#need a man who'd do dis w me

[whspermy-name]

matching tv girl pfps show strong love

[dinthoqaf]

For someone who is new to your blog and character, what do you feel is important to know about them? What are some pivotal plot points you would like to share? Preferred RP hooks?

{ Oh, I love this question cause I always feel like w/ Din's comprehensive (and incredibly long) RP History, folks are always left in the dark on some of these things. So, please indulge me in a bit of long-windedness. :D -- For someone who is new to your blog and character, what do you feel is important to know about them?

First and foremost, Dinthoqaf is insane. Not the sort of Insane where you find him giggling and chattering away in the corner, or trying to shank people in the street to call it 'playing' or anything like that. No, Dinthoqaf is insane in the fact that he believes he's on the path to Godhood and that to become one, the world (Azeroth since he's a WoW-based OC) should be remade. The factions of the Horde and Alliance should be effectively destroyed down to their foundations. He views those establishments as complicit in the strife currently going on.

To be fair though, Dinthoqaf's upbringing was one specifically tailored by a (just as insane) Father who purposely treated him terribly, created an atmosphere where Din felt hated and reviled by everyone who was supposed to care for him, and ultimately cursed him via corruption (Specifically Old God) him at birth. Din is sadly, very much a product of his upbringing and instead of healing from it, is leaning into it fully while becoming the 'Father' figure he so desperately needed by leading his Sanctum of the Forbidden (Our Guild) to destroy everything and start it all over again.

-- What are some pivotal plot points you would like to share? Preferred RP hooks?

Oh jeez, these two are a bit tougher cause Din's story has been going on for -12- years. Wish I was exaggerating but I'm not. (I got a 13 yr old kid IRL and that's how I keep track. lol) His story is an amazing one full of twists, turns, bumps, high-rise fires, and slow burns. That being said, I think some of the pivotal plot points might be best done as just a little list but keep in mind, not all of this is IC public info due to the cultish/apocalyptic nature that Din is aiming to bring about. - Childhood/adolescence as a whole was just a bag of shit. Those involved in Elven Nobility may have known his father, Krownos Bloodcrest as an eccentric man who 'died' to the Scourge. - Ended up being found by an Old God Worshipping Troll who only hastened Dinthoqaf's decent into madness and lit a fire of Leadership in him that eventually resulted in the creation of his Sanctum. - Dinthoqaf's Brother, Ammaelin, is now Patriarch of House Bloodcrest (who has officially disowned Dinthoqaf for various reasons), and they are now at War with one another. - Dinthoqaf is married to an equally crazy lady who supports him emphatically ( @zalilirah ). - He was once fighting a 2 front war against his brother and a goblin group (which was ran by another of my OC's, @frostahesmegabite ) which is now laid to rest and that aspect of the story is essentially done with.). - He's been killed before! Usually in very gruesome fashions but the Sanctum or his wife and troll friend find ways to bring him back after extended periods (only aiding in the delusion that he'll become a god). - He's led an attack on Orgrimmar back during the Seige to rescue his wife who'd been captured by Kor'kron when it was discovered she was a Cultist. RP Hooks?! A much shorter list, probably thankfully if you've made it this far. - Wanting to learn dark magics? Din's your guy! - Playing an awful character that's down and out? Din's your guy. - Need a totally fucked up/screwed up Mentor/Father Figure? Din's your guy. (But don't make it weird.) - Character wounded and usual medical/healing spells won't work due to the nature of your character? Ooh, Din has some nice blood healing for you! - Corruption, Decent-like Stories? Hooked! - Din's also the sort to enjoy academics and simple polite conversation while drinking tea. (He won't drink anything anyone else offers though, only what he brings/conjures. He doesn't trust others to not taint or poison it.) What won't hook? - No Romance, No ERP, and I'm not looking for former lovers, family members, Servants, or Slaves. Not interested in any of those aspects. That's cool for other folks, but that's not Din's jam or my own depending on the topic. If it wasn't for Zalilirah, Din wouldn't even have a romantic relationship either. THANK YOU FOR ASKING THESE REALLY GOOD QUESTIONS AND I'M SO SORRY THIS WAS SO LONG-WINDED! D: )

[whumpcloud]

Red Room - Mine

content: creepy/intimate whumper, sadistic whumper, kidnapping, filmed whump, threat of future torture, restraints, gagging, implied threat of noncon but it won't happen/it's not really stated, pet names, begging, noncon kissing, manhandling, choking, whumpee tells whumper to kys

Jack wakes to a light bulb.

Back and forth. Back and forth. His fluttering eyes follow it for a moment, trying to focus. He tries to move, but his limbs feel leaden, and all it does is make him softly whimper at the leather biting into his skin.

Leather.

Jack's eyes widen and he snaps his head to the side. He's flat on his back on a wooden table, tightly strapped by his wrists and ankles and throat. Bile burns his mouth.

A door slams open and Jack lets out a small scream into his gag, into the cloth gag shoved inside his mouth and tied tightly around his head. He hears a laugh.

"Aw, baby boy…"

A face appears, framed by the flickering light, long black hair tickling the sides of Jack's face. The man grins.

"Heya, cutie," he says, soft, almost soothing. "No need to scream, okay? If you keep doing that, I'll let you scream yourself hoarse. And if you don't, I'll take off the gag and let you ask some questions. I'm sure you've got some, yeah?"

Jack exhales harshly through his nose, tears forming in his eyes, and nods.

"Alright." The man gently tugs the gag from Jack's mouth, and uses the free moment of Jack swallowing his spit to speak. "Don't try begging, by the way. No, I'm not gonna let you go, yes I'm gonna hurt you, no there's nothing you can do about it. Now ask a sensible question, okay, baby?"

Jack's head spins. He remembers walking home, he remembers the sound of the car door opening and being shoved inside, the man straddling his lap and whispering softly as he was sedated. Only in a haze, but he remembers.

"W-Who are you?" Jack finally says, voice more of a whimper than he means it to be. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Matthew Seung." He grins. "I'm just a content creator. And I'm gonna do… whatever the audience wants, really."

"Th-The audience?" Jack's heart becomes a pit in his stomach.

"Oh, yeah, they're gonna love you, sweetheart." Matthew's fingertips come to Jack's jaw, tilting it to the side. "You have to know how pretty you are. Very photogenic. And your eyes, baby boy, goddamn."

Jack flinches and lets out a soft whine when Matthew trails his fingers around Jack's eyes and over his cheekbones.

"I'll set some rules, obviously," Matthew says, lilting and gentle. "No damage to your face, nothing too permanent, but anything else goes. They might wanna cut you up. Boring, but doable. Maybe break a couple fingers, or let you almost drown, something like that."

Matthew playfully taps Jack on the nose.

"I'm not very creative," Matthew says. "That's why I leave it up to the viewers."

Jack bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood and contorts his face with the effort of refusing to cry.

"Ohhh…" Matthew sighs happily. "Go on, cry, lemme see you cry. I bet it'll be just adorable."

"S-Stop, please," Jack whispers. "Don't, please, please don't do this to me…"

"Shh, shh." Matthew runs his hand through Jack's hair. "I can't help it, baby boy. I don't find someone like you every day. Really, I'm surprised you didn't get nabbed before, looking the way you do. You got lucky."

"Lucky?" Jack shivers at Matthew's touch. "How is this lucky?"

"Oh, I know plenty of creepies who'd bid for you," Matthew grins. "I'm pretty tame, all things considered. If you were put with someone who was really sadistic, well, they might not even care if you died on camera. Not to mention what would happen behind the scenes to break you in. Nah, you're very lucky you got me instead."

"B-Bid-" Jack squeezes his eyes shut. This isn't real, this is something that happens in movies, not to real people, not to him. "Bid for me?"

"Yeah, I could easily sell you on, baby boy," Matthew chuckles. "Do you have any idea what people would pay for a face like yours? God, you're so fucking pretty. You're really lucky I admire you so much. I could sell you to someone who'd make a real mess of you."

That's when the dam breaks, and a wretched sob forces its way out of Jack's throat. Matthew laughs, and there's a click as a camera turns on.

"Sorry, baby boy, I gotta capture this," Matthew says, throwing his hood over his head and pulling a scarf up to his mouth. "God, you see that? Gonna love you."

"Stop it!" Jack snaps, though it holds no energy coming through tears. "S-Stop it, just let me go, I'm fucking begging you, please!"

Matthew rolls his eyes and whistles softly. "Told you I wasn't gonna do that already."

"I can pay you!" Jack tries, desperately pulling at his bindings. "P-Please, my family's rich, they'll- they'll give you whatever money you want!"

Matthew laughs so hard he has to put a hand against the wall and vaguely apologise to the camera for how loud he is.

"You hear that?" Matthew circles around so that he's crouching out of Jack's sight, just behind his head. "My new work of art thinks I'll let him go for money."

Matthew chuckles, and leans up, gripping Jack's face between his hands. He's so close that Jack can feel Matthew's hair on his forehead. His eyes glitter. Excited. Hungry.

"I'm doing this for fun, silly. For the attention. And you, baby boy"–Matthew presses his fingers against Jack's lips–"are gonna be my star."

Jack can't find any more words to say. What is there to say? This man wouldn't let him go for all the money in the fucking world, because he's cute when he cries and his only worth is looking good in front of a camera.

Matthew wrenches Jack's head toward the camera, curling his fingers into Jack's hair.

"You wanna tell them your name, baby boy?" Matthew coos, and the scarf does nothing to hide that he's grinning.

"J-Jack." His voice isn't more than a croak. "Jack Mitchell."

Matthew stops. Completely and utterly stops.

"Say that again," Matthew says, disbelief in his tone, just loud enough to be heard.

"Jack Mitchell," Jack squeaks.

"I fucking knew I recognised you!" Matthew lets go of him and claps in delight. "Kid of Killian Mitchell? Like, for real?"

Jack nods silently. People recognise him often enough, but not really for him, just for his father. He hasn't done any acting in recent years, and he doesn't look enough like his younger self to be recognised for those roles. So his father drags him out at events, pretties him up for the red carpets and the charity balls and tugs at the back of his collar where nobody can see the moment he says a word wrong.

"Oh my God. Oh my God." Matthew's voice is growing frantically giddy. "You're perfect, you're so, so perfect. The views. I'm never gonna be this popular again."

"Fucking kill yourself," Jack hisses.

"Spicy baby boy." Matthew reaches under the table and pulls at something, and Jack gags as the leather around his throat sharply tightens. "You wanna say that again?"

Jack's vision pulses at the edges and he whines. It's tight, but not so tight that he can't breathe at all. Just to hurt.

He's here just to hurt.

"Fuck…" Matthew lets out a breathy laugh. "This is gonna make such a good intro video. You know just how to behave in front of a camera, yeah?"

He does, he knows exactly how to behave, he's behaved for the cameras his entire life, buried every part of himself to look however they want him and that's exactly what Matthew wants out of him too.

Jack takes in a ragged breath the moment the buckle loosens, and lets it back out with a scream. He doesn't know why, and Matthew doesn't stop him.

Matthew just regards him with nothing more than mild amusement.

The end of the scream comes sooner than Jack thought it would, and he coughs, phlegm trapped in the back of his throat. He's still crying, can't stop crying.

"You tire yourself out already, baby boy?" Matthew asks. "Adorable. Lemme turn the camera off."

Click.

Jack lays limply as Matthew unbuckles him and lifts him up. His head throbs. Matthew carries him out of the dimly lit room, into an entirely dark one, that Matthew easily navigates through and sits down on top of a mattress, holding Jack around the waist.

"Relax now, baby boy," Matthew whispers. "You can relax now. It's just us."

Matthew presses a soft kiss to the back of Jack's neck, and smiles when Jack flinches away.

"You're so cute," Matthew says, gripping Jack's jaw with his other hand. "I gotta keep you. I'll take care of you off-camera, promise."

"Are you going to kill me?" Jack whispers. "W-When you're done with me?"

Matthew hums, as though he hadn't considered that. Kisses Jack's neck again, then his jaw, then his temple. Jack lets him, because he isn't stupid enough to think that these soft words and touches are anything but a thin layer over a man who has so clearly done this before and felt nothing more than delight.

"Nah," is the eventual answer. "The audience will get bored of you quicker than I will. And I can bring you back out to spice things up. Nah. I'm not gonna waste your pretty li'l face like that."

Matthew kisses him again, at the corner of his mouth, and lingers.

"Keep you for myself," he murmurs. "Yeah. Couldn't let you go to someone else."

Jack keeps still, as the hand on his waist traces upwards along his chest, slips just underneath his sweater to feel the ridge of his collarbone. The scars on Matthew's hands tell stories - teeth marks on his thumb, a faded knife wound through the palm, crescent shaped marks like nails cutting into the skin. If they were from innocent sources, Jack would be surprised. He's not the first, but the others fought.

It's an odd comfort. He'll stay alive, in the videos of him pleading and the reminders of his suffering on his captor's skin, even if he isn't quite here when Matthew's done with him, even if he doesn't figure out how to get the upper hand and escape.

Jack jams his elbow into Matthew's ribs, and the man's only reaction is to pin Jack's arms to his sides. Not even a sound of pain or annoyance.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you, baby boy," Matthew sings. "How about you just let me hold you, huh? Just wanna hold you. Fuck, I think I love you."

Matthew starts murmuring to himself again. Jack doesn't catch most of it, just a vague impression of the word: "Mine."

[devilofthehounds]

God Eater 3 Character Novel | Memories Like Fireflies: Chapter 2

[image id: A novel cover. In the foreground is a young Lulu Baran from God Eater 3. She is looking sadly at a pair of goggles in her hands, a fresh scar across her right eye. Behind her is a crimson Biting Edge-type God Arc, dried blood beneath it. Behind that is a faded image of present-day Lulu looking off into the distance. The text, when translated into English, reads “God Eater 3 Character Novel | Chapter 2: Lulu Edition | Memories Like Fireflies”. /end id]

This is a fan translation. Original text here.

Masterpost 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

I remembered wandering alone in what looked like an old, abandoned manufacturing plant.

My parents and I were supposed to be looking for a safe haven together. But one morning, they suddenly disappeared.

Apparently, I was such an annoying burden that even my own parents decided to abandon me.

I didn't resent my parents. I knew I was a bothersome child, and I felt awful for it.

Still, I couldn't accept the fact that I was no different from the discarded scraps of wood and steel lying around me.

A sense of loneliness and hopelessness kept rising up with each passing moment. I just kept going, desperately wading through trash, spilling tears into the strangling silence.

I just wanted to find a reason for me to exist.

"Ah..."

Suddenly, a huge shadow passed overhead.

An Aragami, clad in blue armor, landed on top of a pile of scrap wood, towering over me.

Red eyes caught mine. With a roar, huge blades deployed from both of its arms.

I squeezed my eyes shut as it rushed towards me at a breakneck pace.

But in the next moment, a commanding voice shook the atmosphere.

"Hey, kid! Back up a little!"

When I opened my eyes, all I could see was a woman taking a huge blade head-on.

Her arms were fitted with red armlets, and she held dual crimson God Arcs that were clashing with the Aragami she was facing.

"Alley-oop!"

Using the Aragami's blade as a foothold, the woman launched herself into the air.

As she danced through the air, she dodged and parried the Aragami's attacks, delivering sharp slashes with precision.

She almost looked inhuman, like a bird flapping its wings. All I could do was stare.

Eventually, the Aragami died, its face stabbed through by the God Arc. It collapsed into the pile of scrap wood, its body sliding towards me.

"W-Wah!"

Even though it was no more than a corpse, it was frightening to see a huge Aragami sliding towards me with its mouth wide open.

Just as I was about to be swallowed up, the woman swooped in and landed on the Aragami's head, as if sewing its mouth shut. She smiled at me.

"Hey there! Looks like you're still alive! There's no need to worry anymore!"

She had bright red hair and a bright red God Arc. Red diamond-shaped earrings dangled from her ears.

I couldn't make out her face behind the large goggles over her eyes, but the sight of her smiling happily while stomping on an Aragami left a strong impression on me.

That smile seemed to break the tension. My strength left my body, and I collapsed.

"Whoa, wait, wait! I just saved you; don't go dying on your own!"

As I fell, she leaned over and patted me on the cheek.

As my consciousness began to fade, I heard another voice—a man this time.

"...A survivor?"

"Looks like this kid is the only one. Let's take her to a nearby base."

The man spoke again.

"No, we'll take her to Baran."

I heard the woman sigh and click her tongue. After that, my consciousness faded completely.

The most intense pain I'd ever experienced abruptly awakened my sleeping consciousness.

"Ah... Aaaaaaaaaaah!"

At some point, I'd been strapped into a chair.

My hands were locked in place, clutching dual God Arcs. Armlets that seemed to bite into me were turning me into something else.

In my mind, I could see the smiling face of the woman who'd saved me. At the same time, my head felt as though it would explode from the pain.

In that moment, I barely regained consciousness. As soon as the restraints were released, I collapsed to the floor.

"...Did you survive?"

Once I managed to look up, I saw a man with a large scar on his face standing with his arms crossed.

"Who...?

"Goh Baran. I will be your teacher."

Dazed and unable to comprehend the meaning of his words, I was taken to another room.

It was the biggest facility I'd ever seen. As we moved, I saw lots of equipment and people who looked like researchers.

Once my mind became clear, I was made to change into all-black clothes. After passing through several doors, I arrived at a large room divided into squares.

"There you are. Stand there and watch for a while."

The man known as Goh Baran took one look at me and said those words.

There were dozens of kids around my age lined up in the room.

They all wore the same black clothes as me, as if to erase their individuality. Each of them held a God Arc in their hands.

Amidst the tense atmosphere, the kids looked expressionless, saying nothing. They stared straight ahead without making the slightest movement, giving an eerie, robot-like appearance.

"Let's start with the basics... Begin!"

With those words, the kids all began swinging their God Arcs in unison.

The sight of them endlessly repeating their drills without breaking ranks was impressive, but they all seemed somewhat desperate, lacking any sort of enthusiasm.

As I stood by, Goh approached me with a stern look on his face.

"First, I will only tell you what you must accept. You have become a warrior. A sword of Baran, meant to slay gods... an AGE."

It was then that I was finally informed of the situation I was in.

That this was a large Port known as Baran.

That I had become a God Eater, one who would devour Aragami in the Ashlands.

That we were tools of Baran and no longer had any rights as human beings.

And that our value was solely dependent on our obedience.

"Do as you are ordered and serve Baran. Those who cannot do so have no place. Be prepared to be disposed of immediately."

It seemed I had truly become more like a tool or machine than a human being.

I had no choice but to nod.

I was scared, but it was possible I could find meaning in this place.

At least, I thought to myself, there was more hope than being buried under that pile of trash.

My armlets' restraints were released. Two matching blades—a Biting Edge—fit into both my hands.

Black, rugged, and heavy. But I knew in my gut that these would become my wings, just like hers.

"First, drill the basic movements into your body. Concentrate."

"...Okay, mister."

At my reply, the training hall fell silent. The kids stared at me, their faces scrunched up.

"...Just 'yes' will do. Watch your mouth."

Goh's fist hit me square in the back of my head. I thought I was going to pass out.

It was pathetic, but this was the beginning of my training as an AGE.

It seemed the martial arts taught here were from a region called the Far East, which was also Goh's birthplace.

Although Goh's instruction was strict, it was also easy to understand, even for an amateur. He patiently stayed by my side until I mastered the basics.

Apparently, I was a fast learner.

I was able to quickly memorize the basic moves I was taught.

"...You seem to be doing well."

As he observed my movements, Goh nodded in approval.

It was the first time in my life that someone praised me.

"Thank you very much... Master."

It felt natural to call him that. I didn't get hit this time.

I bit my lip to hide the growing smile on my face and gripped my God Arc tightly.

Maybe I could really find a purpose in this place.

Maybe I could be needed.

Just as my heart filled with anticipation, it happened.

"Next is sparring. You will compete against each other. Those who underperform will be punished."

"...Huh? Sparring? I thought we were training to fight Aragami..."

"I told you, you're tools for Baran. It's only natural to judge your abilities in comparison to one another."

My master's words made me feel uneasy, as if I had still fundamentally misunderstood something.

My first opponent was a girl clutching a Short Blade.

"Yaaaah!"

I was intimidated by her yell, louder than I could've possibly anticipated based on her appearance.

During training, our God Arcs were disconnected from our armlets, dulling their edges.

Nevertheless, during a serious match, injuries were unavoidable.

"...! S-Stop!"

My feeble pleas fell on deaf ears.

Somehow, I managed to keep dodging her attacks at the last second and find an opening to attack. But.

I was unable to bring myself to take the opportunity and grasp victory.

The next moment, I was hit by the flash of a blade and knocked over.

The next time as well. And the next. And the next.

In the moment that determined the victor, I was unable to press forward.

"...You could see their movements. Why didn't you attack?"

By the time my master came to speak with me, I was covered in bruises, all due to my reluctance to fight.

"Because..."

I mumbled as I looked across at the other students. They looked to be relieved to be avoiding punishment.

"If I win, someone else will be punished..."

Once again, my words brought silence to the training hall.

If I won, my opponent would lose. Those who lost were punished, and those who underperformed were disposed of.

I was certain they would hate me. They would never forgive me.

I was so scared of having such feelings directed at me—of losing our bonds because of me.

"...It seems I made a mistake in choosing you."

After saying those words, my master slapped me hard across the face.

"Such kindness is childish. No one here wants your mercy."

I just didn't want anyone to get hurt because of me. But the gazes of the students watching from off to the side quickly changed to what I had feared.

Some were filled with confusion and pity, but most pierced me with contempt.

"That's it for today's training. Dismissed."

At the command of their master, the students left the training hall.

"Ah... Wait..."

The sight of them leaving without looking back overlapped with the vision of my parents disappearing without a trace.

An empty feeling spread through my heart: the realization that no one in this world needed me.

It seemed there was no place for me here, either.

Even though my surroundings had changed, in the end, my value was no different than the trash in the abandoned plant.

I had no fighting spirit. I was certain the decision to dispose of me would come in the not-too-distant future.

The time in which I'd discovered hope had been short-lived.

In that case... it didn't matter. But...

"I..."

I called out to my master, who remained alone with his arms crossed.

Even if I was to be disposed of, there was one more thing I needed to do.

"I have nothing to say to you. Get out of my sight."

His tone left no room for discussion. But if I backed out now, it would be the same as never having the feeling to begin with.

"I... Um..."

"..."

"Um... I...!"

".........What?"

A disgusted look was finally turned on me.

"Please, let me see the person who saved me back then. I haven't thanked her yet."

"...If you feel indebted, then pay it back to Baran."

"But I really want to repay her... before I die."

At my words, my master's eyes widened slightly.

"...After being made painfully aware of your helplessness and even accepting that you will be disposed of, you say the last thing you want to leave behind is gratitude to your savior?"

I had no value. There may have been no grace left, no hope for the future.

Still, the one who showed me a moment's hope before I became worthless—it was definitely that person.

Even if I were to die, my only wish was to thank her.

Seeing my unwavering gaze, my master let out a thin sigh and uncrossed his arms.

"...Follow me."

Translator's Note

[cheemken]

So like, Villain Diantha AU

Where were we again? I honestly don’t remember much from it. But I remembered about it and wanted to talk about the AU

You got anything you want to add to it? Anything you want to change about the plot?

But all I remember is Iris and Hau being manipulated by Diantha, and Cynthia, Lance, and Geeta being simps for her

I would to ngl

Not me mistaking this for the villain champions au bc I remember like the last bit of it was Diantha making Iris her successor as Kalos' Champion so imagine how confused I was going through the Villain Dia au tag and the last three posts were me simping abt her, an anon asking what would happen if Sycamore dies, and Dia manipulating Hau on killing Hala so like😭🤣

But yeah technically the last bit of it was Dia being proud Hau was becoming more of a "true Champion" by killing Hala hahaha

And now that you said it I do wanna change some bits of it y'know, there's just smth abt cunning and really secretive villain Diantha where people still believes she's a really good person (yeah this is abt my post abt villain Dia having the same vibes as Alt Gabriel lmao)

That'd be cool tho I've been thinking abt it bc villain Dia is just sooooo,,,, ough™ y'know, damn man imagine if we really got villain Dia from the start😭

Like imagine her playing the part of a Champion so goddamn well no one even suspects her of anything

Idk what Dia's motives are here na, or maybe she's just built diff hahaha like y'know what if she really just has a god complex, she's suffered enough, and now she's hailed as an angel, it got to her head, but ofc she knows all the things she worked hard for would just crumble before her if she forest the people to worship her, instead she just watches from the shadows, still acting like Kalos' beloved angel, slowly manipulating the people into relying on her and trusting only her

It's just chdnbdnd yknow, that she still has eyes and ears everywhere, that she'd know who'd start to doubt her, and if she finds out well,, ofc her informants can handle that task of taking the doubter out. Who needs people like them, right? And if news goes out that someone died, well, maybe it really was just their time, there were no traces of foul play anywhere anyways.

W the champions, y'know i wanna say she does know who likes her romantically like w Lance and Cynthia, and ofc her dearest Geeta, her childhood friend, how clueless she was of Dia's true nature. And ofc, playing the part of the angelic champion well, being everyone's shoulder to lean on, they can trust her, they can trust her w anything

God can you imagine if one of the champions did go against her tho, imagine her blackmailing them lmfao

But also Dia being so manipulative to the kids and even to Lance, Geeta, and Cyn, keeping them close to her, also manipulation runs especially deep w Geeta bc I've been thinking abt these two for a while owo

Your honour let me be self indulgent again by saying Diantha has Geeta wrapped around her slender fingers. Can you imagine how cool that'd be bcmdnd Diantha wrapping her arms around Geeta's neck, pulling her close to her, whispering in her ear how much she loves her, and how good she was for always telling Diantha everything that happens during the meetings when she's not around, that Geeta is so so loyal to her, that since childhood Geeta's been there, and ofc Geeta just caves in, that's her angel your honour, and that only fed Diantha's want to be called a god

Your honour they make me so ill chmdnd

Anyways hahaha idk I think it'd be cool if Dia's the type of villain that won't do any flashy thing, rather she's there for blackmail hahah and y'know, psychological torment ouo

[keithal]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favourite five fics that you've written :)

oh hello! beloved enterprisery this is my fave game to do of all time, so thank u for this :D three things before we get into it: (1) out of respect for u, the first two will be iwtv fics, (2) most of these are my least popular works LMAO and (3) this got pretty long. sorry abt that.

hell and you: modern day devils minion w old man daniel and armand. sometimes i forget how much i like this fic and then i'll remember "i wrote a fic abt armand being daniel's sugar daddy, LOL." it's very funny to me personally. i especially love this bit i threw in:

He fills the apartment with the smell of his cologne and something underneath that it can’t quite mask. A smell like water left to stand too long or flowers left too long in a vase.

i like the idea of vampires smelling like death. i can forgive this tho bc i think in the later installments of the vc anne rice said vampires smell like mayo? which is ... well. at least much more attention-grabbing than what i did.

damn these vampires: an armandaniel fic that takes place immediately after the season finale. this fic was majorly inspired by a thought that woke me up from deep sleep. armand and daniel have history. armand (i'm guessing) blocked daniel's memories. but didn't wipe them. daniel can't access them, but they're still there. so how funny would it be if daniel was jealous of louis being w armand but has no fucking idea why.

He smokes one on his walk back to the penthouse, thinking of how he had stood there in the aftermath, staring at Rashid—Armand—hovering over them like fucking Mary Poppins, his hand interlocked with Louis’s, and—instead of doing what a Pulitzer-winning, seasoned journalist of his caliber should’ve been doing in the face of being this royally fucked over—absurdly, inexplicably, Daniel noted the position of Armand’s thumb: on top.

i make myself laugh.

keep on keeping on, dean winchester: deancas s13 au where jack is a baby. i can't actually think of a part of it that stands out without any context (which, in my opinion, is a good sign), but i can say that i enjoy this part quite a bit:

Friday morning, as they’re making their way through the sticks toward the interstate, Sam says, “Hey, guess what I bought,” and holds up a dusty Sing-A-Long CD. “Fuck no,” Dean says. “We are not listening to Metallica all the way to Sioux Falls with a baby in the back.” “He likes it! Right, Jack?” he calls over his shoulder. Jack makes an incandescent gurgling sound. “See? Kid knows any music made after 1979 sucks ass.” “Singing in early childhood is important, Dean. It helps kids with language development, memory, and emotional regulation, and it entrains their social visual behavior.” “Thanks, Spock. You’re the pride of the Federation.” “Dean.” “Dude, I’m just saying, we can entrain his social visual behavior with the classics. We don’t need that baby crap. It’s the 21st century. All we need is Zep, Cash, some AC/DC—”

i worked really hard to capture dean's voice--like, harder than i've ever worked to scrub my own voice from a piece of writing. the amount of references and sayings in this bitch? sheesh.

i'm also very happy with how the relationship btwn jack and dean developed. one person who commented made a very intelligent observation that even i hadn't realized: i made dean see himself in jack. and it makes sense, doesn't it? jack's mom died bc of the supernatural; he wasn't allowed to process this loss at all; and he was left in the care of a father who'd lost a spouse. a father whose grief made him mean and treated his son like an object (hence the "it" pronouns used in the beginning).

anyway! very happy w how it turned out :)

long live the kingslayer: an elriel mission fic. i've spoken abt it like. a million times by now. and i still love it <3 there's just so much real estate to work w when it comes to elain. she's so underdeveloped that anything u say abt her is almost always pure conjecture. it was so much fun to take a character i loved so dearly and write a story where she was never punished for being who she is.

i'm still very fond of this part in particular:

“Wait,” he said before she could leave. His voice was nearly as hesitant as his expression, flickering between uncertainty and a strange, boyish shyness that was captivating on him. He reached into his leathers—where, she couldn’t know—and pulled out a small container. “Here,” he said, placing it in her hands. She opened it. Inside was a smelly, yellow ointment. “A salve,” he explained, “for your hands.” An unnameable feeling seized her. She hadn’t thought he noticed, never dared mention it out of fear of what he’d think, and this whole time he’d been carrying this salve with him. A salve for her hands. It was a terrible idea. She knew it as soon as it came to her, but she grabbed Azriel by the ears anyway, drew him down to her height, and kissed his cheek. She felt his skin go warm, and she imagined how surprised he must look, how shy. When she pulled back, she saw that his face was indeed dark with color, avoiding her gaze. Simultaneously pleased at her reaction and embarrassed by it. He was magical, she thought, and she loved him dearly. Loved him so much that it broke her heart. “Thank you,” she said. “This will be invaluable.” Finally, a smile from him. Unable to resist it, she brushed the back of her hand over his cheek, fond, and said, “I’ll leave you to rest.”

a lot of acotar fans hate it when ppl write azriel to be soft and shy and not particularly dark at all. me, personally? i think that’s boring. azriel was born into an abusive and violent home and suffered unimaginable torture at a very young age. he developed powers meant to protect him from the horror of his daily life, and those powers made him a great spymaster/torturerer. but it's so obvious that azriel hates his position within the court. he's starved of intimacy and tenderness. he has an extremely reserved and kind nature. it's a much more meaningful to have a character like that find someone who recognizes his gentleness and desire for gentleness in him and offers it to him. those characteristics don't make him any less of a man.

god never wrote a good play in his life: a god/chuck character study written in second person. i genuinely don't know how the toxic sibling relationship btwn amara and chuck doesn't make more people absolutely fucking insane. this story is chuck-centered, obviously, but i don't think anyone realizes WHY i did that. i don't like chuck! i didn't like writing from his perspective! i did it bc all of supernatural is chuck-centered. even when it isn't quote-unquote "his" story, it's still his. the point of the whole thing is for the reader to do what chuck/the show doesn't: break out of what's being told to u! look at the other characters! namely, look at amara.

chuck tries to scrub her from the story completely. the fic is 3k long, yet chuck doesn't mention amara at ALL unless she's onscreen. and even when she is onscreen, we can't trust a fucking thing he says! as exemplified here:

Maybe that wasn’t how it happened. Maybe you and your Sister were perfectly capable of creation. It would be absurd if you weren’t. Surely it wasn’t possible that you couldn’t create anything together. If you were in harmony, that should have implied you, together, would excel at it. She was an eccentric mind, designing balls of gas and entire solar systems that resembled you, right where all your rings met. (The most terrifying thing She came up with was the collapse of a star, where it became a gaping black mouth that swallowed everything in sight. You and I, She explained, perfectly in balance.) You were far less excitable, putting all your focus into the one planet you’d claimed as your own, but as you watched Her in those moments, you privately invented jealousy. Maybe you were lying about the lying. Perhaps They did give you counsel in a lapse of generosity, and your essence catapulted as you realized you would have to choose. Or possibly that day went like every other. Maybe She never met Them, and you only met Them much later, once you had shoehorned Them into part of your story. So instead of revelations and sacrifices, your Sister told you about centripetal force as you floated, listening, your rings spinning in slow, lazy circles, and you told Her about how little you cared for all this science and math She liked so much. Where is the pathos? you asked, and She sighed much as an exasperated older Sister should, and you realized that you loved Her very much. Or maybe you didn’t.

WHY? why is that? it's because the longer she's in the story, the worse chuck looks.

amara loved chuck from beginning to fucking end. she was born loving him. she chose him, always, over and over again. and chuck knew this! he used it! he would dangle the possibility of him finally loving her back to get her to do what he wanted. and what does chuck do abt this? abt his story, the first to ever exist? he recreates it. michael & lucifer; cain & abel; dean and sam (all men, curiously). to ... what? prove that he isn't the only brother to have not loved his sibling back? that in his position, u would've done the same?

i could talk abt that fic all day. best thing i've ever written.

[roguerogerss]

Sorry is a Sorry Word

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Plot: Steve fucked up - bad. He doesn’t really know how, or if, he should say sorry, until Dustin gives him a pep talk.

W/C: 3.1k

A/N: Just now realising how long this is oops, sorry. My first Stranger Things fic! Finally. (watch this flop so hard lmao) Remember to like and reblog if you enjoy! It really helps me out. As always, requests are open and any and all feedback is appreciated <3

————

"Dustin, Please, just leave me alone." She lay back on her bed, tears streaming down her face and hair amiss from where she'd run her fingers through it. "I'm fine, I just...give me some time."

"But, we tell eachother everything." Her little brother sounded so small and defeated that it almost broke her heart in two. She could hear him leaning his back against the door, the back of his head thumping dully against the wood a second later. "I feel like we're drifting apart. You don't talk to me anymore."

"Dustin-"

"No, it's okay. Don't worry." Dustin cleared the remnants of his upset from his throat, "We can talk later. I get that you need time."

And with that, he'd left. She could hear his muffled footsteps on the carpeted floor of the hallway, walking away from her bedroom and back to his own. She knew that she wanted to talk to him and vent about all of the happenings of the day, but she couldn't bring herself to let her walls down in front of anyone about her current situation just yet.

It was Steve. And it was bad.

They'd been together for a year and ten months. He'd been there for her through thick and thin. Whenever their mom went MIA, something that happened more often than not, during the days and weeks and months that Y/N was left to take care of her thirteen year old brother on her own with no notice whatsoever, Steve was there. And he'd take Dustin out to the cinema, give him free ice cream, play Dungeons and Dragons with him and his friends - even though Steve had no idea how to play Dungeons and Dragons. He'd sleep over, make her feel like she wasn't alone. It filled her with pride to see him taking Dustin under his wing, more like a dad than even an older brother.

When they lost Hopper, who'd become more of a parental figure than she and Dustin's mom was to her, he was standing by her side at the funeral, hand grasping her own smaller one with force and squeezing it every so often, just to remind her that he was there. He was there after the funeral, too, when they went to the cabin and went through Hopper's things. He was there when she found the birthday present that Hopper had bought for her, a necklace with, 'you're pretty cool, kid', engraved on it. Hopper's way of saying that he loved her. It came with a letter, one that she cried so hard while reading that she couldn't see the words on the page.

The point was, that Steve had been there through everything. And now that they'd had a huge argument over - of all things - Nancy Wheeler, she was unsure of whether or not she'd have Steve to lean on anymore.

It wasn't so much a stupid argument as it was a stupid mistake on Steve's end. He even admitted to himself that what he'd done was more than a dick move. Tina was having a party, a big one, for old time's sake. Y/N wasn't invited, having been socially considered as 'uncool' while in High School, while Steve was invited. He said that it wasn't a big deal, it didn't matter, he wouldn't go.

Except that it was a big deal, it did matter, and, well, he did go.

He'd gotten really drunk, so drunk, in fact, that he had no recollection of the night at all and managed to stumble to Y/N's front door at five in the morning.

He'd told her that he went to the party, that he was sorry. She'd been mad, but she was so tired that she said she'd deal with it in the morning and told Steve to sleep it off on the sofa. Before going to sleep, however, Steve had told Y/N that he 'thought he might've kissed Nancy' that night.

They'd argued about it the next day. She'd dropped him off at home, neither of them speaking at all in the car, and they'd screamed at eachother in Steve's living room. Little did either of them know, Steve hadn't actually kissed Nancy, he was just so drunk that he made himself believe that he had. And then, Y/N told Steve that they were done, and he'd said 'fine', and she'd left and cried in her car for an hour.

And now, she was here. Crying on her bed, little brother probably thinking that one of her friends had died or something.

She hated herself for blowing up and flying off the handle and literally breaking up with Steve. Steve, on the other hand, hated himself for even going to the party, hated himself for - possibly - kissing Nancy, hated himself for going to Y/N's front door and waking her up so early in the morning.

In the grand scheme of things, Steve Harrington had been an asshole. And he was all too aware of it.

It had been around half an hour since she got home when Dustin knocked on the door again. This time, she'd managed to calm down enough to allow him to come inside. She looked horrifying, hair messed up, tear stained face, cuddling a pillow and wearing one of Steve's shirts, but Dustin was her brother, he had no right to judge her.

The door swung open slowly, and Dustin was there, grinning and holding two pints of ice cream, spoons, and some movies. "Thought we could put a movie on and eat. And you can tell me about your problems and I promise I'll listen."

"Is the ice cream cookie dough?" Y/N asked, sniffling, and a watery smile crossed her face. Dustin laughed, happy to see his sister perking up at least a little bit, even if it was over ice cream, and turned the carton to reveal to her that it was, in fact, cookie dough.

"Only the best." He tossed one of the cartons and a spoon at her, and turned on the TV set that sat across from her bed. "Besides, I know it's the only one you'll eat when you're sad."

"You know me entirely too well." She hugged her knees to her chest and dug into her ice cream, relishing in the taste of it for a second, "Oh my God, I haven't had this in so long. And the Scoops cookie dough is so bad."

"Right? I know Steve thinks it's the best, but he is so wrong." Little did Dustin know, one mention of his name would make Y/N's meltdown begin all over again. Soon enough, she was crying hot tears into her ice cream, and she allowed Dustin to lay his head on her shoulder while she explained everything.

"Okay, I have to go somewhere." Dustin knew what he had to do, and Y/N's eyebrows furrowed as he got swiftly up from her bed. "I'll be like, maybe half an hour. But you can eat my ice cream if it starts to melt."

"Dustin! Don't leave me!"

"Watch the movie!"

And then he was gone, and she was by herself, with only some ice cream and E.T. to keep her company.

Meanwhile, Dustin had found Steve at work. He was insanely hungover - although, the headache and sickness had gone away thanks to Robin and her Tylenol, but the tiredness still remained - and reminded Dustin faintly of a particular zombie in Day of the Dead when he walked into Family Video to find him leaning on the counter. The grim look on his face wasn't so much because of the hangover, though, it was more to do with the fact that he and his girlfriend of nearly two years had broken up half an hour ago, and he'd been forced to go to work.

"If you're here to talk to Steve, I wouldn't. He nearly punched me when I asked him if he wanted Tylenol. And I'm a girl." Robin stopped Dustin at the front door, a serious look on her face, but he shrugged her off.

"It's fine. He won't do anything. Besides, I know what this whole thing's about. That's why I'm here." He tried to walk off again, but Robin grabbed his upper arm, tugging him back and making him elaborate.

"Is it Y/N? I think there was a fight between them or something. He’s never looked this rough.” Robin looked concerned, and she was. She’d never seen Steve so upset before. “He was crying when he came in.” She added.

Dustin shrugged, “Yeah, I’m gonna talk to him. He’ll be fine tomorrow.” He decided not to give Robin any more information on the situation in case Y/N or Steve would've gotten mad at him for it.

"Henderson, hey." Steve said quietly when he noticed that Dustin had entered the store. He looked like he'd been crying, and Robin was definitely right when she said he’d never looked rougher. "If you're here to hang out-"

"I'm not here to hang out, Steve. We have to talk." Dustin crossed his arms sternly over his chest, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head in the direction of the store room. Steve grumbled and complied, unlocking the door and ushering Dustin inside.

"You have to apologise."

"Apologise? Apologise for - what exactly are we talking about?" Steve rubbed a hand exhaustedly over his face, leaning against a sealed box of movies that he was supposed to have put away by now.

"You know what for, Steve. Y/N. You hurt her. Like, really badly. I don't think I've ever seen her so upset." Steve already wanted Dustin to stop, but he continued, really wanting him to get the message of just how hurt his sister was. "She cried in her room for half an hour before she even let me talk to her, and now she's at home by herself, probably crying some more because you went to a stupid party. I mean, seriously man, couldn't you just have stayed home? What was so important about it?"

Steve threw his head back and hid his face with his hands, wanting the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He knew that he'd been a dick, he knew that he'd hurt her, but, Jesus, knowing the details made his heart flip in his chest and his stomach hurt. He hated seeing Y/N upset at the best of times, nevermind when it was his fault.

"Yeah. Yeah, I should've just left it. Jeez, Dustin, I'm such an asshole."

"Yes. An asshole, you are. And what was that other shit? About you kissing Nancy?"

"I didn't kiss Nancy, okay? My drunk mind just kinda...made me believe that I did. I called her today just to confirm." Steve swallowed, suddenly having the nausea of his hangover coming back to him.

"Does Y/N know that?" Dustin had his arms crossed, back against the wall, looking unimpressed as Steve shook his head. "Seriously man? Don't you think that the first thing you should've done after finding out that you didn't actually cheat on your girlfriend, was tell your girlfriend that you didn't actually cheat on her?"

"My head's all over the place, Henderson. Cut me some slack, okay?"

"You have to come say sorry, you know that, right?"

"I will. I will, I promise. I finish in an hour, why don't you go home, I'll buy some flowers, take a shower and get changed, and I'll come chap on your door like none of this even happened." Steve had suddenly perked up, gesturing with his arms and almost getting excited to initiate his plan.

"Yeah. Sure. But it better be good, Harrington. You better make her happy."

Steve didn't even have time to respond before Dustin was running off, getting on his bike, and cycling back home to his sister. He promised himself internally that he'd do all it took to make her happy.

Y/N had finished her ice cream and Dustin's had started to melt by the time he got home. She hadn't cried any more, had been too focussed on the movie, and Dustin was relieved to see her laughing at something on the screen when he entered her bedroom.

"Hey." She smiled. "Your ice cream's melting, you'd better eat it."

Dustin smiled and bellyflopped onto her bed, sending her into a fit of laughter. They both laughed so hard, in fact, that they barely heard the doorbell ring, and Dustin almost got up to go and get it.

He stopped himself though, not wanting Steve to call him an idiot or something along those lines. "You should go. I have to eat my ice cream before it melts." He said sheepishly, sitting back down from where he'd jumped up. Y/N rolled her eyes and threw the pillow that she was holding at Dustin's face.

"Alright, make your sad sister get the door because you have to eat ice cream." She stood up even as she spoke, knowing that Dustin wasn't going to budge. "Nice one, asshole."

Y/N had left her bedroom before Dustin could retaliate, bounding down the stairs and realising that, if anyone saw her the way that she looked now, they'd probably never respect her again. The doorbell went again, and she sighed quietly at the lack of patience from whoever was on the other side.

She - stupidly - didn't even bother to look out of the window that stood next to the door to check who it was before opening it, and nearly closed it again when she realised who was standing there.

"Hey, woah, don't close the door yet!" It was Steve, his eyes widened from the possibility that he'd come all the way to her house so that she could slam the door in his face, holding white lilies and a box of chocolates, which was - in Y/N's opinion - the cheesiest apology ever. "Just...listen? For like, a minute."

She slowly let her hand slide off of the door knob, watching as Steve relaxed a significant amount even from seeing her do that. "A minute." She crossed her arms over her chest, chewing her cheek. "You have a minute."

"Okay, uh, yeah, okay." Steve began his rambling. "Listen, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know I shouldn't have gone to that party, I know I shouldn't have gotten so drunk that I managed to convince myself that I kissed Nancy. Did I already say that I didn't actually kiss Nancy? I called her, and she said we didn't even speak. Bottom line is, I'm an asshole. I know that, and I hate myself for hurting you. Dustin told me how upset you were and I...I couldn't even comprehend the fact that I did that."

He paused, looking down at his feet and waiting for Y/N to say something. Something that didn't come, she simply stood, looking at and biting her fingernails, trying to figure out whether or not she should give in and forgive him or not, so he stopped waiting and spoke some more.

"I'm sorry. I love you. I love you so much. And I know that I fucked up, and I don't expect you to forgive me-"

"Steve." Y/N stopped him. He looked up at her, expecting that she'd look upset or annoyed, but she was smiling and shaking her head. "Come here."

"Seriously?" He already wished he hadn't said what he did before he'd even finished speaking. Seriously? What kind of thing to say was that? "I mean, you know-"

She was already hugging him before he could finish speaking. She knew that he'd ramble on for hours if he could, but she also knew that she already forgave him and didn't need to listen to his rambling. "It's okay. I forgive you."

"Oh, thank God. I thought I'd lost you, really, I did." He sighed into her hair, realising that he was probably ruining the bouquet of flowers with the way that he was crushing them against her back.

"Well, you were an asshole. You had every right to think you'd lost me." Steve had always loved her subtle sassiness, it was a habit that she often fell into unknowingly, but it made him chuckle.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I was an asshole."

She let go of him, finally, and stood back. He was wearing his light blue jeans, a black t-shirt and belt, with a blue jacket. It was an outfit that she'd seen him in before, quite a few times, but he never failed to look good in it anyway. His hair was slightly amiss, as though he'd gotten ready as quickly as he could - which was true, but she didn't know that for sure - but it still had his Steve 'the hair' Harrington charm.

"So, can I come in, or are you just gonna stand there and mock me?" He grinned and she stood to the side, allowing him to join her in the hallway. He went straight for the kitchen, taking out a vase and filling it up with water, then placing the flowers in it and leaving it on the kitchen counter.

"I didn't say you could-" She was trying to joke with him, but he didn't seem to care much, as he cut her off by dipping his head towards hers and kissing her passionately. He hated to admit it, probably something to do with the small part of his King Steve persona that he still carried around with him, but he'd missed her, and it had only been a few hours.

"Woah, easy tiger." Y/N laughed, pulling away when Steve's hands started to travel downwards. "We haven't even properly spoken yet."

"Yeah. Sorry." Steve said sheepishly. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and smiled down at the floor. "Do you wanna talk?"

She shrugged. "Not particularly."

"So, really, it's okay for me to do this," He closed the gap between them again, beaming at her while he searched her face for any sign of disapproval and admired the little flecks of contrasting colours that danced in her eyes. And then he kissed her again, lips soft against her own, gentle - something that wasn't widely believed, Steve Harrington was actually one of the most gentle people that Y/N had ever met.

"Well, yeah." She grinned, breathless. "But I'm sort of in the middle of watching a movie, wanna join?"

And so they spent the rest of the day, wrapped in the blankets on Y/N's bed and Y/N wrapped in Steve's arms, watching movies that Dustin fished out from the cabinet under the TV that Y/N didn't even know that they had.

She had to say, Steve's apologies were often cheesy and terrible, but this one wasn’t so bad as it was enjoyable.

[dirnensions]

The alert would come through. Rick had been added as an 'emergency contact' on Ford's wristwatch. Stan referred to said alerts as 'damsel in distress signals', despite his brother making it VERY CLEAR they weren't called that. Ford was in a sorry state-- having visited crash site omega for some more supplies. What he HADN'T expected was an ambush from some bounty hunters who'd managed to track him down. He'd fended them off-- but he was in a sorry state, slumped in a corner of the ship.

Startling awake from where he’d nodded off on his workbench, Rick managed a noise as he fumbled in labcoat pockets for the offending wakeup call. At least nothing had fallen off the table and broken, which was more than he could ask for given his finicky luck.

[ONE MISSED MESSAGE FROM: Fuckwad 46 ]

HEARTRATE 34 BPM AND DROPPING. BLOOD PRESSURE LOW. MEDICAL ASSISTANCE NEEDED, COORDINATES ATTACHED.

…

Oh. Oh shit that sounded serious. A flicker of unease threatened to light his whole chest aflame but Rick took a deep breath and doused it with apathy,  only allowing himself to feel frustration and anger at being disturbed rather than paranoia that someone knew about them. No, no one knew, and if they did, they must know Ford could take care of his own stupid ass. He had nothing to worry about. Or care, since there were countless Fords. Fucking idiots.

“God fucking damn it Ford w-what the fuck did you do this time?”

Snatching his portal gun up from where it had been charging, he turned the knob to the right destination (man FUCK dimension 46′\) and stepped through.

“Pines you f– you dipshit, I–”

The words I was busy died on his tongue the moment he noticed the blood trails and what they lead up to. The moment he saw Ford, slouched against the far wall, a lazer pistol loosely held in one hand, glasses knocked askew. The bodies littered around he cared less about, and the man scampered across the room to kneel in front of the author. Was he conscious? Alive?

“Damn it– PINES! Can you hear me?”

Even as he wormed an arm underneath the man and pulled him upwards, his watch scanning for vitals, he wouldn’t lie. He was dangerously close to giving more than his usual ‘zero fucks’. Ford had pulled him back under less than a damn WEEK ago, and this was how he repaid Rick finally giving in and talking to him?

ASSHOLE.

“Damn it– don’t– don’t you f-fucking –”

No response. And with all that blood matting his jacket, there was only one thing he could assume.

Only when they were back in the lab did Rick drop his companion, leaving him on the floor to slap the button on the Meseeks box rapidfire. At their exclamations of joy, in their newfound existence Rick shushed them — after all it WAS 2 in the morning. Plus he didn’t have time for all that shit. Pointing at each of them, he told them what he wanted.

“You — I want all the cleaning supplies you can find in the house. You, towels— only clean ones, they’re in the closet by the stairs. You and you, lift him, onto the table. You, get me the box under the desk and set it up.”

Another look at Ford’s condition had Rick cursing, running a hand through his hair. Then, he ran to the emergency sink and washed his hands, drying them just in time for the two to poof out of existence with Ford ready on the table. Two more hits of the button had more helpers, cutting away that stupid sweater vest to reveal the worst.

“You two, help me stabilize him.”

Though, at their look of concern if he would make it (and fulfil their purposes), Rick slapped one and fixed a pointer finger at the other.

“If he dies. I’ll fucking kill you myself. Hurry up.”

He’d been hit several times with what looked like Bleemflurk weapons, among other cuts and bruises. Fucking idiot – why was he still fucking around with shit over there? Why was he fucking around with BLEEMFLURKS in the first place? He should really play that stupid DND game more, less chances to drop his stupid glasses and get shot. Leaving Sanchez to clean up his messes. And that was not going to happen. Rick had his own plate full of shit to deal with, a fucked up Oregon town was not at the top of his list of things to deal with, least of all whatever lingering effects of that stupid illuminati asshole’s deal Ford started back in the 80′s.

But this? This looked like he tried to fight a truck — and failed. Surgery gloves on, a mask was pulled over his face and he got to work.

Only when the hastily erected medical equipment said Ford would survive did Rick finally set his things down, taking a breath. The sun was rising, blood was everywhere, but the steady beep of the EKG machine was as soothing as anything could be. He’d live – and have a hell of an open chest surgery scar, but damn it he’d live.

And get an earful once he woke up, mummified in bandages.

Sitting in a chair across from the bed he’d set Ford up in, Rick set the journal aside with a loud SLAP on the table.

“What the FUCK were you thinking?”