Are: (the bolded are my main ones)

MUSICALS:

Team Starkid/Hatchetfield Trio (putting lautski in a blender)

SAF (“You don’t see, do you, Curt?” what if i hurled myself into orbit?)

Falsettos

Legally Blonde

Les Mis

Sweeney Todd

MCYT:

Life Series (i FROTH at the mouth when i hear treebark)

Empires 

Hermitcraft

Rats

Parkour Civilization

Whitepine 

TV SHOWS/MOVIES: 

Amphibia (love the plantars <3)

Dunmeshi

Fairly Oddparents (me and the cosmo are the same person you can convince me otherwise)

The Owl House

The MCU

MHA

Pokemon 

Gravity Falls

Doctor Who

Good Omens

GAMES:

Stardew Valley

DDLC

Mouthwashing

FNAF

Pokemon (again)

BOOKS:

The Outsiders

PJO/Riordanverse

The Glass Scientists 

ARTISTS:

Will Wood (i listen to him every. single. day.)

Mitski

Mommy Long Legs

The Crane Wives

Destroy Boys

Leith Ross

Dazey and the Scouts

*repeat repeat

i LOVE getting asks oh my god guys talk to me!!! i will literally yap forever

I enjoy reading (but i get distracted a lot), and my favorite colors are purple and seafoam green :)

My birthdays April 17th and there’s a big chance Im neurodivergent.

TAGS:

#treebark coffee shop au <— the au i never knew i needed until some random night i was sleep deprived

#requests <— fics that have been requested by you guys!

#ship thoughts <— what i think about different ships!!

#asks <— asks from you lovely people

#fics <— my writing tag!!

#rambles <— talkin about silly stuff

#polls <— i like polls a concerning amount so you might find some stuff on here

#Oh captain let’s make a deal! <— tgs mer au @raine-st0rm and i made! things that relate to it and stuff (animatics, playlists, fics, snippets, etc)

here’s my pronouns page!

my ao3:

annnd my stats.fm!

i enjoy having moots but i’m too shy to interact with people 😭

my main playlists! (having them on shuffle is WILD; sometimes they go from starkid to the oozes to will wood to melanie martinez)

[pricelessemotion]

Lectori Salutem | E.M.

Summary: [5.1k] you and eddie shoot pool and spill secrets.

Pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!music journalist! reader

Warnings: drinking, language

Notes: things are finally picking up! next chapter will include some 18+ content so you must have your age in your bio for the taglist!

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

Eddie clambers into the passenger seat of your car. Upon leaving the diner, you managed to convince him to let you drive to your next destination, citing a general need to live. 

The drive back to Eddie’s was considerably less nerve-wracking. This go around, he decided to obey the speed limit and not split lanes like a maniac. Not only did he give you peace of mind but he also spared the delicious french toast that you ate from making a reappearance. 

Turning the key, the car starts with a light rumble. The sound of electric guitars and heavy drums shatters the silence between the two of you. 

Fuck.

You still had the Corroded Coffin tape in your stereo. 

Eddie is turned away from you, grabbing the seatbelt. At the sound of his own voice being played back to him, he slowly turns around to look at you. The grin on his face would put the Cheshire cat to shame. 

“I didn’t know you were a fan, sweetheart.” The nickname is saccharine coming out of his mouth. 

“I–” You sputter, trying to come up with a good defense. “I’m thorough in my research.”

Eddie is obviously amused at the fact that he’s caught you red-handed. His seatbelt is already buckled, but it’s stretched thin as he leans across the center console. He smells like syrup and cigarettes. For a second, you consider turning the stereo off completely. 

“Should I be scared? Do you have a shrine to me in your room? Do you have my face tattooed on your ass?” With each question his voice gets louder and louder, filling the tiny space with his velvety timbre. 

Though your face is hot with embarrassment, you’re secretly relieved. Any semblance of tension from bringing up Evelyn at the diner has dissipated. It’s been shredded with every strum of a guitar. You find it’s easier to be around Eddie this way. It’s easier to give in to his playfulness, rather than try to maintain the facade of professionalism. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You say, casting him a sideways glance. 

Eddie, for the most part, remains stoic. But you catch the twitch of his mouth and see the tell-tale shade of pink flood his cheeks. If anything should be indicative of the fact that you’ve stunned him, it’s that he’s stopped talking for the first time since you met him. Another thing you’ve learned about Eddie Munson: He never shuts up. 

You release the parking brake and peel off into the streets. If Eddie is at all bothered by listening to his own music, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he takes the opportunity to quietly sing along, only stopping to pepper in commentary about the track or to give you directions. The richness of his voice is so distracting that you haven’t even noticed that you have no idea where he’s taking you.

Trying to find street parking in East Hollywood is a fruitless endeavor. You almost wish you had taken up Eddie’s offer to ride his bike. Eddie directs you around the backside of a building where a sign indicates that it’s a private parking lot, not meant for public use. He assures you that you won’t get towed.

The Blue Line is a bar tucked in between a Thai restaurant and a dry cleaners. Walking up to the doors, you’re hit with the clashing scents of peanut sauce and fresh linen.  

There are very few people inside, given that it’s a bar and it’s barely even five o’clock yet. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor, making a quiet but awful velcro-like sound with every step you take.

“Buckley!” Eddie’s voice booms as you enter the establishment, echoing off the concrete floors and exposed brick walls.

A tall, freckled girl springs up behind the counter. At the sound of her name, she grins, her dark lipstick contrasting pearly white teeth. 

“Munson!” She yells back. The few patrons that linger around various areas of the bar are evidently disturbed by the sudden change in volume, turning their heads and scowling. She doesn’t seem to care. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Just looking to shoot some pool in the best bar in L.A.” Buckley audibly snorts at the last part of his statement. “My tab still open?”

“Always.” She shakes her head and raises her brows at him as if to say, of course. She turns to look at you. “Who’s your friend?”

Your mouth opens, but the words die on your tongue. You and Eddie are not friends. At least, you’re not supposed to be. But you don’t know if you want to tell this woman, who Eddie is clearly close with, that you’re here on assignment to try to cherry-pick the best parts of him and turn them into something palatable. 

At your hesitation, Eddie swoops in and makes the introduction for you. He doesn’t mention the fact that you’re a journalist. Whether the omission is for your benefit or his, you’re not sure.

“Nice to meet you,” She throws the rag she was using to wipe down the counter over her shoulder and extends her hand. “I’m Robin.” 

Her handshake is firm, but her eyes are soft. The fine bottles of liquor behind her are backlit by an unseen light source, giving the illusion of stained glass. She quickly turns around and rummages through the minifridge and grabs two beers. 

“You know the rules, Munson, don’t get too rowdy and clean up when you’re done.” She says, popping the caps off of the beverages and setting them down on the counter.

“Me?” Eddie grasps his chest in faux incredulity, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Too rowdy? Never.” 

Robin sticks her tongue out at him in response right as she’s being flagged down by a customer at the far end of the bar. She salutes the both of you, flouncing away to refill the man’s old-fashioned. 

To your right, there’s something akin to a hall of fame. A collage of pictures of different celebrities that have visited the very room you’re standing in. You wonder if Eddie is up there, but you don’t dare to go see for yourself.

“Can you play?” He asks, walking towards the pool table. 

You make a noncommittal noise. You had played your fair share of games of pool, sure, but never in a setting quite like this. Never with someone like Eddie. Setting your bag down on one of the empty tables that lined the perimeter of the room, you pull out your tape recorder.

“You mind?” You ask, holding up the device in Eddie’s direction. 

Eddie grimaces and shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over a bar stool at the opposite end of the table. The motion draws attention to the plethora of ink that litters both of his arms.

“Do we have to?” His face scrunches up as he asks the question, a slight whine in his tone. 

You almost feel inclined to say no, if only just to see the wrinkle that has formed between his brows disappear. Another thing you’ve learned about Eddie Munson: he is very hard to say no to. That’s how you ended up in this bar in the first place. 

It would be easy to forgo the tape recorder and pretend that the two of you are just friends hanging out. But if there’s one thing that you know, it’s that the human memory is fallible. You can't risk the quality of your article for the sake of his comfort. 

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Eddie bristles at your response but says nothing. He takes a square of blue chalk and thoughtfully rubs it on the end of his pool cue. The sunglasses he took off are tugging down at his v-neck, exposing sharp collarbones and even more ink. 

“I have a proposition for you.” Eddie declares. 

You raise an eyebrow. 

“For every ball you sink, you get to ask me a question about my life. For every ball I sink, I get to ask you about yours.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, thinking that he can’t possibly be serious. But he just stands there, staring at you as he sets the blue piece of chalk down at the edge of the table. 

“Final offer. Take it or leave it.” He throws both palms up in the air, pool cue tucked into his side. 

For the second time today, you take Eddie’s words as a challenge.

“You’re on.” 

Eddie takes his time setting up the game. While he’s leaning over the side of the table gathering the scattered spheres, you can’t help yourself from admiring his silhouette. The back of his shirt rides up, revealing a strip of skin that you cannot tear your eyes away from. 

Oh my god.

Eddie Munson has a tramp stamp. 

A chaotic collection of branches and thorns surrounds a Latin phrase: lectori salutem. You rack your brain, trying to remember the one semester of elective Latin that you took back in freshman year of college when Eddie suddenly turns around. You quickly look up to meet his eyes, but the smirk on his face reveals everything. 

For the second time today, Eddie has caught you staring. 

“Ladies first.” He says, grandly gesturing toward the table. 

You break the rack. A blur of colors bursts forth in every direction. Despite your best efforts, none of the balls make it into a pocket. Looking back at Eddie, you see he’s still got that smirk on his face. He leans over and effortlessly knocks a ball into a pocket. Stripes. 

“Where did you go to school?”

“NYU.” You reply, having been asked this question so many times that the response is practically automatic at this point.

Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Out-of-state tuition must’ve cost a pretty penny.”

“I had a scholarship.”

“Wow. Pretty and smart. You’re kind of the whole package, aren’t you?” The teasing lilt in his voice doesn’t take away from the sincerity in his words. 

The compliment flusters you, which you’re sure is the whole point of Eddie’s making it. 

“Only one question, remember? It’s still your turn.” 

Eddie sees right through your attempt to deflect. Graciously, he doesn’t point it out. He just leans down once again and lines up a shot. Stripes Twelve. Right lower pocket. 

“Why do you hate New York?”

The sureness with which he asks the question throws you for a loop. Whatever you had expected to come out of Eddie’s mouth, it definitely wasn’t that. 

“What makes you think I hate New York?”

“Tsk tsk. I’m asking the questions here.” Eddie scolds, but his voice is devoid of any real ire. He plants his hands on the table, leaning towards you. You can just barely see the faint outline of a gravestone on his right forearm. “You don’t hate it, but you don’t love it either.”

In the five minutes that have passed since he started questioning you, Eddie has managed to see right through you. You’re starting to wonder if you’re actually that transparent or if he is just that good at reading people.

“I don’t know. My dad is from there. Whenever he talked about New York, it always seemed like some mythical place. He always said ‘Don’t live in New York so long it makes you hard. Don’t live in California so long it makes you soft.’ I guess I went to New York to prove to myself that I could, y’know. Prove that I could leave the nest and not fall flat on my face.”

Heat blooms in your chest during your ramblings. The pressure you feel is so much that you’re surprised steam hasn’t started coming out of your ears. Despite knowing exactly why you went to New York, you’ve never said the real reason out loud. It didn’t seem like it mattered to anyone but you. 

Eddie has a thoughtful look on his face. “3,000 miles is a long way to go to prove a point.”

You shrug. Eddie pauses for a moment, waiting for something. At the realization that you’re not going to say anything more, he leans over the table and shoots.

Stripes. Thirteen. Top right pocket.

“Did you?” Eddie posits, elaborating on the quirk of your brow. “Prove your point?”

You want to laugh. That’s the same question you’ve been asking yourself since you made the move back west. The prodigal daughter returned with nothing to show for it. 

“I proved that living in California my whole life made me soft.” You admit, gazing down at the table, the floor, your shoes, anywhere but his face. 

Eddie frowns in your periphery. He has a clear shot at the far end of the table. You wish he would take it already. 

“It’s not a bad thing, y’know.” Eddie’s fiddling with his pool cue, generously rubbing more blue chalk on the end. You don’t know much about pool, but you doubt that it’s necessary. It seems like he’s doing it more to prolong the inevitable. “Being soft.”

“Isn’t it?”

You’re almost sure that he’s joking. Actually–you’re sure that he’s making fun of you. He must be. The notion makes you angry. Oh, of course, the heavy metal rockstar is extolling the virtues of being soft! You look up, a snide remark already on the tip of your tongue. But when you finally meet his eyes, his gaze is intense. Contemplative, even. You take another sip of your beer and hope it washes away the lingering bitterness. 

Eddie Munson and his damn sincerity.

He looks as if he’s about to say something, but then decides against it. He leans over, lining up that clear shot that you had spotted earlier. His necklace hangs from his neck, the red guitar pick grazing green cloth. 

Stripes. Nine. Middle left pocket. 

“So,” Eddie starts, smiling satisfactorily to himself. “Do you actually have my face tattooed on your ass?”

If his earlier question about hating New York shocked you, then this one was like being struck by lightning. You gape at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. You should’ve known that this would come back to bite you.

“It’s just a question.” He defends. “I’m genuinely curious.”

“No, Eddie, I do not have your face tattooed on my ass.” 

“But you do have a shrine of me in your room.”

“I am this close to using this pool cue to poke both your eyes out.” You threaten, absolutely buzzing with mortification. 

“Fine! Fine, I’ll let it go.” He concedes, before saying the next few words under his breath. “For now.” 

Eddie is the opposite of a bad sport when he misses his next shot. He only clicks his tongue and gives a slight shake of his head. You’re relieved that you finally have the chance to get out from under his microscope. 

Solids. Four. Bottom left pocket.  

“What do you like most about living in LA?” You ask. You know that it’s cliché, that everyone who moves here is asked the same question. But you can’t help but want to hear everyone’s answers. Each person you meet paints a picture of your hometown with vibrant colors. It’s always refreshing to hear a new perspective. 

“The food, oh my god, the food!” He practically moans. “I swear whatever bullshit they were passing off as Mexican food back in Indiana should be investigated.” 

Eddie goes on a whole tangent about tortillas that could easily be used in a commercial advertising the food scene of southern California. All of the talk about tortillas reminds him of his favorite food truck, located in East Los Angeles. It’s parked right across the street from a record store. He discovered it while trying to visit every record store in the city. 

“And speaking of record stores… I mean, fuck, you can’t find half the obscure shit that you have here back in Indiana. There’s no point in shipping your shit out to the midwest if no one’s gonna buy it I’m guessing.”

“I never even thought of that.” You admit. Every time you walked into a music store, there was always a new shipment waiting for a band you had never heard of. “Growing up, my favorite thing was always to go to the record store. Even if I didn’t buy anything, I would just sit in one of the booths and listen to vinyl.”

You smile at the memory of the sun streaming through windows and chunky headphones too big for your adolescent head. The nostalgia clouds your mind so much that you fumble the next shot, accidentally knocking a striped ball into a pocket and giving Eddie the chance to ask you yet another question. 

“Do you regret going to NYU?”

“No.” You say, and you mean it. “I think it’s good to get out of your comfort zone. I think… I think it’s important to figure out what’s wrong for you. Maybe even more important than figuring out what’s right.”

Eddie hums in agreement and excuses himself to go to the bathroom. You take the opportunity to eject the tape from the recorder and put in a fresh one. Tucking the tape into your bag, you remember that you still have the mixtape Eddie made for you. You make a mental note to listen to it on the way home.

“Having fun?” Robin appears next to you, gathering a few bottles that hapless patrons have left behind. She lifts Eddie’s off the table and adds it to her collection. You hadn’t even noticed that he had finished it. 

“Eddie is absolutely kicking my ass at pool right now.”

She barks out a laugh. 

“I know the feeling. We used to play with each other all the time back in Hawkins. I think I only won once, and that was because he was high off his ass.” 

Your ears perk up at the mention of the small town in Indiana. You could tell from their interactions that they were close, but this was a whole other level. Does she know about 1986? 

“Maybe he’ll have mercy on me.” You muse, slightly wincing at the doubtful look Robin gives you.

“I have faith in you. Don’t let Edward get into your head.” She squeezes your shoulder as she leaves, the glass bottles clinking in her wake. 

So, you think to yourself, Eddie stands for Edward. It’s a regal-sounding name. A little too refined for the rockstar who’s rough around the edges.

When Eddie returns from the bathroom, he holds two more beers in his hand. You’re about to say that you still haven’t even finished your first one. That you think one is enough. You still have to drive back, after all. But he sets both of them down next to his leather jacket, making it clear that they’re both for him. He sniffles as he approaches, giving a small cough to clear his throat. His knuckles brush the tip of his nose until it glows an angry red, even in the dim lighting. He pulls up his pool cue right to the edge of the green-striped ball. He’s got a clear shot. 

He shoots.

He misses. 

You quietly breathe out a sigh of relief. Despite the fact that your job is to get into the nitty-gritty of people’s lives, you’ve never been on the receiving end. It’s unnerving. There’s a reason why you’re a writer. You like the control of rough drafts and rewrites and edits. It leaves less room for misinterpretation.  

Circling the table, you hope to find an easy shot. 

“You have to actually hit the balls with the stick for them to go anywhere,” Eddie says, taking a long sip from his second beer. “Just wanted to make sure that you knew that.”

You roll your eyes at his obvious attempt to psych you out. Leaning over the far end of the table, you balance the pool cue delicately between your fingers. When you finally make the shot you smile to yourself as not just one, but two of the balls go careening into pockets at opposite ends of the table.

“You know, I’ve half a mind to think you were hustling me, sweetheart.” Eddie takes a long sip from his second beer, the condensation dripping down his hand. 

“It’s not hustling if you just assumed I would be bad at it.” You’re so proud of yourself that you can’t help the smugness in your voice. “What’s your middle name?”

“Now you’re crossing the line.” He deadpans. “That’s just too far.” 

“Oh come on, Edward.” At the sound of his legal name, Eddie’s facade drops. The reaction encourages you to continue your teasing. “It can’t be that bad.”

“How do you know that’s what Eddie stands for?”

“I have my sources.”

“Your sources could be wrong. It could stand for Edison. Or Edmund. Or Edgar.”

“Something tells me my sources are correct.” Your eyes flick over to the freckled girl behind the counter. Eddie catches your glance and kisses his teeth, shaking his head in exasperation. 

“What if you’re secretly a fairy who’s trying to get me to say my full name so that I’m indebted to you for the rest of my life?”

“Fine. Don’t tell me your middle name.” You concede, trying to come up with a better question.  “How did you know that I was a writer? Back in your room–when I picked up the book–you called me a writer.” 

“Isn’t that like, your whole thing?” Eddie waves his hand flippantly. 

“Yeah. But there’s a difference between journalistic writing and fiction writing. How did you know that I do both?”

Eddie takes another drink from the beer in his hand, thumb grazing the label. 

“Maybe I’m ‘thorough in my research’ too.” He says, quoting your words back to you.

It’s a non-answer and both of you know it. You decide not to press the issue. Maybe Eddie isn’t such a good sport after all. You started winning and he stopped playing fair, dodging your questions left and right. For someone who is supposed to be getting interviewed, he isn’t doing a very good job. You settle on a topic you hope he’s willing to actually talk about. 

“Patsy Cline.”

“What about Patsy Cline?”

“She didn’t exactly fit in with all of the metal.”

“My Uncle Wayne loves Patsy Cline. He would always play her records whenever he was cooking or cleaning. I guess listening to it reminds me of home.”

“So do you actually like it? Or do you just find it comforting?”

“Is there a difference?” Eddie muses at you from behind the lip of his beer bottle, before taking a long swig. “Wayne actually gave me that vinyl as a parting gift. He said it’s for ‘when you want to listen to real music’. He was only joking. Kinda.”

Eddie visibly softens while recalling the man who raised him. His tense shoulders have drooped and his jaw unclenches. He speaks of the older man with an unmatched fondness. 

“Wayne sounds like a funny guy.” You smile, sidling up to Eddie. “What’s he like?”

“He’s the best. He took me in when I was just about this big.” He juts his palm out at his waist.  “I had big ears, a buzzcut, and a gigantic chip on my shoulder. I was so– I was so angry at the world. He was the first person who told me it was okay to feel that way. 

He was a trucker before I came along, but then he quit and started working at the plant so that he could be there for me. Everything I do, it’s all for him.”

The words make your heart clench. Sparing yourself the embarrassment of revealing just how much his words got to you, you take your next shot. With misty eyes, you see the flash of blue make its way across the table and into a pocket. You already know what you’re gonna ask him. 

“Say you get everything you want. You win Grammys. You sell out Madison Square Garden. What next?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Eddie polishes off the third beer. “I’d probably start by buying Wayne a house, but that’s if he’ll even let me. He’s always saying that I’m the kid and he’s the adult. That he’s supposed to be taking care of me, not the other way around.”

He lets out a quiet burp, which he muffles with his fist. His pool cue has been long forgotten next to him. The configuration on the table before you tells you that you can win in just two more rounds. You’re not sure if you want to. You try anyway. 

Solids. Three. Middle right pocket. 

“Does your reputation actually matter to you?”

“That’s a loaded question.” Eddie leans backward. He’s a little unsteady on his feet, the effects of the alcohol seeming to finally kick in. “Off the record?”

“Off the record.” 

You make a show of grabbing the tape recorder and clicking the stop button. You slide it over the wooded lip of the table, proving to him that the device really isn’t recording anymore. 

“Of course, my reputation matters to me. Anyone who says they don’t care about their reputation is lying. Sure, you learn to brush it off. You learn to expect that everyone you meet is gonna have preconceived notions about you. Whatever. People have always had some shit to say about me, I say let ‘em talk.

But it never gets any easier realizing that everyone you meet thinks they know you just because of some shit they read in a magazine. It never gets easier knowing that nothing you do belongs to you anymore.”

Eddie’s words weigh on you. Whether or not he realizes it, you fall into both those categories. You had turned your nose up at the lousy headlines. You had thought he was just another reckless rockstar. Now, you’re tasked with writing him a new one, one that’ll make people like you see him in a better light. It's still the same. He still doesn’t get to control how this story ends. 

“Is that why you agreed to this interview?”

You know you’re essentially wasting a question. Whatever his answer will be won’t matter in the long run, because you won’t be able to use it. You want to know the answer anyway. 

Eddie looks down at the table and then back to you. You know that he could tell you that you used up your question. That if he was a little less drunk he would probably diffuse the tension by quipping back to you, only one question, remember? He doesn’t. He sees that you have the winning shot perfectly laid out for you. This time, he doesn’t prolong the inevitable.

“Yeah, it is.”

You make the shot. Just like that, the game is over. Your victory feels hollow. 

A blue-striped ball sits lonely on the table. A question left unasked. An answer left unheard. 

Eddie puts his leather jacket back on and brings the empty beer bottles back to Robin. You pick up the tape recorder. It feels like dead weight in your hands.

You meet Eddie at the counter, where he’s happily chatting with an amused Robin, all previous tension regarding your last question seemingly forgotten. You bid your goodbyes. The two of you shuffle awkwardly together towards the entrance before Eddie gets distracted by something.

“Oh my god, I love these!” Eddie regards the gumball machine full of small, shitty prizes with a childlike wonder. 

He grabs his wallet from the pocket of his jacket, dutifully pulling out two quarters. He shoves them both into the coin slots and cranks the handle. The machine spits out a plastic capsule with a bright green lid. He takes the prize and thrusts it into your hands. 

“For you.”

You’re confused by the sentimental gesture but decide not to question it. Shaking the contents out into your hand, the prize reveals itself to be an 8 ball keychain. 

“Hey! We match!” Eddie pulls out the motorcycle keys from his pocket, and sure enough there’s an 8 ball hanging from the key ring that’s identical to the one you’re holding in your hand. 

“Yeah.” You smile to yourself, twirling the small sphere between your fingers. “We do.”

The drive back to the house in West Hollywood is quiet this time. You elected to switch from the cassette to the radio as soon as you got in. The sounds of classic rock drift between the two of you. Eddie spends the entire drive looking out the window, proving himself to be a quiet and contemplative drunk rather than an obnoxious and outspoken drunk. 

Pulling up to the curb, you feel slightly awkward. You’ve never been good at goodbyes. 

“You doing anything tomorrow?” Eddie’s head flops in your direction, his body language giving away the depth of his inebriation. 

“Um.” You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what he might be planning. “It depends. What time?”

“Around noon? We have a recording session tomorrow and I just thought maybe you’d like to hear some of the stuff we’ve been working on. Plus you’d get to meet the other guys. It would be good, right? For your article.”

He says the last sentence as if it’s an afterthought. 

“For the article.” 

“It’s at the recording studio near Sunset? Big red sign, can’t miss it.” He’s using his hands again as he talks. The silver rings glint under the yellow of the street lamps. “Can I have your number, though? Just in case it gets canceled or something. I don’t want you to show up and think I’m sending you on a wild goose chase.”

“Sure.” You rattle off the number for him. Eddie continues looking at you, glassy-eyed and rosy-cheeked. “Are you sure you don’t want me to write it down for you?”

“I have a good memory.” He grins toothily, tapping his temple with his index finger. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

With that, he tumbles out of the car and stumbles to the front door. You watch his retreating figure with the realization that you’ve barely scratched the surface of who Eddie Munson is.

You remember to swap cassettes before pulling away. As you begin mentally writing the beginnings of his article in your head, the mixtape plays softly in the background. 

Living in a world of make believe 

I can hide behind what's real

But wearing your emotions on your sleeve

And they all know what you feel

taglist: @twisted-wonderland-of-wren@cloudroomblog@amira0303@forrestfae6@aysheashea@vintagehellfire@poisonedluv @kimmi-kat@mmunson86

if your username is crossed out it means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you 💔

[shions-chin-scar]

i want a full essay on haruta, you seem like a knowing person

*cracks knuckles* My time has come.

So, Haruta. Whether you love 'im, hate 'im, love to hate 'im, he's a character that few people in the fandom feel indifferent about. But I believe that he's also slightly deeper than the giggling sword-wielding maniac he seems to be at first glance.

Also there will be MANGA SPOILERS so don't click if you're anime-only

First, let's take a look at his name.

Shigemo is written with 重 (“shige” = heavy, important) and 面 (“mo” = mask), and together those two characters can literally be read as "multi-faced". This is already a hint to his personality: Haruta is someone who acts childish and humorous, but is actually cruel and cold-hearted.

Haruta is written with 春 (“haru” = spring) and 太 (“ta” = thick/big, a common male suffix). Spring is the symbol of new life, of a fresh start. It could be a possible hint to him recently becoming a curse user, or maybe a reference to his power.

Next, his perceptive and cunning nature.

Because yes, Haruta is actually pretty damn smart and tactical despite acting like a goofball most of the time. People are way too quick to write him off as a weakling and make fun of both him and Nobara for her defeat at his hands. Here are a few examples:

^Recognizing Nobara and accurately gauging her growth despite not fighting her during their previous (and only) encounter

^Understanding what the injured Megumi was doing and not letting his own guard down

^Realizing what Megumi was about to do (unfortunately too late)

He's also surprisingly self-aware about his own limitations despite his arrogance regarding his own abilities. When Gojo broke the barrier around the school, what did Haruta do? Immediately dip. When Nanami backhanded him across the whole store, what did Haruta do? Realize he was way outmatched and try to run. He's different from the likes of Juzo (hang rack guy) or Jougo, who overestimate what they can do and underestimate their opponents. Haruta knows he's not hot stuff, and as he says it himself, he's best at picking on the weak.

And let's not forget what a tactical fighter he is.

^Sending his sword after Nitta, fooling Nobara and allowing him to both keep track of her position and take her down

^Targets his opponent's weak spots to take them down

That was actually one of my few pet peeves with the anime: it felt like they made him less tactical. They removed Nobara's line about him aiming for specific points, as well as him injuring her leg, and it made his question about the sword hitting her head seem genuine rather than sarcastic.

His potential past.

This is where I'll be entering headcanon territory, but canon backs me up quite a bit on certain elements of it.

Haruta mentions that he doesn’t even know what exactly his own cursed technique does or how it works. Therefore, the likelihood of him coming from a family of sorcerers or having received a formal jujutsu education are more or less void. Had he inherited a technique like Nobara or Megumi, or gotten schooling, he would probably know more about it.

There is a running theme among curse users (whose past we know) of being rejected, sometimes even persecuted by society for their ability to see the supernatural:

Therefore, it’s not too far-fetched to assume that Haruta likely went through something similar himself. It would explain a few things about him.

Haruta's psychological issues.

I'm going to say it straight off the bat: I won't diagnose him with anything. I'm not a psychologist, though I did study psych in college. All I'm going to do is list a few of the obvious issues he has and their potential causes. JJK is a series of grey and gray, not black and white. No one is pure good and pure evil in it (except arguably some of the Curses because, well... they're Curses), and everyone has their own unique circumstances that led to them being the way they are.

That being said, one thing that immediately jumped out to me about Haruta is his barely hidden low self-esteem and insecurities. He's actually quite self-deprecating. If he just did it around other people I'd be inclined to believe that it's part of his "uwu i'm baby" front, but he also does it when he's alone.

It's worth noting that he also seems to specialize in sneak attacks from behind - fitting for a self-admitted bully who prefers to prey on the weak.

Yet at the same time, he's pretty full of himself and seems to have a certain paradoxical sense of superiority.

That's why I half-jokingly said in the tags of a previous posts that he has an inferiority-superiority complex. I think Haruta knows that he's not strong, but that his technique is absolutely broken even if he himself isn't particularly skilled (though he seems to have gained some confidence between the school invasion and the Shibuya incident - that's part of why I think he's a fairly recent curse user).

It's worth noting that the jujutsu world is much more dangerous than the regular one and death roams around every corner, doubly so for curse users who have a Kill On Sight order on their heads, and triply so when one’s cursed technique isn’t suited for fighting. It must be easy to feel weak and helpless under those circumstances.

Now let's get to the obvious, which are also Haruta's biggest flaws: his sadism and impulsivity.

Haruta obviously takes a lot of pleasure in hurting others, but what's especially concerning is he seems unable to hold himself back when he sees an opportunity for it, or think of long-term consequences. He tried to kill an injured Hanami just because he could, without realizing that doing so would anger the other Curses, and he went after Megumi despite barely escaping his encounter with Nanami an hour or so prior, which led to his death. He actually reminds me a bit of Himiko Toga from My Hero Academia, in that both of them just want to have fun in this world. What Toga really wants deep down is love and acceptance though - unfortunately Haruta never got the character development that she did.

He also clearly lacks empathy, which in itself isn't necessarily a bad thing, but combined with a personality that enjoys tormenting other people and has poor planning skills, it makes for a devastating combo.

^A perfectly healthy reaction to seeing an injured ally

It's worth noting that sadism and aggressive behaviors are believed to stem from both genetic and environmental (e.g., childhood trauma) factors. It can for example be a way for the person to turn the tables on the world and vent out their past hurts and anger, by making other people suffer like they suffered. Or a way to feel powerful - again, Haruta is someone with low self-esteem who preys exclusively on the weak.

TL;DR

Haruta Shigemo is actually pretty damn cool and smart and not just some one-dimensional grunt and he deserved better.

^Me @ Gege

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera - Ch 23 - Jump

Ok, I lied. I accidentally finished another chapter.

Have been looking forward to this one for a while 😁

What went before

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

He spotted the gap in the hedge and pulled into the small car park, stopping the car a little way away from a huddle of harnessed and helmeted people gathered at the back of a van. He’d assumed from the limited message he’d received Estera was attending some kind of social event, but this looked a lot more like an Activity of some kind… given the proximity of the sheer cliffs this part of the coastline was famous for, perhaps abseiling?

Quite chunky harnesses for abseiling though.

He couldn’t quite spot her among the group and hoped he hadn’t come to the wrong place. Pulling at the sweater to make sure it was definitely hiding the waistcoat, he left his warm but completely inappropriate tailored wool coat in the car and walked as casually as he could towards the van. One helmeted head snapped around as he crunched across the gravel and he felt a rush of relief which partly but not entirely overcame his uncharacteristic self-consciousness. She gave a tiny wave and mouthed “two minutes” before turning back to focus on the person giving instructions. Scott paused where he was and watched as the briefing seemed to finish and the group sprang into action to unload a series of tightly wrapped silk bundles from the van.

His jaw dropped. He knew what those were. Estera turned back and caught his eye and he pointed to the edge of the clifftop and raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. She nodded and grinned slightly maniacally. Then beckoned him over.

He drew alongside and murmured “I thought you weren’t a fan of heights?”

“Just airplanes” she whispered back. “This way you get the rush without needing to get into one. Just, err, don’t mention it to the school kids.”

He chuckled. “Not going to lie, I’m quite envious.”

“Don’t you do this kind of thing all the time? Given your day job?”

“Not for fun. It’s hard to enjoy the moment when someone’s trapped or injured or something and they are waiting for you.”

She looked thoughtful. “Give me a minute.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“We have a rig spare though don’t we? Robin hasn’t turned up.”

“That doesn’t mean we can just let a randomer jump, Tez, you know that. He’s not done the training.”

“He’s done this kind of thing a lot, though, for his job.” She looked round to see Scott happily chatting to a couple of people and suddenly realised that maybe he wouldn’t appreciate losing his anonymity right now. So she fudged it. “He’s in… outdoor pursuits” she invented rapidly “really extreme stuff. In, uh, Australia.”

“Unless he can show me a qualification… the insurance company would string me up if something happened.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do?”

She knew the disappointment was showing on her face and the wheedling was beneath her. She wouldn’t usually push, but… she glanced back over at Scott… she had a sense that he might need this as much as she did today. Mentally slapping herself for being outrageous but ploughing ahead anyway she pulled out her best puppy dog expression and watched Gary crumble.

“He’ll have to go tandem. I’ll take him. And he needs to do the E-learning first.”

“I’m sure that would be fine!”

The stocky instructor approached Scott who stood to attention, being about 8 inches taller than Gary she could see his reaction over the shorter man’s head. Estera could guess the order of conversation from his open-book facial expressions - the grin and sparkling eyes would be in response to “you can jump”, the slight frown probably meant the news that he’d have to go tandem had been delivered and the hastily suppressed cringe was very likely indicative of worse news re the e-learning requirement. Scott nodded seriously, said something she couldn’t hear and accepted the offered tablet, immediately starting to read.

“Tez!”

She jogged over.

“When he’s finished that you brief him on the geography. And get him kitted up.” Gary looked pointedly at Scott’s very-much-not-BASE-Jump-Association-approved trousers and sighed pointedly. “At least his shoes are alright.”

Scott was sat on the footplate of the van, studiously focussed on the iPad but she was sure he blushed slightly. Gary marched off to oversee the setting up of the jump point.

“In fairness I have done far crazier things in similar trousers.”

She tried and failed to suppress a snort of laughter. “I’m sorry… I’m sure if you told him who you were he’d let you do what you liked.”

Scott smirked. “I did consider it. But… he’s not actually wrong. I don’t know any of your equipment, we do a LOT of training with ours. I don’t know the jump site and it isn’t as if I can scan it to get the data to an HUD. It would be pretty awkward if I misjudged and ended up a greasy smudge on the Devonshire coastline… given the day job.” He jerked his head in the direction Gary had disappeared in “Apparently the paperwork would ruin his week.”

Estera spluttered and he grinned up at her. “Just promise me you won’t tell a soul? I’ll never hear the end of it if Gordon or Alan find out. Anyway TEZ…” she screwed up her face at the awful nickname and he winked “aren’t you supposed to be briefing me?”

She pointed at the iPad and tapped her foot. He shrugged.

“I can take in both. Go ahead.” The last two words had a certain… commanding quality to them. Which she guessed made sense. Given the day job.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“John. I believe there might be a Situation with Scott.”

John nearly inhaled his crème d’oursin and was halfway to his feet before his brain engaged. It was entirely possible he was catching the smotherhen from Scott. Penny had of course remained composed and asked EOS to elaborate.

“Certainly, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. I have been monitoring the life signs at the coastal location his rental vehicle reached. There are 16 life signs and I believe one represents Scott Tracy and another is highly likely to be Estera Hermaszewska.”

“Is he injured?

“It appears not, John.”

John placed his cutlery down delicately. “EOS… why? I haven’t asked you to monitor him. In fact I believe Scott specifically asked you not to do so.”

“Scott asked me not to monitor his vitals and location via his personal comm unit. He did not make any reference, positive or negative, to remote monitoring of his vehicle and its environs.” The AI’s voice had a petulant edge to it.

“Reference spirit of the law versus the letter of the law”

A few seconds passed.

“Oh.”

“You still haven’t explained why you are monitoring.”

“I am interested in the development of human friendships and believe Scott Tracy and Estera Hermaszewska would make an informative study. I am simultaneously monitoring three weather fronts, a wild fire in Peru, a developing coup in a Eurasian separatist state and I have learned 14% of the rules of cricket.”

“Still going on the cricket, EOS? It’s been a week?”

“I am determined to master it, John. It is the only sport where my understanding remains incomplete.”

John nodded and glanced at Penny who had been holding her napkin to her lips for rather longer than necessary to wipe the non-existent food residue from her face.

“Dare I ask what the Situation that concerns Scott is, EOS?”

“Yes, John.”

A pause. He clarified:

“What is the Situation, EOS?”

“All 16 life signs appear to have fallen over 100 vertical metres from the clifftop to the beach, John. All 16 remain viable and highly mobile which is anomalous in the circumstances.”

John frowned and ran a quick search on popular outdoor pursuits at the location. Then nodded. And sighed deeply.

“EOS, you need to stop monitoring Scott. He won’t thank you.”

“But John, what about…?”

“The only cause for concern here is that my eldest brother has found a friend as ridiculous as he is.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Scott leapt back in surprise and cursed loudly as the frigid water did its best to give him immediate frostbite.

Their harnesses and other equipment had been abandoned along with their shoes just above the tideline. The thrill-seeking group were dealing with the adrenaline comedown by rolling their trousers above the knees in order to sample the waters of the English Channel in late April. Which was clearly a lot closer to the Arctic Circle than his knowledge of geography had previously suggested.

He mock-glared at Estera who was unflinchingly shin deep in the gentle surf and doubled over laughing at him.

“Can’t we just jump off the cliff again?”

“I thought you lived by the sea?”

“Not this kind of sea!” Oops that was edging closer to a whine than he was proud of. Come on Tracy, man up.

He edged cautiously back to where the waves lapped over the pebbles and gritted his teeth to suppress the shudder as the nerves in his toes gave up and died on the spot.

“Last night I went for a swim and it was 72 degrees…” he quickly converted “about 22 Celsius.”

“Aaah this would be about 10.”

That figured.

“You should come back at Christmas, it’s tradition to swim in it on Boxing Day, sometimes we break the ice to do so.”

“Yep, I’m increasingly convinced the British are insane.”

She kicked icy water at him. He shrieked in an incredibly macho way and responded in the only way a self-respecting Commander, CEO and Responsible Big Brother could:

Competitively.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[caw4brandon]

- The Wilfies: Part 2 🐺 -

The Wilfies are back at it again with three more silly poses to push the limits of this being's keep. In case if you missed the previous one. Here's a [REMINDER]

A few fun facts, Jacob/Jake (the brown) is based on a rather popular wolf in a popular teen novel series/ movie that you might have heard of. He's the oldest of the pack and he naturally leads the trio.

Benjamin/ Ben (the gray) is the maniac of the trio. He likes to dive head first into a fight and ask questions later. Consider him the; Raphael or the Lancer but mixed with a little bit of the comedian in him.

Finally, Levi (the orange) is the youngest. He's on this strange journey to try rejecting his nature as a carnivore and is instead. Opting out normal meat for fish meat instead (because they have no souls, obviously /j)

Because of his strange arc, he's the smallest of them all but deep down, he knows that all it will take is a drop of blood. I dunno what I'm going to do with them yet but they're here to stay for good.