#probably nothing i say would be new but whatever

[cherrxboy]

I had this idea and I HAD to write it because I know my bitchass would NOT write it any other time (it's 5 in the morning and I haven't slept)

CW: explicit smut, I think - GN!reader - Mean!Satoru - uhhh rough seggs - Toru being an asshole - eating out/bj/whatever (reader receiving) - overstimulation I believe - a bit (probably a lot) of degrading/humiliation and stuff... he calls you a slut like two times - pet names used: baby, sweets, love - he refers to himself as "daddy" once but there's nothing else about that - mentions of death but like he's just joking - aftercare. (Not proofread) tell me if I missed anything!

English is my second language and I'm sleep deprived auauughh this is probably shit but I hope you enjoy hehe cause I personally love mean!Satoru he makes me go tehehehhehwojspsjpsj. Sorry if there are any typos ;((

♡

We've all read the fics, we've all seen the man, we've watched the show and I can't get this image outta my head, this little broken tape going off in my brain that Satoru is one of the biggest meanies when y'all are going at it. Doesn't matter what you are, what's in your pants, if you're giving or taking– he's mean.

Satoru is the type of guy that would keep you spread for him while he goes down on you, not caring if your thighs start to cramp or your legs feel sore. At some point it's not even about your pleasure anymore. He just wants to see how far he can push you, what new faces you can make, what little noises he can take out of you and Oh his favorite: how many times can he make you cum with just his mouth in a certain time limit.

He starts going and counts, each and every one of your orgasms, while also keeping track of the time. He's the strongest, he's definitely broken some records and one thing he really loves is breaking his own records. How many times can he make you cum in 15 minutes? How about 10? How about 2?!

"C'mon, love..."

"just one more, yeah? Oh I know, I know it's hurting but I'm almost breaking my last record, isn't that amazing??"

"Puh-leaseee? I'm making you feel good too, aren't I? Don't deny it, babe. I'm pretty sure everyone heard us with how loud you were being."

"No no no, I'm not saying it's baaad. Actually, makes me curious about how many noise complaints we can get in a week–"

Satoru is the type of guy to literally make fun of you while he's rearranging your guts. The type of guy that laughs in your face when you're crying all prettily, telling him that 'oh you can't take it' or how 'it's too big!' He's folding you in half at this point, not even letting you look away, hide your face in the pillows or anything as one of his hands keeps you still for him and the other holds onto your face, cupping you cheeks and squishing them together to make your face all pouty and adorable; you're just drooling and your eyes keep rolling back but Oh you better pay attention to him otherwise he's slowing down until you're begging for him to go faster and harder.

His thrusts suddenly become so weak and lazy and it's just not enough but he doesn't care, doesn't care that it practically hurts him too, he just wants to see you try and beg him to move with that fucked out lil brain of yours.

"Ah- Ah- Ah~! Harder, Toru! Puh-leaseee, faster, daddy!" As he giggles and mimics your voice (very horribly).

"Oh it's too big? But you're taking it so well, love, look at you! Shiiit~ I'm all the way in your tummy, see? Yeahhh well maybe you can't with all those tears but I definitely can."

"Hey, eyes on me, sweets– thereee we go~ Lemme see your pretty face, yeah?"

"What was that? Oh you're gonna cum? Again? That's a bit rude, baby, don't you think? You're being really greedy tonight. But it's okay, you can cum~ I'm feeling generous tonigt."

Satoru is the type of guy to pull on your hair when he's fucking you from behind, just to bring you closer to himself and make your back arch almost uncomfortably, just to whisper dirty ass shits in your ears that he knows would get you off.

He's got you on all fours and his free hand is on your ass, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh as he pounds into you, sometimes giving it a little smack, groaning and moaning deeply against your neck and sometimes whimpering if you give a roll of your own hips as well. He's not shy and doesn't see why some guys hold back their moans... you seem to like it a lot, so he definitely won't stay quiet.

"Fuuuck baby~ you're so tight and so fucking warm– mmm! I'm gonna break you... uh-huh, you're gonna stay here in bed for at least a week, sweets. And I'm gonna take good care of you, yeah? You'd like that, wouldn't you? Staying here, full of my cum as we just cuddle and hide away from the world... I'll give you load after load, baby, as many as you want~"

"Taking my cock so fucking well, like a good little slut– no no no, don't you dare run away, sweets~ fuckkk... I can feel you squeezin' me, baby. You like when I call you that? Like when I treat you like the lil slut you are?"

"Oh fuck– please, give it to me sweets, please! Wanna feel you, baby, wanna feel you tightening up– shiiit.. just like that! I'm gonna fill you up so good~ just a little more, 'k? You can take it... yeah you can, good job~"

Satoru is the type of guy that's mean during sex but Oh so sweet afterwards. Man does not care how many rounds you've all been through or how tired he is... he's giving you a nice warm bath and a massage because he just can't have his sweet partner be in pain, can he?

He talks all that shit about making you unable to walk but god he thinks he'd die if he had to stay in bed with you for a whole day! He loves you, don't get me wrong. He loves spending time with you and just being with you merely in your presence but he's an active person to say the least and he can't just sit still for more than 10 minutes!

So you best believe he's giving you the best aftercare as soon as you guys are done. A glass of water to sooth your throat, soft towels to clean you up with, a nice warm bath along with a massage to make sure you won't be sore by the next few hours and finally he takes you to bed and cuddles you, kissing you all over your face and mumbling little "I love you"s again and again and again.

"You were so good for me today... such an angel. God, I'm so lucky to have you."

"I love you, you know that, right? I love you so much. You're the best thing that happened to me. I love you... did I mention that I love you??"

"If you ever leave me I'm gonna cry myself to death and then haunt you in your dreams and possibly fuck you there if you let me. Sorry, was that too descriptive? I just love you so much, sweets. You can't blame a guy for loving his amazing wonderful perfect sexy partner, can you?"

♡

First post and it's a thirst daaaamn. I'm not making a good first impression y'all I'm sorry 😞☝️

[vansyoungergf]

can i do your makeup ?

fem!reader x teen!van palmer

summery: reader begs van to let her do her makeup while they wait for the rain to stop. van agrees and somehow you end up on her lap… what could really happen ??? you’re just friends…right ??

warnings: shitty smut, oral (r receiving), pornwithplot

this is my first fic in almost 5 years please bear with me as this is probably not that great.. i’m aware liv is nonbinary but it slipped my mind to use they/them for vans pronouns until after i finished writing this i hope that’s okay. if it’s not i can rewrite it !!!

requests: open :)

———————

“pleaseeeee” you begged. giving the best puppy dog eyes you could. “i promise i won’t mess it up, just this once please”

you and van sat in your shared hut waiting for the rain to stop pouring outside. somehow your little makeup case has made it through the plane crash and the cabin fire. you never really used it only on special occasions like doomcoming and such. but by the looks of outside you would be stuck in the hut for hours and were already bored. why not beg your bestfriend to do her makeup.

you and van hadn’t always been close but after the fire, while everyone built the camp van and taissa broke up. you were the only one there for van, sparking a new friendship. from then on you were attached at the hip, where you went van followed and vise versa. somehow someway between it all you developed feelings for her. not wanting to rush her after breaking it off with taissa you said nothing and let the feelings fester within yourself while being as close to van as ever.

once the camp was finally done being built and it was time to pick roommates it wasn’t even a question. you and van would obviously room together. ending up in a hut with just the two of you was nice, you were able to stay up late if you wanted to talk and no one would care, you personally liked it a lot more the the one shared room of the cabin.

“you’re not doing my makeup, it’ll look weird over the scaring” van huffed while trying to read her book.

“please. i’ll make it look alright, your scars aren’t gonna look weird i promise !! if you want i wont even put makeup over them, ill wipe it off at the end so there’s nothing on them, i promise. please, there’s no mirror. i can’t do my own.” you were desperate at this point and yet van wouldn’t even entertain the idea

“how many times am i going to have to say no” van said, shutting her book and looking over at you

“until you say yes” you smiled.

“okay whatever, but no bright eye shadow. i don’t wanna look like a clown” she rolled her eyes, sighing in defeat.

you squealed and got your makeup box, taking a seat right in front of her and opening up your kit as she closed her eyes waiting for you to start. you tried to get a good angle but couldn’t, huffing and puffing trying to move your arm in a certain way so you could blend out her foundation and it just wasn’t working.

van peaked one eye opened as you looked at her in frustration.

“what are you doing?” she asked slightly laughing at the face you were making

“i can’t do it. i’m gonna break my arm trying to bend it to blend it out. just never mind.” you huffed beginning to put your makeup away and go back to being bored

before you could do so, you were moving. van tugged you onto her lap, straightening her legs so you would be straddling her. the air immediately left your lungs, you were friends of course, you slept next to each other everyday but you had never been this close to her before. especially in this position. looking slightly down at her you swore you could faint as she looked up at you waiting to see if you’d actually stay there.

after a minute of slight awkward hesitation, not knowing if you could fully sit down or not. you finally let yourself put your full weight on the girl beneath you, allowing the skirt you were wearing to flow over both of your legs and let yourself breath and relax. you’re just sitting in your friends lap doing her makeup. no big deal.

“comfy?” van asked once you finally settled.

you nodded your head with your lips close tight, still to scared to make a noise. maybe you were dreaming. you had to be dreaming.

you opened your makeup kit and started on her makeup. you used to do your makeup all the time back home. showing up to school everyday with a new look. you wanted to be a makeup artist when you were older. you loved soccer but you didn’t wanna be a professional like some of the other girls. you just wanted to help other girls feel pretty and express themselves.

van watching you closely as your tongue poked out of your lips a little in concentration, trying to get the makeup just right. she hadn’t a clue what you were really doing, just that you looked pretty doing it.

you were vans best friend. the only one who had really be there for her after her fallout with tai. she helped you keep your mind off of it with jokes and helping her build the huts for the camp. you stayed up late just the two of you talking about everything, what you wanted to do when you got home, what you used to do before the crash, school, girls, everything. no one had been able to understand her quite like you. she loves taissa don’t get her wrong. she would probably classify her as her FIRST love. but this was different then the connection she had with her ex. it feels almost deeper. she knew she could trust you and that you’d always have her back.

you concentrated as hard as you could but you could feel the texture of vans jeans on your bare thighs and she was looking at you so intensely it was hard to actually focus. just being in this position you could feel yourself getting turned on and didn’t know what to do.

van noticed you start to get antsy and put her hands on your hips. “are you okay?” she asked. voices laced with concern. “are you not comfortable??”

“no no i’m okay” you reassured, hoping it was convincing enough.

van didn’t believe you but chose to close her eyes and let you continue on her face. as you did you didn’t realize your hips starts to slightly move back and forth subconsciously. small enough movements that you could barley notice it at first. but van did.

van opened her eyes to look at you so you could put mascara on her. as she looked at you she could see that you’re pupils were wide and you were breathing heavier. somehow not noticing your own movement but van couldn’t handle it. a pretty girl is practically getting herself off on her thighs and she’s expecting to act normal ??

you grind down one more time, slightly harder then before and van can’t take it anymore. her grip on your waist tightens and she stops you. looking you dead in your eyes and you freeze. looking confused..

“do you really not see what you’re doing to me right now?” van asks

“what?” you answered, cheeks turning red

“look” van moves you back slightly to reveal and small wet patch left on her jeans and you wish you could explode right then and there.

you go to climb off of her but her hold on you tightens only letting you move back a little bit. you’d rather be out in the storm then in here any longer. praying to the wilderness it’ll just swallow you up whole.

“oh my god van i’m so sorry i didn’t know i was- i didn’t mean to- oh my god” you don’t even know what to say but luckily you don’t have to try to find words for long before van is pulling you back closer and brings her lips to yours.

you melt into it instantly. having been waiting for this for weeks. it’s better then you could have imagined. quickly getting more heated van starts moving your hips on her thigh again and god does it feel good.

you let out a moan long enough for her to shove her tongue into your mouth and now it’s on. you’re pulling at her shirt trying to get it off of her while she does the same to you.

“fuck baby you’re gorgeous” van says, staring at your partially naked body. of course she had seen you change in the locker rooms after practice but this was different. you get shy under her comment and go to cover yourself up but she grabs your arms and kisses you again.

van lets your arms go in favor for touching your thighs. going up and down under your skirt. just barely close enough to wear you really need her. you pull back from the kiss and whine.

“what baby? what do you need?” she asks with a smirk.

“you” you whined again

“you have me” she said cockily

not able to get the words out you grab her hand and bring it to your clothed center and look her in the eyes. silently begging.

“oh fuck” she whispers and it’s like something snaps in her.

next thing you know you’re on your back with her in between your legs. she slides your panties and skirt down your legs, tossing them somewhere to be found later. what a sight you were. seeing you laying there fully naked for her. van looks up at your face and what a mistake that was. you’re looking at her with the most needy eyes she’s ever seen and she can barely contain herself. she’s been dreaming of this for weeks and it’s about to happen.

she looks at you waiting for you to say you want this. waiting for you to let her touch you. you nod your head and she doesn’t wait a second, her hands are on you.

a finger going up and down your slit and your back immediately arches. not having had sex since before the crash and your fingers only doing so much for yourself you knew you wouldn’t last long but you didn’t care. she slowly puts a finger in watching your face for a negative reaction that never comes.

you moan out begging for more already. needing as much of her as you could take. she slides another finger in, moving back and forth slowly

“that’s it baby, you’re doing so good for me. i’ve been waiting for this” van says unable to take her eyes off of her fingers going in and out of you. almost mesmerized as her fingers get soaked more and more by you.

you’re moaning loud. not caring if the other girls hear but hoping the storm drowns you out. you can’t help it. vans fingers are bigger then yours and god does she stretch you perfectly. she starts to curl her fingers inside of you and you almost scream.

“please please please” you beg over and over again not really even knowing what you’re begging for.

“please what baby? huh? what do you need?” she says almost taunting you.

you don’t say anything just move your hips up and down with her fingers. she takes it as a hint and adds a third finger slowly. it’s a stretch but it feels so good you don’t care.

“can i taste you baby? please” van almost begs and you could cum right there just from the look of desperation on her face. like she needs to taste you or she’ll die. you nod your head and immediately her tongue is on your clit.

this time you can’t hold back the scream you let out and you grind your pussy on her face. chasing the high that you know is coming. it feels like heaven.

fingers still pumping in and out of you she pulls them out and quickly replaces them with her tongue before you can miss them. you didn’t think she could make you feel any better but she does.

“oh fuck baby, i’m gonna cum” you moan loudly. seconds later your cumming all over vans tongue and she swallows every drop. tasting like heaven.

she pulls her face back when you’ve finished, looking at you with a soaking wet face and the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

she moves up next to you and you lay your head on her chest. both of your hearts racing.

“do you feel okay?” van asks after a few moments of silence and you nod your head against her.

“i like you.” van says, and your head shoots up to look her in the face “i’ve liked you for a while but i didn’t know if you felt the same. if this was just sex for you it’s okay. i understand that but-“

before she could finish you kiss her. it’s soft compared to the first kiss you shared. this one full of reassurance and feelings rather then lust and need.

“i like you too” you said with a slight smile after you pull away

“yeah???” she said perking up. happy to hear it wasn’t just sex

“yeah” you laid your head back on her chest and you both settled down. content in being wrapped up together lulled to sleep by the sounds of the storm and each others breathing.

[suzukiblu]

Day eighteen of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Oh, well, I guess partially? Though I think technically just Impulse and your boy here did, but yeah,” Bernard replies with a shrug. Kon . . . maybe also tilts his head. Okay. Yeah. He remembers Nina Dowd. Like, goddamn, does he ever. Fondly, one might even say. 

Specifically, like, he fondly remembers Mighty Endowed and her . . . “tracts of land”, was that how Tim had put it, as the ridiculous nerd he’d been and still is to this day? 

Dork. 

“God I’m still sad we didn’t actually get to fight her,” Kon mutters, shaking his head a little wistfully. “Worst missed opportunity that sixteen year-old me ever suffered, and I was sixteen for a minute.” 

“I–you–Bernard!” Tim sputters. “How did you never mention that before?!” 

“I dunno, babe, maybe ‘cause I’ve been pretending very, very hard to not know you were Robin?” Bernard reminds him with an amused grin, leaning in to lightly flick Tim’s nose. “And I felt like ‘oh hey did you know your buddies sent my one cousin to jail back when we were in high school?’ would maybe not be helpful with that?” 

“Technically Rob was also there,” Kon says. “And we didn’t really do much anyway, mostly we were busy dealing with the Super-Cycle and its shitty ex-boss. Actually, did literally anyone ever figure out why good ol’ Nina got the whole hottie-with-a-body New-God-meets-anime-catgirl treatment and none of us did? Like, did we ever get the Cycle to explain that one to us?” 

“I mean, are you sure you didn’t?” Bernard asks, looking him over meaningfully. Kon is not above preening for that. Very much so is he not above preening for that. 

“. . . were you actually concerned about that at the time, Kon?” Tim asks. “Did that occur to you at the time and you just decided . . . what, not to worry about it?” 

“Worst case scenario I coulda gone back to the Wild Lands, the beast-men probably woulda let me crash with ‘em,” Kon replies with a shrug, then takes another swallow of hot chocolate. God, it really is unfairly good. “Endowed got tiger stripes, right? I could rock me some tiger stripes.” 

“I mean I dunno, would your buddy the prince be into tiger stripes?” Bernard asks in amusement. 

“Technically he’s king now, actually,” Kon says. “Also he is a tiger, so I don’t see why not? Like, you’d think he'da been cool with that, right?” 

Tim says nothing. Somehow his total silence comes out very feeling all the same, though. Kon spares him another nice sharp grin and licks some of the melted whipped cream and caramel off the rim of his mug. Tim puts a hand over his own face and very feelingly continues to say nothing. 

“Probably wouldn’t need the collar anymore, right?” Kon muses “innocently” into his delicious chocolatey caramel-y goodness. “But maybe he'd lemme wear it for old times’ sake.” 

“I changed my mind, you should’ve just asked Nightwing and Starfire what they get up to,” Tim says dubiously, giving him a deadpan look as he does, and Kon actually fucking giggles over that one, which is maybe slightly embarrassing but oh well, he’s done weirder. Like, literally fifteen minutes ago he was doing way weirder, in fact. 

He kinda wishes Bernard’d get in the bed again, though. Dude’s kinda just been standing there, it makes him feel sorta rude or whatever. Admittedly Bernard getting back in this bed comfortably would necessitate some sacrifice of personal space and possibly someone ending up in someone else’s lap or at least real intimately pressed together, but . . . 

Kon, very briefly, tries to imagine what it might feel like if Tim and Bernard pinned him between them the same way they’d fucked him together just to, like . . . cuddle, or sleep, or like . . . whatever. 

. . . . . . . . . Kon needs to not imagine that right now, or his dick is going to have its own personal Mighty Endowed arc. Chances of accompanying maniacal catboy laughter pretty low, but still nonzero. 

God, though, he really would like to–no, nope, that is weird shit, self. Very weird shit. “Time for a new train of thought” levels of weird shit, in fact. Maybe a couple new trains of thought, if need be. 

“Jesus, you’re cute,” Bernard says, giving Kon a grin and reaching over to pinch his cheek, which should maybe feel ridiculous or demeaning but actually kinda just makes him wanna melt all over the dude. 

. . . need might be, yeah. Kon swears to absolute fuck, if he gets Pavlov-ed into getting horny over getting called “cute”, he will have to go supervillain for at least the next six to eight months. Like, he will go out and get himself a black bodysuit and smack on some gold armor and/or accessories and just finally have his Black Zero era. He has literally never actually wanted to have a Black Zero era, but over that cheek pinch thing, he genuinely just might. 

“I think you’re just projecting, man,” he says with a smirk, deciding to just hope he’s at least not blushing as hard as it feels like he’s blushing. Bernard grins wider at him and pinches both his cheeks this time, then flattens his hands against them and squishes them instead. Kon, unfortunately, has apparently gotten dicked down good enough that he just kinda lets the dude do it. 

Jesus, he is way too easy, isn’t he.

[soluversworld]

You, Serial Killer - Ren/Redacted x G.N Reader part 1~

14 days with you! is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!

Genre: G.N Reader (Angst!)

Summary: You're the Corland Bay Butcher, The Serial Killer, you heard in the news, Bodies, dead, gone, You're nuts! What if, someone was helping ya back to keep you safe, Will you see through his act after all, You met him first. NOT HIM

Trigger Warnings (TWs):

Violence & Gore – Mentions of knives, blood, and killing.

Mental Instability – Implied unhinged thoughts, intrusive urges.

Obsession & Fixation – Thoughts circling around a past encounter.

Content Warnings (CWs):

Dark Poetic Themes – Romanticization of violence and chaos.

Self-Awareness of Morality – Internal conflict about killing/mercy.

Shakespearean-style Poetic Bullying – Intense self-deprecation with a dramatic, lyrical flair.

You're a killer.

Not just any killer—a serial killer.

Why? Could be justice. Could be fun. Could be nothing at all, just a way to kill time. Could be money—blood-soaked bills stacking up in your pocket like trophies. It’s on you. But no matter the reason—you’re a fucking serial killer.

A name whispered in alleys. A face nobody remembers. A shadow in the wrong places at the

You're a killer.

Not just any killer—a serial killer. The kind that gets headlines, Netflix docuseries, and edgy teenage fans who call you “misunderstood” while painting their nails black. Maybe you do it for justice (sure). Maybe for fun (closer). Maybe for nothing at all, because boredom is a worse death than whatever you dish out. Or maybe—just maybe—for money, ‘cause even murderers gotta eat.

You, though? You’re a special breed of fucked. You don’t just kill; you curate. A gallery of ruined bodies, each arranged with a shit bow and a shit-eating grin. You're the scum of the earth, and you know it. Flaunt it, really.

They’ll try to psychoanalyze you. Daddy issues, mommy issues, the whole trauma-riddled spiel. They’ll say you’re broken. That you snap at the world because the world snapped at you first. They’ll search for meaning where there is none. You don’t care to distinguish truth from the real—two entirely different beasts.

You probably fake-hate black holes because they’re cliché but would style yourself after one with a smile. Suck the light out of the room, leave nothing but a cold abyss.

And yet.

You are a fucking liar.

A cute little library assistant by morning, shelving books with a saccharine smile, whispering “shhh” to old ladies and college students. By night? You’re a fucking scary-ass serial killer in a raincoat, dripping something that ain’t just rain.

Crowbar, knives—hell, anything sharp enough to carve flesh from bone. Baby, it’s your choice of weapon. You love blood. Live it, breathe it, bathe in it like it’s a second skin. Your love language? JK, no. You don’t need love when you’ve got arteries splitting open like pages in a well-loved book.

Turn the page. Who’s next?

Also—sadly—an anime fan. A shit living show called Attack on Giant owns a piece of your rotten little heart. You know it’s bad. You don’t care.

And worse? You have a fictional husband. Haruki Haruko. The timid, sympathetic, air-headed (but in a good way), people-pleaser type. Cotton candy in human form. The kind of guy who’d apologize for bleeding on your knife.

How the fuck does a blood-soaked abomination like you love a walking pink marshmallow like him?

It’s fictional. STOP.

And it gets worse.

You and your online friend MOTH? Howling for Haruko like a couple of rabid fangirls. CAPS LOCK ON. ESSAYS IN THE GROUP CHAT. “HE DESERVES THE WORLD” “HIS LITTLE SMILE” “I WANNA PROTECT HIM” — all while your hands are still sticky with blood.

MOTH doesn’t know you’re a killer. Shut up. They think you’re normal. That you just have “dark humor” and a really convincing way of describing knife wounds.

“omg if haruko was real i’d die for him <3”

You? Staring at your body count. Thinking, buddy, I don’t even die for me.

Life was fine. Whatever fine means for someone like you.

Then two idiots fucked up. Bad dudes. Real pieces of shit. The kind that makes even God wanna look away. They got your eyes—metaphorically or literally, who cares—and suddenly, you had a reason. An excuse.

You were already a killer. Now you’re a haunting.

They go first. Before the others. Before the side quests and the casual bloodshed. You want them to know. To feel it. The way your presence clings, the way their shadows stretch too long at night.

They look over their shoulders. They see nothing. For now.

You don’t just kill them. You ruin them.

The first one goes slow. Too slow. You take your time, peeling back skin like wrapping paper, watching them twitch, eyes rolling like marbles in their sockets. You laugh. You LAUGH. It bubbles out of you, high and breathless, like this is the funniest shit you’ve ever seen. Because it is. Because they thought they were untouchable, and now they’re meat.

The second one? Screaming. Begging. Doesn’t matter. You’re an artist, and their body is just another canvas. You make something beautiful—ugly—perfect. A mess of red and twitching limbs. Your hands are soaked, your raincoat is dripping, and you feel fucking alive.

And then.

Someone’s watching you.

The air shifts. The hairs on your neck rise.

What the fuck.

You pause. The feeling lingers—someone watching, something just out of sight. But you? You just shrug.

Eh.

Not your problem. If they saw, they saw. If they didn’t, they’ll wish they had. You wipe your crowbar off on what’s left of them, let the sticky warmth seep into your gloves, and turn on your heel like this was just another Tuesday.

Footsteps. Yours. Handprints. Also yours.

If the police are slick enough to find you? Good for them. You’ll make it fun.

You’re gone. Vanished into the night like the walking crime scene you are.

And then—he arrives.

A man, moving like he’s got all the time in the world. A black hoodie, mask pulled up just enough to hide what matters. Black hair, messy but intentional, like he ran his hands through it one too many times. And his eyes—blue. Too blue. Like the kind you’d see in angel paintings before they ruined you. Too bright. Too sweet.

If you were still there, you’d think, No fucking way.

But you’re not. And he? He’s got cleaning supplies.

Because it seems like you left.

He starts to clean. Like it’s routine. Like he’s done this before.

But you didn’t leave.

You grab him from behind—hard. Slam him down, pinning him with your weight, breath hot against his ear. He barely fights back.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” you snarl, pressing down harder. “What are you, some undercover cop? Finally found the killer? Corland Bay’s sweet psycho serial killer?”

His eyes—too fucking blue—widen. Stunned. Mouth slightly open, like he’s trying to form words but forgot how. And something about the way his face flushes—**soft pink, creeping up his neck—**is wrong.

You don’t notice. You press the knife against his throat. Harder.

“Talk.** Now.**”

You keep him pinned.

Knee digging into his ribs, knife pressed against his throat, eyes narrowed. "What kind of detective—police—whatever the fuck are you?" You hiss, pressing just a little harder, feeling the faint hitch in his breath beneath the blade.

But then—his breathing.

It changes. Too heavy. Too shaky.

Like... ahhhh???!?!!?

AH—????

Your grip tightens. "The fuck is wrong with you?" You growl.

And him? His pupils are blown, his cheeks are flushed, and his breath is ragged in a way that’s not fear.

Oh.

Oh, what the fuck.

You press the knife a little deeper. Not enough to kill, just enough to scare. Or maybe to feel the pulse beneath the blade—fast, uneven, a little too eager.

"You’re gonna die here, you know that?" you murmur. Cute. Like this is just conversation. Like you’re talking about the weather. Another collection. Another body. You grin, sharp and mean.

But he’s still fucking flustered.

Still breathing all wrong. Eyes shining. Like he wants to say something. You peel his mask up, slow, deliberate. His fingers twitch, reaching like he’s gonna stop you—no. You shove his head back down, hard.

Almost makes him faint. Almost does.

You glance around. The mess. The streaks of red. The bleach.

Oh.

What the hell was he trying to clean up?

You look back down, and his eyes—too blue, too bright—are glassy, struggling to focus. He tries again to speak. You don’t care. You push his head down again—too hard.

He goes limp.

You sigh, irritated. Tear the mask away.

And pause.

Tall. 6’5”, easy. Sleeper build—lean but solid. Hands covered in marks. Scratches, burns—old, deep, childhood scars. Piercings that gleam under the shitty streetlights.

And his face?

...Pretty.

Too pretty.

And somewhat familiar.

What the fuck.

He was trying to clean up the mess. Your mess. The blood, the gore, the little bits of art you left behind like a signature.

A serial killer fan? A wannabe? Some poor, mentally ill fuck who thought you were some kind of idol?

Hah.

Darlin’, he was being nice.

Nice enough to clean up after you, to make sure your ass stayed off the radar. And you knocked him out.

Killing him now? Sad. Kind of a waste. But it’s tempting. The way his throat is right there, the way his too-pretty face would look even prettier painted red.

Nah.

Life’s shit. He’ll grow out of it. Probably. Or he won’t.

And wouldn’t that be interesting?

Too hot to kill.

That’s the excuse you land on. Not the stupidest one you’ve made, not the worst, but damn if it isn’t pathetic. You. Showing mercy. Saint Y/N, patron of dumbasses who clean crime scenes.

You almost carry him—almost. He’s fucking heavy. Dead weight in every sense of the word, and your arms are not built for this. You drag him instead, yanking him into another alleyway, gritting your teeth at every awkward shuffle of his too-tall, too-pretty, too-stupid body.

He could wake up. Could see the sun. Could get scared, maybe. Maybe he’ll take the hint. Maybe he’ll run. Maybe he’ll get the fuck out of Corland Bay and out of your life.

Oh, Y/N.

You showed sympathy.

You’re a saint, aren’t you?

Why the fuck was he trying to clean the mess?

Weird-ass serial killer fan? Some freak with a savior complex? Someone worse?

You don’t care. You won’t care.

Your work here is done. Corland Bay sleeps. So should you.

You yawn, stretch, crack your neck. Good night, dumbass.

You need to sleep. For your work.

You had… a dream.

A little child. Small hands, soft voice. He tries to give you a ring.

Innocent. Loved you.

And you—you looked. You can’t remember your own expression, but your face felt warm, felt happy. Like he was everything. Like he was your darling. A sweet boy.

You can’t see his face.

"Do you wanna marry me…? Angel! I'll take good care of you…"

His voice—soft, bright, hopeful.

You don’t get to answer.

Because Leon, your ass of a friend, grabs your hand, pushes the boy’s away. The ring falls. The boy stumbles.

He’s crying.

"He's a freak! I told ya! Why did you hang out with him? Look!"

You couldn’t say anything.

You didn’t.

Leon—nah. He took your hand. You let him.

And you watched.

Watched the boy cry. Watched him pick up the ring.

Your older self watched.

Watched your kid self. Watched the way your little hands twitched, how your feet stayed planted, how your mouth—silent.

You felt something. Like you wanted to remember. Like if you just reached a little further—

Then—

A sound.

Loud. Jarring. A kick to the ribs of your dream.

Yeah. You woke up.

Congrats.

You’re the beauty of gore.

Coffee. Black, like your soul or whatever. Bitter, like your mornings.

You flip on the news. Same shit, different day.

"Yet another body was pulled from Bluemoss this morning. Authorities believe it was the work of the infamous Corland Bay Butcher—"

What a fucking name.

Hideous.

You hate it. If you were gonna be branded a legend, you’d at least give yourself a name with some style. But no. The public loves their sensationalist, overcooked horror movie bullshit.

And this case? This crime?

It’s years old.

What the fuck.

Maybe people are just dumb.

It’s like that one show, Dexter. The whole Bay Harbor Butcher thing. Lame. At least Dexter got a name with a little bite—this? This sounds like something a washed-up true crime podcaster would spit out between sips of pumpkin spice.

People should’ve named you something cool. Something with presence. Something that rolls off the tongue like a whispered threat.

You sip your coffee, scalding hot, burning the tip of your tongue. Whatever. You like the pain.

The news anchor drones on, their voice that usual mix of forced solemnity and thinly veiled excitement. Because that’s what this is, right? The public eats this shit up. Blood and bodies and mystery.

And the dumbest part? This case is years old.

They’re still talking about it, still digging up corpses like long-forgotten relics, still pretending they care.

But you know the truth.

People don’t care about the dead. They care about the thrill. The spectacle. The fear.

You roll your eyes and take another sip. Yeah, whatever.

You do like Dexter, though. Good show. But come on, at least his name had branding.

Moth texts. Buzz, buzz. Your phone screen lights up.

You flick open the keyboard, thumbs hovering. Moth is sweet. Thoughtful, even. Different time zones and all, but they still check in. You shoot back a quick "Thank you!" because you’re a saint.

Grey bubble. They’re typing.

Moth

"btwww! did u see the latest AoG ep?? i heard Haruko got an outfit change!!!!"

Moth

"spoil it for me. did he really change his hairstyle as well?"

You scoff. Baby stays the same.

You type back so fast your screen almost cracks.

"HHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

He didn’t. Still the same. Still cute. Still sweet. Still the most lovable little cutie to ever exist.

You hammer it into the keyboard like it’s gospel.

Moth

"LMAOOO bless. also. shouldn’t u be at work rn."

…Oh. Oh, shit.

FUCK.

You throw the phone. You bolt. Clothes? Shitty. Aesthetic? Somewhere between 2018 emo-core and 'I let a Tumblr gremlin dress me in the dark.'

WHY?

Fuck it. You’re emo.

You catch yourself in the mirror. Oh. Oh damn.

You look hot. Like feral raccoon meets 2018 Hot Topic cashier meets 'I definitely bite.'

Self-confidence? SKYROCKETED. You are an icon. A menace. A walking, talking Tumblr sexyperson if Tumblr had any taste.

Oh shit.

Work.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

You can’t be feeling yourself this much and then drop a fucking uwu. That’s a war crime. That’s illegal. That’s—

…You wink at yourself in the mirror anyway.

"Time to cause problems."

Door swings open. The world outside assaults you with daylight. Gross.

"Oh! Hey there, Angel! Looking good!"

Violet’s standing there, all sunshine and soil-stained fingers, practically glowing in the morning light. Sickening. If it were anyone else, you’d gag. But it’s Violet. So you deal with it.

You flick your eyes to her hip, where yet another potted plant balances like a permanent attachment. Her whole apartment? Basically a jungle. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear she was growing a sentient vine army in there, plotting to take over the world with nothing but greenery and kindness.

You? Not complaining. The air always smells fresh, floral, and earthy as hell whenever she’s around—a perfect mask for the lingering traces of smoke and death clinging to you.

"New plant?" you ask, because duh.

Violet grins, fishing for her keys. "Mm-hmm! This one’s a rosemary bush! Thought it’d be nice to have something useful."

Useful? You know fifty different ways to kill someone with rosemary. You smile.

"Nice."

Violet eyes you up and down, her expression turning downright delighted.

"Loving the look today, Angel! Very... 2018 Tumblr emo."

You snort. "You wound me."

"No, seriously! I kinda wanna raid your closet one day." She nudges you playfully, still grinning like she’s just discovered a hidden treasure trove of goth fashion secrets. If only she knew.

You laugh, all teeth and mischief. "Sure, sure. One day."

One day. Which means never. Because the only thing your closet is full of? Knives. Knives, crowbars, and the occasional bloodstained hoodie. Hardly the wardrobe of an alt-fashion influencer.

Then she dropped a bomb.

You blink. "Nope. Nada. Never heard of him."

Violet narrows her eyes, lips pursing. "You sure? "'Cause he seemed real familiar with you.""

Your stomach does this weird little flip, like your instincts are tapping at your ribs, whispering, Hey, maybe pay attention to this one. But you shut that feeling down real fast.

"Violet, babe, I think you dreamed this one up." You flash a grin, all casual confidence, even as your mind works overtime, flipping through the mental Rolodex of potential problems.

Tall guy? Dark hoodie? Alternative fashion? Too many belts? Jesus, what is he, a Final Fantasy character?

"No clue who that is," you repeat, a little slower this time, letting the lie settle.

Violet hums, unconvinced. "Weird. "

You shrug, pretending your skin isn't crawling just a little. "Sounds like a him problem."

But in the back of your mind, you know damn well this is gonna be a you problem real soon.

"No worries, Vi. I got work now, I'll check later." You wave a dismissive hand, already stepping away.

Check later? Lmao, no. You didn’t give a shit. Who the hell would stalk you?

…Unless—

Oh.

If it was a stalker, then they were bold. And if they were bold, that meant either two things:

They were stupid. In which case, easy kill.

They were a detective.

And ohhhh, baby, wouldn’t that be fun?

You bite your lip, suppressing the grin creeping up. A detective? Hunting you? Now that was hot.

Hell, maybe you'd let them catch up just for the thrill. Let them get close, real close—close enough to think they had you—before you turned the tables.

Oooooh. Fuck.

Yeah. That’d be fun.

You hit send before you can second-guess yourself. Maybe it’s better to leave it at that. Maybe it’s better to pretend you don’t care. Maybe, maybe, maybe. You can stack those maybes like a house of cards, but it won’t stop the wind from blowing.

You’ve got bigger things to deal with. A shitty apartment. A shittier job. The nagging feeling that something off is creeping up behind you, but you? You walk faster.

You breathe deep, step through the library doors, and let the scent of old paper settle the static under your skin. It’s grounding. Familiar. The only thing that stays still in a world that never does.

And then—

“Oh!”

Elanor.

Sweet, doting Elanor, with her scatterbrained ways and her insufferable meddling. She’s already smiling, head tilting, eyes flicking you over like she’s about to say something that’ll make you regret showing up today.

“Sooooo?” She hums, teasing. “How does it feel to no longer be the one in charge of stacking books all day long?”

Before you can answer, she keeps going, because of course she does.

“Although… you’ll still have to work the front desk from time to time, unfortunately.”

You shrug. Offer a smile—if it even counts. Make your way past her before she can wring you into another conversation that leaves you tired before noon.

The familiar chime of the library door rings. Someone’s entered. Not your problem. You duck down, slide your bag under the desk, start pulling out your things. You focus.

The hum of the library settles you, slow and steady, like an IV drip to an addict. Bookshelves, faint ink-and-paper perfume, the distant murmur of people who still think this place is a sanctuary.

And then—again.

Elanor.

Her voice drops into something light, airy, knowing. Fuck.

“Looks like he’s back again.”

Your fingers freeze on the paper in front of you.

“You know, that new guy? The one who always checks out the books you put on display?”

She’s got a grin in her voice. It makes your eye twitch.

“And if I didn’t know any better—” (you don’t, Elanor, you never do,) “I’d say he has a little crush on you.”

Pause.

“Because he was staring. A lot.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

You shove her chair so it spins away from you, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck.

The universe, it seems, has chosen today to test your patience.

And now—because fate is cruel and Elanor is worse—

Aisle 8.

The red light above the shelves blinks. Someone needs help. Him.

Of course.

You sigh. Drag yourself up. Refuse to look at her. You don’t need to—her glee is practically a tangible thing, radiating off her in smug waves. You weave through the shelves, every step an exercise in reluctant inevitability.

And then—there he is.

A broad figure. Back turned. Wearing the comfiest cardigan you’ve ever seen. He hasn’t noticed you yet.

You clear your throat. “Ahem.”

Flinch.

He turns.

Stops.

And for the first time all day, so do you.

Pink.

Pink hair. Soft eyes. Tall—too tall. Looking at you like he’s just walked into a dream he wasn’t ready for.

You stare.

He stares.

Somewhere, distantly, reality stirs.

His jaw moves, something almost forming before it stumbles out clumsy and quiet:

“Woah… You look…”

A beat.

His eyes flick over you, unreadable, thoughtful, confused.

“But I thought you preferred softer clothing…? That’s why I…”

Why he what?

His voice dies. He clears his throat, face burning cherry-pink, matching his hair.

“Ahem! Um… S-Sorry, I hope I’m not bothering you.”

And you—oh, you—

You don’t know what the fuck is going on.

How’s that?

Not about this. Not about him.

But his voice drags you back, an anchor to the present, and you scramble to piece together whatever sentence just left his cherry-stained lips. There’s a kind of innocence in the way he struggles for the right words, tripping over them like a nervous actor missing his cue. It’s almost endearing. Almost.

You give him a slow nod, a silent cue to keep going.

He takes a breath.

“…I need some help. I—I’m looking for a specific book, you see, but…”

And there it is. The sleeve-tugging hesitation. That stammer, that nervous shift, like a protagonist straight out of one of Moth’s favorite anime. They’re going to absolutely lose it when you tell them about this later.

The stranger tries again, steadier this time, his gaze catching yours with something just a little too sharp.

“…Do you have any books on native flora? The best I’ve found are on generic wildlife, but nothing on Corland Bay’s plants.”

Plants? Your first thought is to direct him to Violet—this is her territory—but instead, you let out a quiet chuckle and step a little closer, scanning the shelf beside him.

He twitches. Not away—closer. Just slightly. A shift so subtle it’s almost imperceptible, except for the way his breath hitches when your scent brushes past him.

“No, you’re in the right section,” you murmur. “They’re just… buried.”

Your fingers ghost along the book spines, slow, deliberate, until you find the one. You tug it free, turning it in your hands before offering it to him.

“This the one?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Not with words, at least. His gaze lingers—too long, too intense—before he finally reaches for it. His fingers brush yours, barely, but there’s a slight tremor in them.

Then he flips through the pages, scanning, searching—

And stops.

“Yes,” he breathes, triumphant. “This is perfect. Thank you…”

You barely have time to nod before he adds, almost too softly:

“Haha, you’re like an angel, you know that? So kind.”

Your heart stumbles. Your lips part—

“…What?”

His expression shatters into pure, unfiltered horror.

“Oh my God—” His face flushes, hands flying up as if he could physically shove the words back into his mouth. “I didn’t—Did I actually say that out loud? Oh, shit, I’m so sorry. That was—That must’ve been so weird—”

It’s adorable, in a train-wreck kind of way.

You bite back a grin, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Relax. Just caught me off guard, is all.”

His eyes flicker with something—relief? Embarrassment? It’s hard to tell beneath the flush crawling up his neck.

“R-Really?” His voice is softer now, hopeful. “Well, I meant it.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Sure.”

And that should be the end of it. You should step away. Let him bask in his mortification. But he doesn’t move. Just watches. A silent, expectant sort of tension stretching between you.

You clear your throat. “Uh. You shouldn’t stare like that.”

His head tilts, almost curious. “Why not?”

Your stomach twists.

“Because I don’t know you,” you reply, words lighter than the weight pressing against your ribs.

His lips twitch, like he’s suppressing a smile. “Ah. A technicality.”

You exhale sharply, already regretting this entire conversation. “You haven’t even told me your name.”

“Haven’t I?”

A pause.

Then, smoothly: “Red- Ren.”

Ren. The name tastes unfamiliar, but something about it scratches at the back of your mind. The way he says it—like it’s borrowed. Like it’s just another book on a shelf, waiting to be picked up and put back down under a different title.

Still, you nod, forcing an easy smile. “Nice to meet you, Ren.”

His gaze flickers down—to your name tag. A quiet hum leaves him.

“Y/n,” he muses. “Or… Angel, maybe.” His grin sharpens. “Both suit you.”

Until he tilts his head, expression sobering.

“…You said you needed a new lock for your apartment.”

You blink, thrown off by the sudden shift. “Yeah?”

“Why?”

You hesitate. There’s no real harm in telling him, right? It’s not like he’s the one who broke in.

“Someone snuck in last night,” you admit, shrugging. “Didn’t steal anything. But still. Creepy.”

Ren hums again, thoughtful. Then, without missing a beat:

“I could watch your place.”

Your breath catches.

You blink at him. “What.”

He shrugs, casual. “Stay up. Keep an eye out. Handle it if anything happens.” His voice is smooth, steady, like he’s offering to water your plants while you’re away. “Wouldn’t be a problem.”

You stare.

He meets your gaze, unwavering.

It’s insane. It’s suspicious. It’s absolutely something you should say no to.

Instead, you hear yourself say:

“…You offering to be my personal bodyguard now?”

Ren smiles. “Only if you say yes.”

"You really want to protect a stranger like me, Who knows, You-" You went closer to his ear whispered "can't trust anyone...What if, I'm luring you for my own fun..?"

He flustered, almost fell down...You giggle and left.

You smile. Evilly.

Heheheheh.

He looks cute, won’t lie. Almost too cute. You’ve always wanted to commit a Haruko crime—sink your knife into something pretty, watch something lovely turn ruinous in your hands. Killing him would be fun.

Wouldn't lie… those blue eyes—

They’re similar.

That man.

The one from the alley. The first one you didn’t kill. The one you let walk free.

Your mind wrenches back to him, unbidden. That look in his eyes, the way he stood—different. He wasn’t like the others. He was… something else.

And maybe—just maybe—your poor, gutted heart…

Ugh.

Stop.

Ugh.

You smile a little.

Shitty. Yes. You’re fucked in the head.

And oh, how you love it.

A wretched thing, a beautiful disaster, a creature born to revel in ruin—you, a lover in the way fire loves to lick at the edges of a home, the way a knife loves the tender give of flesh.

What is it, then? This itch in your skull? This whisper in your bones? Some ghost of mercy rattling in your ribcage? How disgusting. How divine.

You let one go. One. And yet his ghost lingers like the taste of copper on your tongue. A memory dressed in blue-eyed regret.

You should carve it out. Bleed it dry. But oh, don’t you adore the ache?

[oopsiedaisydeer]

what are daisy and sun (😏), office!au matt and reader, and hallwaycrush! chris doin right now 😋 sigh inez i fear i have an unhealthy obsession with all of them.

based on my time: 5:15pm

almostlove!au, featuring goldenboy!chris x sexhotline!reader

daisy is lying on her bed right now completely and utterly exhausted. she's hoping to take a shower before starting her shift on the hotline. meanwhile, chris (more affectionately known as sun) is at practice right now. his head is all over the place, and all he really wants to do is talk to daisy. the last couple of times he's called the hotline, he hasn't gotten through to her, and so he's feeling a little lost.

theoffice!au, featuring officeworker!matt x officecrush!reader

it’s the awkward limbo of the workday... way too late to start anything new, slightly too early to leave. she's supposed to be finishing up an email, but Matt has been standing at her desk for the past eight minutes, flipping a pen between his fingers and saying absolutely nothing. she finally looks up. “Do you need something?” He smirks, leaning in a little. “Nah. Just figured you’d be bored.” she rolls her eyes. "And you assumed you would be a better alternative?” He grins. “Obviously.” A pause. Then he points to her screen. “By the way, you spelled ‘attached’ wrong.”

hallwaycrush!au, featuring hallwaycrush!chris (this one kinda depends on what YOU are doing but like, this is what i'm imagining maybe)

chris is sitting on the stairs outside, earbuds in, sipping on a can of pepsi. the sun is hitting just right, catching on the strands of his hair, and you hate that you notice. you should not be staring. but you are. your friend nudges you. “you’re being obvious.” "am not." "are too." chris shifts, stretching his legs out, and for a second, you think he might look up. your stomach flips when he actually does. you could wave. you could say something casual, like hey, long day? but instead, you panic and glance away, suddenly very interested in the cracks in the pavement. your friend sighs. "you're hopeless." they're right. chris, blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, bobs his head to whatever song he’s listening to. when you sneak one last glance, you catch him grinning at his phone. probably at a text. from someone. not you. how tragic.

thank u for the ask !!!!!!!

adding some tags to this bc these r lowkey lore important sorry sorry sbfdkkjshd:

almostlove!au tags: @applecidersturniolo @throatgoat4u @sturnslutz @desreads @courta13 @kier-with-a-k @bluestriips @sturns-mermaid @sweetshuga @snoopychris @st7rnioioss @herewegoagain-b @cowboylikenat @joanakaulitz @mattsstarlet

hallwaycrush!au tags: @courta13 @snoopychris @sweetshuga @st7rnioioss @throatgoat4u @sheluvsthesturniolos @sturnslutz

[girlnadian]

evilkenfies collaring dubiously in the same verse as corruption begins with the mouth. you could consider it canon or you could consider it not canon. i dont know. i just like writing these dynamics </3

obligatory consent issues / "evilfies is a creep" warning

732 words // divider

Wifies is so, so touchy. Ken flinches every time Wifies pets at his ears, no matter how much he tries not to, and amusement lights up Wifies' eyes every time in a way that makes Ken's skin crawl. If Ken said he hates it here, it would be the understatement of the century, but he would remind himself in the same breath that he doesn't have a choice.

His Wifies is safe. That's all that matters. Ken is allowed to check on him once a day—not talk, but he's safe. Ken knows it's calculated: every time he sees his Wifies, he loses whatever budding will he had to resist. It's mechanical, like repowering a redstone signal. He doesn't care; it's working.

It's directly after these visits that the other Wifies gets bold. Ken remembers why he's here and becomes pliant, if only briefly. Wifies puts his hand on Ken's lower back and leads him into his office, and Ken goes without the usual tensed-up shoulders and folded-back ears. Ken should know something is coming. The collar Wifies pulls out still nearly makes him choke.

"You can't be serious," Ken says. His voice rises a pitch, almost cracking. Wifies smiles.

"I am," he laughs. "Why wouldn't I put a collar on my cat?"

Ken feels heat rising to his cheeks in anger and humiliation and what he hopes is nothing else. He– he's dealt with people like this, before, and maybe he should have expected it. It happens when you're a hybrid, and it happens to cats especially, but he didn't think…

It's a deep, pretty purple leather, like the color of Wifies' headband. The iconic yin-yang hangs as a charm on the front, and it's so degrading to even think about. Ken has been suffocated by those colors ever since he got to the factory. The room he sleeps in is a lifeless gray and the covers he sleeps under are that same violet, but he's been spared it on his own person until now.

Ken has given a lot for this. He doesn't know how much he has left in him. Wifies clicks his tongue and steps forward.

Ken locks up. "I can't–"

Wifies says, "I'll do it for you." as if that's at all the problem, but Ken squeezes his eyes shut and fights down the growl in his throat as Wifies' hands encircle his neck. He feels cold, and he doesn't know if it's the collar or Wifies' hands.

"There," Wifies murmurs, right into Ken's ear. He's done, but he doesn't so much as lean back. "Is that so bad?"

It is. It feels like lead against his neck—Ken feels like his stomach is vibrating. It feels worse than every restraint he's ever been in and every set of iron bars he's ever been trapped behind combined. It's worse than just being trapped, it's being owned. It is a horrible, horrible revulsion against everything Ken has even been and ever stood for. Ken has no idea how he stands there without slitting his own throat—his claws twitch like he means to—but he stands there and shakes and sweats until Wifies hums and takes a step back. Still, Ken doesn't open his eyes. He is keenly aware of every individual organ in his body, and the fact that if he meets Wifies' eyes right now, he will throw up.

A finger hooks under the collar. Ken intakes a struggling breath.

"I should get you some new clothes," Wifies muses. Ken doesn't even process it. It's hard to imagine feeling worse than he does right now, but being stripped (figuratively and literally) would probably do it. "You'll get used to it."

Wifies leans in to kiss him, then, and at least that's a familiar hell. He knows to open his mouth so Wifies can lick over his fangs, and to push his tongue forward because Wifies likes the rough texture of it. The surface-level pain is a welcome relief, so much so that Ken chases it. He lets Wifies huff a laugh into his mouth and grab his waist to lead him back until Ken bumps into the unforgiving wood of Wifies' desk.

He will have plenty of time to tear his own skin off about it later—they both know Ken isn't going anywhere. For now, his mind is dreadfully, uncharacteristically, blessedly blank as Wifies lays him out on the wood.

[lucid-loves]

His First

You invited March with you to the Shooting Star Festival every year to the point where the blacksmith expects his invite naturally. When you decide to invite Caldarus instead, March grows mad with jealousy and pushes for you to tell him the truth, eager to take you back. You were his first, after all. 

Words: 4.9k

March x farmer!reader, fem!reader, swearing, angst, and fluff (SPOILERS FOR “BREAKING THE FIRE SEAL” QUEST)

The long awaited annual Shooting Star Festival has come. Like always, the town was buzzing with excitement to see the gorgeous display of the night sky dancing for the end of summer. Star-themed lights, pillows, and blankets were taken out of the shadows of the closet, new and established couples presented invitation brooches, and everyone worked to finish their responsibilities early. 

March, however, was playing it cool. He did indeed look forward to the nighttime show, especially since you began inviting him to watch it with you every year since you arrived. But, he never wanted to look too eager. Too happy. Every time you have presented that iconic invite, he has pretended that it was a hassle. That he was only saying yes because his older brother would scold him if he declined. 

Secretly, he enjoyed watching the stars with you. He enjoyed the attention you gave him. He anticipated walking you home right after. He felt proud of the fact that out of all the other people in the town, you chose him to bring your fates closer together.

So where the hell were you today?!

The grumpy blacksmith continued pounding out nails for an order, grumbling in irritation and impatience every hit of his hammer. Olric, the caring brother that he was, noticed right away how quickly his mood shifted to expecting excitement to pure frustration. As time ticked on, Olric also wondered why his brother hadn't received his invitation to the festival yet.

It wasn’t until March accidentally made a nail too flat that he spoke up. March never made mistakes unless something was really wrong. “Hey, bro, do you wanna take a break?”

“No.” March curtly responded, his voice snappy enough to even put his brother on edge. 

Of course, that wouldn’t sway Olric. “March, what’s wrong? You know that nothing will change unless you talk about your feelings.”

The hammer ceased midair, the blacksmith debating on if he should be honest. He was never honest when it came to you normally. He didn’t even want to entertain the very real possibility that he liked you, not that it was much of a secret to everyone else. March was in denial and he wanted to stay within that comfort zone.

And yet. . .

“I’m not seeing the stars tonight.” March decided, dipping his toes into the water of honesty. 

Olric raised his brows in surprise and confusion. “What? But you always go with Y/n. Did something happen?”

March scoffed and threw the hammer against the anvil, the loud, sudden clang of it startling anyone nearby. “I don’t know! She didn’t come to invite me today! I’m not at fault for anything. She must be the one with the problem.”

“Bro. . .”

“Don’t pity me. I don’t care about the festival. She can do whatever she wants!” March fumed, clearly not okay with how things turned out despite his protests. His older brother could practically steam coming out of his ears from anger. 

“There’s still time before the stars. Maybe she’s just busy working today. She did expand her farm recently, so maybe she’s trying to get it ready for Fall.” Olric tried to reason, but even he was grasping at straws. You were never the type to wait around until the last minute when it came to your invites. You tended to give March the brooch first thing in the morning so no one else could beat you to it.

“Like I said. I. Don’t. Care.” March dismissed as walked away from the forge and into the shop. Olric could hear the slam of his bedroom door from outside. Knowing his little brother, he probably just needed some time to cool off. Surely, you didn’t forget about March out of malice, right?

~

A few hours later and March still hasn’t seen you. Every now and then, he looked out his window to see if you were just late as Olric suggested. When he saw no one, he just reassured himself that he didn’t care and went back to his solo pity party. By the time the sun began to set and everyone got ready for the event, March gave up waiting around for you.

“Stupid farmer, making me wait. Stupid girl, raising my expectations.” He muttered under his breath as he walked around town, trying to find a good spot to view the skies. As he walked around, he secretly looked for you. Maybe you decided to join one of the families this year. Maybe you promised to watch the stars with the kids instead. Or maybe. . .

March shook his head to himself, his dyed red hair hitting his cheeks. No. You wouldn’t invite someone else. You always invited him and only him. He was the one that you chose every year. He was the one that begrudgingly made conversation on the cliff with you. He was the one that made sure you got home safe.

Why didn’t you ask him this year?

The thoughts invaded his brain outside of his control. He felt his heart ache and his head get rampant. It was heavier than the anvil he worked on every day. March didn’t even realize that he was walking towards your usual spot that you shared every single year. Except this year. 

His steps stopped as his eyes finally caught your figure. Just up ahead, there you were, making your way to the best view that the town had to offer. You had changed out of your farm clothes for something more comfortable. Something nicer and not covered in dirt. You even changed your hair for the occasion, dawning hair clips in the shape of stars. There was an eager spring in your step and a clear smile on your face that had the twinkling stars beat.

What the fuck?

Instead of calling out to you outright to demand some answers, March decided to follow you quietly. He knew that what he was doing could be considered creepy. Stalkerish even. Yet, he couldn’t help himself. What or who the hell got you so happy? And why wasn’t it him?

Keeping a safe and quiet distance, he trailed behind you all the way up to the peak. The usual blanket, pillows, and even picnic basket you normally shared with him was out on display. Two pillows. 

March felt his face grow hot. The knots in his stomach ate itself like writhing snakes. It only got worse as someone from the right woods walked up to you, smiled, and took a seat next to you.

Who the fuck is that?

The man that was your date tonight had long, dark hair the color of evergreen pine trees. He had odd, protruding horns that looked nearly real. His clothes were long and flowy, a very traditional style that anyone would think was old-fashioned. A long and large tail moved behind him, also something that didn’t seem like just an accessory. 

Who was this monster and why did he take his rightful place?

Clenching his jaw and fists, March watched the two of you chat, smiling over shared thoughts about the stars and how they were first viewed historically. The guy seemed smart and poetic. He also seemed to really enjoy having private time with you. You were having a good time too.

A new emotion overcame March. His hands went slack at his sides as the fire went out within him. Even with the weather still being Summer’s warmth, March felt cold to his core. This date was nothing like when you were with him. No awkward silences. No shut-downs in conversation. You weren’t nervous at all compared to when you tried to get closer to him. 

Was that why you replaced him? Did you not like him anymore? Were you tired of his lack of enthusiasm and unwillingness to open up? 

March bit his lip hard as he contemplated on what to do next. He said that he didn’t care. He tried to convince himself that he didn’t want you if you didn’t want him. However, standing in the shadows of the trees, barely seeing the stars that weaved people’s fates together, watching you and the mystery man share a moment that only comes once a year, he knew it wasn’t true.

Even if you didn’t want him anymore, he still wanted you. It wasn’t in March’s nature to just give up either. You were his first. Like hell he was going to lose you to someone else, especially to someone that he didn’t even know.

Steeling his resolve and without thinking it through, he stepped out of the woods and approached your blanket. The familiar fire was back in his onyx eyes, burning as hot as the forge he worked with everyday. “Y/n.”

Your heart skipped a beat as the deep voice you for long ago called out your name so determinedly. So possessively. You were quick to turn your attention to the stubborn blacksmith that planned on hijacking your time with Caldarus. While you did feel a momentary high of getting the person you like’s attention, you also felt a sense of dread begin to build. Caldarus wasn’t ready to be seen by people yet. It took a lot of strength from him to even meet you here tonight.

Besides that, March looked pissed. “March? What are you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same thing. What are you doing here with him? Who is he?” March demanded, his arms crossing over his chest as he glared at the stranger. Caldarus looked anxious for a moment before taking a deep breath, calming his nerves. For some reason, that pissed him off even more.

“I supposed that I will be discovered sooner or later. Y/n, how would you like to go about this?” Your partner questioned, giving you more control over the situation. It put you in an uncomfortable spot, but you were grateful that Caldarus had the sense to step back to let you handle March. 

“I’m sorry about this, Caldarus. Before we do anything, how is your energy?” You considered, for now focusing on the needs of someone that wasn’t used to living as a human. March simmered as you stayed calm during the whole ordeal and gave even more of your attention to someone that wasn’t him. At least you didn’t outright dismiss him, though he still hoped you at least begged for his forgiveness.

Caldarus places a hand over his heavy heart. “I am at my limit. It would be a good time to head back. I may be up for further discussion within my own domain anyway.” 

You got up and started packing your things in the basket, the show ending earlier than expected for you. Even if the outing was coming to a close the way it did, at least Caldarus got to see the shooting stars from a better view. It had been hundreds of years since he wasn’t an unmoving statue after all. 

Once you were packed, you let Caldarus take the lead back to his home within the Deep Woods. March didn’t need to be told to follow along. He just did. He wouldn’t dare leave you alone with the stranger even if you were friendly with him. March wasn’t, and that’s all that mattered.

When you approached the large home, March lost his anger in a moment of shock. He hadn’t been in the Deep Woods for a long time. Along with the path having been swallowed by unruly vines with thorns, his parents’ grave was in the back memorial. That was something he wasn’t ready to approach yet, even with Olric’s support. So, he had no clue that such a pristine yard and castle-like home existed in town. Could anyone good really live away so isolated from people? How did you come to know him?

The inside of the home was clean and warm, the hearth in the middle kicking off a comfortable heat while it brewed a perpetual tea. March stood in awe at all the scrolls lining the back walls, the ornate bed with dragon detailing so unique in its own, and at the dragon statue that gave off a peculiar energy unlike anything he’s felt before. 

All the while, you strolled around comfortably, helping Caldarus settle down on a pillow by the hearth. You filled a cup with tea and passed it over to him. From one sip, the color in his skin began to glow more brightly. How could someone that looked so powerful have such a weak constitution?

“Thank you, Y/n. This is exactly what I needed.” Caldarus graciously thanked. You nodded in response, knowing that it was good enough as the two of you understood each other. 

Now, for the hard part. “Take a seat, March. Do you want some tea too?”

The burning irritation came back as you treated him so casually. “No. Just tell me what is going on.”

When the blacksmith took a seat, you poured yourself some tea and thought about your next words carefully. It wasn’t just Caldarus’s existence that was a secret that you were going to reveal. You had also been careful to keep your real identity a secret too. 

Most people were still nervous and fearful of magic since at times it could be chaotic and uncontrollable. You didn’t think the people of Mistria would burn you at the stake for being a witch. That wasn’t in their kind-hearted nature. However, you didn’t want to risk being discouraged from living among them. You have been careful to protect everything that you have worked so hard to build.

There was no best way to start the conversation. March hated it when people beat around the bush too. The best thing to do was just dive right into the subject. “This man is named Caldarus. He is a dragon that has taken a human form only until very recently. Before that, he was confined to the form of a dragon statue on my farm.”

“. . . What?” Now March was just confused. He knew of the statue, but he had no clue that it was really some being trapped inside. If that was true, why didn’t the statue say anything the few times he wandered over before you took over the farm? How come you knew that information while everyone else didn’t?

You could tell that he was getting irritated with the missing pieces. Still, you tried to stay patient. “Only I was able to communicate with him in his statue form because I am a witch. I have an innate magical ability to do many things that would otherwise be impossible for other people. Caldarus became my partner in teaching me new spells. It was natural that we formed a bond from this.”

March’s brows scrunched together tightly. “Why didn’t you say anything before? Juniper does crazy things all the time with that cauldron of hers. It’s not like we would hate you.”

Your lips drew into a tight line. Caldarus simply sipped his tea, listened, and rested. “My magic is different from Juniper’s. Mine is more. . . involved.”

“Dangerous?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I use a lot of magic to help grow my farm.” You awkwardly answered. You were having a hard time finding the right words to describe what you did. Why you kept it hidden.

Fortunately, March noticed your discomfort and let it go. As much as he wanted to ask more, he didn’t want to push it. It wasn’t like he could understand much of it anyway. He could barely understand Juniper’s magic.

He moved on. “Fine, whatever. So why didn’t this guy just introduce himself to us when he became human? Why all the secret living?”

Caldarus cleared his throat to take over the conversation. “As mentioned before, I was living as a statue for hundreds of years. Much of my memory before and some during then had been a struggle to recover. My own magic and energy has been fragile as well. Before becoming involved with the people of the town, I decided that focusing on my recovery would be best. I would expect many to have questions for me, so I would like to regain as much of my memories as I can so I could answer those questions honestly.”

March didn’t agree with that decision, but he understood it. If the dragon really had been stuck all this time with only you to talk to, the others would probably find it odd that he knew so much about what’s been going on. It was no longer a wonder why the two of you seemed so close.

Not that he still wasn’t mad about it.

“While he recovers, I’ve been checking in on him when I can. I plan on helping him when he is ready to meet everyone too.” You revealed, finishing off your tea as the conversation seemed to naturally come to a close. You couldn’t think of anything else to add either. You thought that your explanations have been thorough enough.

Settling your cup on the edge of the hearth, you stood from the pillow. “It’s late. We should head home. I’m sure Caldarus would like some time by himself too.”

“Thank you for considering me, Y/n. Though, I may have enough energy to walk you back home if you would like. I know the farm is a long ways from here.” Your partner smiled, also drinking the last drops of his flavorful tea. 

March’s alarm bells began to go off, his heart leaping before it looked. He quickly grabbed your wrist and pulled you to his side, his expression firm and mean. Your eyes widened as you collided with his firm chest, butterflies going wild in your tummy. “I will walk her home.”

Caldarus didn’t say anything for a moment. It was hard to tell what he was thinking with such a neutral expression. The ancient dragon was no fool, though. He knew where your feelings swayed towards from private talks and exchanged secrets. It was clear to him how the blacksmith felt as well, even if he was stubborn about it. 

After a minute, he closed his eyes in acceptance. “Very well. Ensure she gets home safely.”

“You don’t need to tell me that.” He retorted sharply before dragging you out the door with him. You didn’t even get a chance to say a proper goodbye before you were out in the night again. 

You were upset. Now that you were not balancing the two men and it was just you and March, you let your hell unleash. “What the hell, March?! Why are you so rude?!”

March stopped in the middle of the path, refusing to let go of your wrist. He fueled his flame when you began to chew him out. Your pleasant mask dropped like a stone when it was just the two of you. “Rude?! Me?! What about you? Keeping secrets. Hiding people? Asking out someone else tonight?”

You blinked twice at his accusations, unsure if you heard him right. “Asking out someone else? Wait. . . were you waiting for me? Are you jealous?”

A red so deep that it was noticeable even in the dark rapidly colored his face. From the tips of his ears to the bridge of his nose, March blushed. “J-Jealous?! Absolutely not! You just ruined my expectations of you, that’s all!”

A wicked smirk began to take over your lips. His chest threatened to burst from how fast his heart raced. “Come on, don’t be shy now. You were waiting for me to ask you out like I always did, huh?”

He finally let go of your wrist and turned his back on you, shielding his face with the back of his hand. He couldn’t stand it when you gloated. He began to walk forward again to escape this torment. “Idiot! I wasn’t!”

“Uh-huh. Then why did you come to the cliff tonight?” You pried, moving around him to try to catch another glimpse at his cute, flustered face. The idea that March was jealous over you made you giddy. The fact that he waited for you made your body sing too. There was no way you were letting this go. Not after all the years you’ve been pining for him within your rivalry. 

“Okay, fine! I saw you with a stranger after waiting for you all day to give me the brooch! You didn’t even give me a warning! When I saw you having fun with someone I didn’t know, I got mad, alright. Happy now, Y/n?!”

March didn’t mean to yell at you, but he could only handle so much teasing. Especially when it came from you. Your moment of childish joy was quickly snuffed out as March expressed genuine hurt over the whole ordeal. You froze in your place as those butterflies died. You looked down in shame, considering how you did mess up tonight.

When he noticed that you weren’t following behind him anymore, he stopped and turned around. He wasn’t expecting to see you so regretful. His own pettiness took a backseat for a change as he grew concerned for you. “Y/n?”

“I’m sorry, March. You’re right. I should have given you a warning first. I honestly didn’t really think about it if I’m being honest. . .” You genuinely apologize, holding yourself as a way to give yourself some comfort.

The blacksmith didn’t know if he should be offended or forgiving. He waited a moment while you seemed to build up some courage to say something else, hoping that it would clear up his possible misconception on where he stood with you.

You gave a shaky sigh, having still not gotten over the trauma of what had happened earlier that year. Still, you decided that March deserved more truth tonight. “Caldarus saved my life. Without him sacrificing his magic, I would have died.”

“I was opening a deeper part of the mines that was sealed off. There were many sealed doors, but I was able to open each one using things I found naturally in the levels and magic. But this one needed a Sealing Scroll. Balor managed to procure one for me through a connection. Costed me a ton of gemstones.” You dryly chuckled, hoping that it would shake the edge off. 

It didn’t, but you continued. “I was warned not to open it at all costs since the scroll would be dangerous. I didn’t think much of it since I didn’t intend on opening it in the first place. When I used it to unseal the door though, it opened on its own. It was a trap I couldn’t escape in time and before I knew it, I couldn’t move. It sucked the life out of me. Even if I yelled for help, I was so deep underground that I knew no one would be able to hear me.”

“Through my connection with Caldarus, he sensed that something was wrong. I was on the edge of death after all. He couldn’t do anything for me in his statue state, so he sacrificed a part of himself to burn the Sealing Scroll and save me. That’s how he had turned into a weak mortal.”

You shook your head at your past stupidity. You should have been more cautious handling such dangerous magic. You should have considered Balor’s warning more seriously. Your careless mistake cost Caldarus his magic. Nearly his own life with how the effort depleted him. You could never take him for granted again. “I invited Caldarus to the festival tonight as a token of my gratitude. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a good view of the shooting stars. Besides. . . you never seemed to care all that much for it anyway. I thought that you had just been tolerating it. Still, I should’ve let you know beforehand before inviting someone else. For that, I’m sorry, March.”

March was speechless. He didn’t know what to say. He could barely process the fact that at one point this year, you could have died. Worst yet, no one would’ve found your body. At least not soon enough. Besides almost losing you to someone else, he could’ve lost you permanently. And he wouldn’t have even known. 

You were still clearly traumatized by your experience. The way you refused to meet his eyes, the way your feet shifted as your nerves zipped through your cells, the way you held back tears that threatened to spill from those beautiful eyes. 

Putting his own feelings aside, he pulled you into his arms and wrapped them tightly around you. A hand settled on your head, encouraging you to have it rest against his chest. Your body was stiff at first, having never expected this kind of affectionate action from March. His chin rested on your head while he rubbed your back. “You don’t have to hold back anymore. I’m here.”

Your body finally relaxed against his as you buried your face in his shirt, silent tears pouring out freely. You haven’t had anyone to confide in about the accident. Not even Caldarus in hopes that he wouldn’t think that you invited him out of guilt alone. March was the first and only person that knew your trauma now. And he handled it like a genuine friend.

He let you cry for as long as you needed, patiently waiting until you pulled back to wipe your face with your sleeve. The front of his shirt was soaked with tears and wrinkled from your grip, but he didn’t care. All that mattered to him now was that you were here with him. 

As it should have been.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.” March intertwined his fingers with yours, gently pulling you along the path. When he looked up at the sky out of pure chance, he noticed that stars were still burning out along the dark canvas of night. It wasn’t as much as its peak time, but it was still a marvel.

You had noticed too, looking up to watch the last of the stars signal the end of a busy summer. “Beautiful, right?”

“Yeah. . . Beautiful. . .” March agreed. However, when you looked back at him, you noticed that he was looking at you instead of the sky. A light heat teased the tips of your ears as you caught on that he was talking about you.

After a moment of silence and more walking, he spoke up. “I’m sorry that I got. . . jealous.”

He was staring straight ahead when he said his apology, but you knew that he still meant it genuinely. It took a lot for March to admit his faults, so you knew he always really meant it when he said that he was sorry. You smiled to yourself, feeling the connection between the two of you become stronger. “It’s okay.”

His grip became stronger as you forgave him. He was grateful that you didn’t tease him either about his admitted jealousy. A new peace and understanding was there now, something that was welcomed with open arms as March realized that he liked you more than he realized. Not that he would openly admit that any time soon.

Finally, the two of you reached your farm. The animals were fast asleep in their cozy barns, the growing produce still dripped from the morning’s drink, and the gentle rustle of leaves from your orchard brought over a sweet smell to mix with the natural earth. You had worked hard to get to where you were, magic or not. Even if he couldn’t understand your magical abilities right now, he could still appreciate how you used it for the benefit of the town.

He walked you all the way to your front door, hesitant to let go of your hand. Separating somehow felt like severing a deep connection. Like the forge going cold when it should be fiery at all times. You weren’t just meant to be with him on this night. You were meant to be with him every night. 

Soft light spilled from the crack of your opening door, giving him a peek on how hard you worked on your house too. Perhaps at another time you would invite him in.

“Thanks for walking me home, March.” You nervously smiled, wondering if a simple thanks was enough to really show how much you appreciated him tonight. While things started rocky, you couldn’t help but still feel accomplished as you ended up becoming closer to the blacksmith than ever before. 

This affection you felt for him continued to blossom as he gave you a simple, yet confident nod. “You’re welcome, Leo.”

Before he could give a final goodbye to leave, you stepped forward, stood on the tips of your toes, and gently pressed your lips to his. It was his turn to freeze from the sudden affection, his brain taking a moment to process what was happening. His heart raced like the last stars above, blazing brightly almost painfully before falling away as you pulled back. Your face was as pink as the peaches that grew in your trees. March’s face matched your tomatoes. “Good night.”

He was speechless as you closed the door, leaving him in the night on such a heart throbbing note. With no choice, he turned and began to walk back to his own home, touching his lips carefully with his fingertips as if afraid to erase the kiss that still lingered.

With a chaotic mixture of surprise, ache, anger, and joy, March thought about just how soft your lips were against his the entire walk home. 

[dcdreamblog]

With so many Golden Age legacies running around, are there any heroes you’re surprised that someone took up the mantle of - either because they’re so obscure as to be nearly forgotten, or so bizarre that it’s difficult to think that someone would want to?

Yes and no? And I'm going to explain the 'no' quickly before I get onto the yes. As I've said before I have to resign myself to the fact that I don't know what's going on in superheroes' personal lives and that I don't have any right to. What might seem to us to be totally obscure or even bizarre in reference might be deeply connected and personal to the person who chose to take up that mantle. All superheroes are people after all and the ripples such people leave behind even at their most obscure are worthwhile and need consideration. It's why, for instance, I didn't choose the modern version of The Whip. While the Whip is in the running for most obscure superhero of the Golden Age period, we know that the modern Whip is that original hero's granddaughter and that that connection is very personally important to her. There's nothing bizarre about that.

Now beyond the intellectual faffing about and onto the actual answer.

(A photo of the second Captain Triumph saving a downed helicopter) This woman is the second person to call herself Captain Triumph. Which is not only an obscure legacy to claim but also an odd one. The original Captain Triumph was US Air Force pilot Lance Gallant but ALSO his brother Michael in a story that involves ghosts, and a Final Destination style rebalancing of the scales of death. (Which is not only too long, complicated and sordid a story for this topic but also the second time that sort of thing happened in the Golden Age) Once the original Captain Triumph fell into retirement after the Second World War he become very obscure. Left out of most histories that weren't events in which he was directly involved and only given a small spike of understanding in my particular circles by his inclusion in the wonderful Alt History novel JSA: The Golden Age which I highly recommend if you're interested in that sort of thing. This new woman, well there's very little to be known about her in specific. What can be gleaned about her is tied to her being one of the members of the Crusaders, a group of superheroes backed by the Department of Defense who were framed as (say it with me if you can): "A more patriotic alternative to the radical independent superhero community more beholden to US national interest". Yea, that old song and dance. Her abilities resemble the former Captain Triumph but that's not saying much since those abilities just amount to flight, superhuman strength and some measure of invulnerability. The "flying brick" archetype that seems to be so statistically common among superhumans. Once the Crusaders inevitably went wrong (the collapse of which was part of what drove the Stormy Knight Phantom Lady into her public alcoholic spin out) this heroine seems to have vanished right back into whatever obscure corner she came out of.

I call this one the most obscure and most bizarre simply because we know so little and also that was probably the entire reason this pedigree was chosen for her, if indeed it was. Captain Triumph is a name that comes from the past, he was a respected member of the All Star Squadron in good standing BUT as far as we know the Gallants have no living family and no inheritors of their mantle meaning that the Defense Department could claim to anchor themselves back to the most respected and widespread superhero team of its original age without getting called out on it by anyone who knew better.

[c4ndl3-fl4m3]

The woman recomposed herself, taking a step back and cleaning her throat.

"The kind of crimes I was used before are the reason I don't feel ashamed of saying I am a criminal. I want to be desired, receive lots of attention, to have my name remembered. Not only this, but also expose the cruelty of the world."

She turned herself with her cane, giving a clear vision of the trash can they used, pointing at it.

"For example, the trash can we used. What if the trucks that come here almost every day to take its trash simply disappeared, in a blink of an eye? The city quickly would become a stinky mess, people would not even care anymore about the trash cans and throw things in the middle of the street. They would forget this part of their civilization."

Getting back to reality from her megalomaniac mind, she got back to herself with a convinced expression, proud of her improvised plan.

"Criminals like me rob banks, but as soon as the next great news come, they're forgotten. I mark people with what I do. Took coffee out of an entire city to expose their chemical dependency on caffeine for the companies to work. Removed self care from the markets to make people notice how ugly they really are. Manipulated footage and buildings to make everyone doubt of their neighbors' true identity, turning them against each other."

It was like her eyes were shining by saying all of this, almost like a hero would tell their odyssey in the Ancient Greece. In the same way things escalated in an essaying, her eyes faded down, with realization. She wasn't alone on those moments, and nothing of this would happen without a partner.

"But... Even if those are the things I did once, these are times that can't come back anymore. Like I said, I want to start anew, whatever it may be. Now that you know better who I am, you probably may know better what kind of thing could suit on me. I want to try new things. The worst that can happen is that I'll not like it enough..."

Even though valuing her body so much, she was even considering to be a bunny girl, by the lack of options.

After taking the last sip from her can, she squeezed it in her hand and threw it inside the same trash can; both of her hands now hiding in her pockets while she squinted her eyes and listened.

"...it's not safe going around admitting you're a criminal to someone you just met but like, ya are lucky I don't give a fuck about cops, being a model citizen and corny stuff like that."

As if they couldn't arrest her for possession of cocaine-

Falling silent for a moment, the woman decided to listen while keeping a somewhat deadpan expression, although it was simply tiredness, that would soon turn into a small smile and a raised brow.

"I meeeeean...ya wanna become a bunny girl or something?" She said before snorting softly, only taking out one of her hands to hold her phone with it, while looking up at the redhead.

"I bet you wanna keep being a criminal because you've got nothing else to do with your life, but there's lots of losers like that around here." She continued, while still staring at Roman. Clearly, she could notice that desperation in her voice, and her eyes. Not far from how she felt at times. "I just know of the least savory jobs a woman could get around here, ya know?...selling your body in one way or another always works. But I know it's not what you are looking for...so, what do you want? What kinda crimes were you used to do?"

[dorizardthewizard]

High School Musical (2006) rewatch

*sigh* so... some time ago my friends and I rewatched this movie and I don't know whether it's the nostalgia or my usual love for cheesy low budget movies but I haven't been able to get this trilogy out of my head. So of course I ended up writing like 8k words of ramblings about each movie with nowhere to share them but the Random Hyperfixations Website, in the hopes that maybe one (1) person would find them mildly interesting. If not, future me could get a laugh or two!

I will also be tier ranking the songs as I go because why not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Part 1: The Start of Something New

Aaahhh nostalgia 😭 and I only remember watching this one like once or twice as a kid lmao, it just feels so quintessentially 2000’s

Are the ski lifts working at this hour? Guess it must be a special New Years thing, sounds fun skiing at midnight but you know no one there is sober, New Year or not :P Après ski started hours ago!

Mrs. Montez: Gabby, it's New Year's Eve. Enough reading. Gabriella: But mom, I'm almost done!

I was literally like Gabriella at parties – ok granted I was like 12, but whenever we’d go to gatherings with family friends I’d either bring a book or this tiny notepad and pencil I’d fold up in my pocket so I could doodle whenever I got bored or socially awkward. People would compliment my drawings and make requests so I guess it worked out?

Also the mums' fits aren't great, looks like they’re wearing theatre costumes.

YOU TAKE IT DOWNTOWN! 🔥🔥🏀🔥🔥🔥🏀🏀

Mrs Bolton: Did we really fly all this way to play more basketball? Troy and Mr Bolton: ...........yeah?

I relate to this because my mum would also have to tear my dad and brother away from the beach volleyball courts when we go on holiday. I mean I play too during the year but I prefer to laze around or swim when we’re at the beach

“I don’t sing, I can't sing!” 10 seconds later….

"Some day you guys might thank me for this" This karaoke guy is hilarious, I choose to believe he is a fourth wall breaking omniscient being. It would be hilarious if somehow, Troy and Gabriella ran into him some day before getting married

Why are there screens showing the party in the back lol

Aaaaand the opening song! The one that started it all!!!!!

I love how no one cares about them doing the karaoke at first

So for Start of Something New I’d put it in A tier, it’s catchy and cute, and idk the instrumentation just sounds pretty 2000’s like it reminds me of the OG Winx Club score? I like how, despite the song literally just being them standing there on the platform, they make it interesting by having this progression through the song where at first they’re just giving each other shy glances, Troy is ready to leave after a couple of lines because he assumes Gabriella doesn’t want to do it, but then she actually joins in. Eventually when the music picks up, they start interacting with each other properly and Troy takes his jacket off, with Gabriella now grabbing the mic instead of standing hunched over. And once they’re into it, they have great chemistry! You love to see them open up and have fun.

Also Gabriella looks so pretty in that outfit and so cute when she’s nervous!

The way the karaoke guy stands up like he was right all along hahahaha. Cupid’s arrow has been shot.

Gabriella: I guess I better find my mom and wish her a happy new year Troy: Yeah, me too. I mean, not your mom. My mom. And dad...

Waaahhhh they’re so cute and Troy’s such a dork. Gabriella must have been so surprised to hear he’s the school’s number 1 jock boy LOL

Flip phones! I kept mine until 2015 but everyone thought it was so cool because it was a pink square shaped Alcatel with a full keypad B)

I feel like we don’t talk enough about the fact that Troy and Gabriella go skiing. Like is that unusual for a brainiac in this universe? Especially if she snowboards? Just imagine Gabriella tearing down the slopes and doing tricks :’P

[mirainawen]

i am genuinely baffled by believers reblogging that "secular Christmas carol" that pleads with us to leave Christ out of Christmas. are people just really not reading the lyrics or have they allowed their faith to be so disillusioned that they would forget that the weary world rejoices. we chose a time of year to rejoice. there is no "magic of the season" that is missing now because of age or capitalism or what have you. there never was magic. it was Christ. it was divinity. holidays are a celebration of something important, and the feast (in the sense of "an annual religious celebration") is about the people, not the things. don't partake of common modern traditions if you so choose (the gift giving or the turkey or the lights or what have you), but do not conflate these things to be what a holy day is about.

holy days are built into annual or regular occurrences as an effort to remember and be reverent, which we are admonished to do and to do often.

"Christmas is all about the songs and the lights and the turkey and the carols and bloated gift-giving" is not reverent, and isn't the enlightened take you think it is.

[promisedhexvens]

Beatrice had known Callum a long time but they had never really spoke. Not for any length of time. Not until the Diamond Ball. And there was a part of her that couldn't help but wonder if things could have become more between her and Callum before now, if they had just spent time together. It would have saved her a whole world of pain. They could have been happy for so much longer. Or was it all just a matter of timing? Fate? She didn't know but she also didn't care to question it, either. She only had one real thought. And that was him. At his question, she raised an eyebrow. Beatrice had thought that she had made it clear - but since he was asking the question, she figured that she probably hadn't. So instead of playing coy, she told him the truth. "You" She smiled as she looked at him. "My heart desires you."

At Callums words, she couldn't help but smile, though there was a little sadness behind her eyes "You say that now but we will see." She chuckled. She was almost sure that he would tire of her, that he would find someone who he liked much more than her. She was just hoping to enjoy being with him as long as he wanted her there. "I will always want to be by your side." She whispered in response. She was so sure of that. He was a wonderful man. He was everything that she had ever hoped for. She could barely believe that any of this was happening.

Whatever happened, as long as she had Callum then Beatrice was sure that she would be happy. Would she miss her family if they never came around? Of course she would. But she would be able to build a new family with him. She didn't need them but she needed him. And if Callum decided that she wasn't worth it, that he would rather be with someone else, then she would step aside. She wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. Wasn't that what love truly was? To sacrifice oneself for the other. If her happiness had to fall by the wayside for his, then so be it.

At his question, she nodded. "Yes" Beatrice enthused. She needed him to know just how sure she was, just how much she wanted him. She needed him to believe her. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat at his touch, goosebumps rising to her skin. A moment ago, she had been doing all she could to make sure that he was okay, that he could calm down. Now she simply needed him. And as he kissed her, it felt as though a thousand lightening bolts had hit her at once. Her whole body felt like it was on fire in the best possible way. Beatrices arms moved to wrap around him, pulling his body closer to hers. Only when he pulled back, did she allow herself to take a breath. And as the words fell from his lips, she could barely catch her breathe but in the best way. "Those are the best words I have ever heard." She giggled against his lips, "Please Callum. Kiss me again." Nothing else mattered except the feeling of him so close, his lips on her.

Worry continued to gnaw at Callum’s heartstrings. Had she loved before? And if she had, how could he ever compare? Beatrice was the sunrise to his twilights — she ended the darkness, brought in the light. She gave him promise — hope. He’d never imagined courting someone, ever. If you’d told him mere weeks ago that he’d be courting Miss Beatrice Bennett — the loveliest of roses — he would have laughed. Of course he knew Beatrice before the Season, but he’d only admired her from afar. She was breathtaking, she always had been, but he’d never physically been able to hold a conversation with her until she approached him this Season. Was it fate? Were they tied together by an invisible string? He could only hope so. “You deserve it, too,” he smiled before taking a beat, carefully treading into the water with his next question, “What does your heart desire?”

“You say that as if I’d one day not want you around — which could never be the case,” he assured her with a shy grin, “I’ll always want you by me.” How could it be that the first ball of his first Season had led him to Beatrice? He knew they would face tribulations — as they were now with her parents — but being with her was easy, right. Maybe all the pain he’d faced in his life had been worth it, if it’s what led him to Beatrice then he’d face it all over again a hundred times.

It was as if they both knew their path forward wouldn't be easy, but it would be worth it. Surely if her parents never approved, Callum knew his parents would — they'd provide the two with all the support they needed. The Marquess and Marchioness would take Bea in as if she was their own daughter and his siblings? They'd be elated. It still made him feel guilty that she could be ruining her relationship with her parents for him. "You want all of me?" he asked, cheeks flushed before he captured his lower lip between his teeth. His heart was threatening to pound right out of his chest with every word that came from her beautiful lips. He ran a thumb across her cheek — his panic attack was finally subsiding, but a new electric feeling swept over his body. Desire, need — adoration. She was falling for him despite it all and he wanted her to know he felt the same. He brought shaky hands up to cradle her face, glancing into the ocean that was her eyes. He was lost at sea in the best way. One hand moved towards the side of her neck whilst the other found the small of her back and he desperately lunged in to press a passionate, needy kiss against her lips. His lips moved in perfect sync against hers and he parted only to catch his breath. He was light-headed, weak in the most magical way and he feared he had overstepped. "I'm falling for you too, Bea," he whispered against her lips — words for her to take from him, for her to hold onto for as long as she wanted.

[somefisher]

Fuck my stupid lonely gay life

[danielnelsen]

peach (my cat) is having a full-day vet appointment to scan and possibly remove some teeth (the perks of only being allowed wet food)

completely unrelated, but anything regarding peach’s health or her being somewhere else or anything even mildly off with her routine or behaviour is probably by biggest anxiety and panic trigger

[jichanxo]

made a tierlist of my kuwagami fics for funsies (+ notes for a few) ↓

(everything listed in the same tier are equals, so the order they're listed in has no meaning)

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

All the stock images of the 10th Doctor are. Silly. Like geniune white-backdrop, doing some random pose or expression stock images. Like not "this is the picture png stock image that gets slapped on his wiki and other places" but like the if you Google "stock images of people" it's just that. Except him.