#put both of their tastes under a microscope

[rhetoricalsoapbox]

Little post of things I love about Richie Valence just because

1. His overly sharp and prominent canines

Cerillia makes fun of them sometimes, but she did it really frequently after she found out about his “Dauphine Street Ripper” identity.

Richie is a little conscious of them, but his pathetic ass likes to scare little kids (and so does Ceri honestly) so he puts them to use where he can. He does find it funny when Cerillia teases him about them though.

2. His little car

Richie drives a 1962 Studebaker Lark Daytona (hardtop), and I just find it really cute for him. It's in a pretty red that's the color of his favorite stone; jasper.

There's a part of me that thinks it's so funny for him to be the character that owns one, especially when this is it's advert:

Richie killed people with this little car.

I think it's also extremely funny that Cerillia managed to somehow keep a 6'0 tall Richie in the trunk of one of these flawlessly.

3. His stims

Richie stims by tapping his fingers either on the side of his leg or on the side of a pen(cil). He also has a habit of humming one phrase or rythym from a song over and over again.

4. The Nancy Sinatra Song

'How Does That Grab You, Darling?" is one of Richie's favorite songs, and I absolutely love it for him.

He'll sing it whenever he hears it, but my favorite thing about that is the fact that he never changes up the pronouns or terms.

He will very boldly sing "How does that grab you darling? This girl is leaving you behind." and he doesn't ever consider saying anything other than 'girl.'

In fact, sometimes he'll say that word a little louder than the rest of the words.

5. His music taste in general

Richie is a big fan of girl groups like the Supremes, and he really likes singers like Aretha Franklin and Roberta Flack.

He absolutely loves Lesley Gore - and if he could actually sing well at all - he'd probably give you one of his little dream performances of him singing her songs.

Some of his favorites of her's are: Cry Me A River, Just Let Me Cry, Misty, You Don't Own Me, California Nights, What Kind Of Fool Am I?, The Old Crowd, and Fools Rush In (Where Angels Fear To Tread).

[satrs]

Wet Wars!

SYNOPSIS; Hope you like losing your mind– twice.

FEAT; caleb x Satoru Gojo x fem!reader

TAGS;MDNI! threesome. oral fixation. bestfriend!caleb and bestfriend!satoru. competitive. panty ripping. desperate and püssydrunk guys. overstim. cunnilingus. dirtytalk. petnames. cocky gojo. possessiveeee caleb. squirting. cum eating. cl!t smacking. püssy smacking. dacryphilia. spit and drool. messy. slighttt dumbification from satoru once. praise. begging. size k!nk. tummy buldge. satoru jerks himself off and is pathetic. 3.3k.

A/N; sighhhh ANOTHA ONE!!!!! they r both my fav bois so I rlly had my fun on this one hihi^^ THIS is my dream blunt rotation man.

Who can make you cum first?

It starts like a game— at least, that's what Satoru calls it.

You're sprawled out on silky sheets, thighs parted indulgently over a stack of plush pillows.

Caleb kneels at your left, grey sweats tight around his hard-on, eyes glowing with quiet hunger while Gojo lounges on the other side, shirt off, grey sweats hanging low, all-too-familiar cocky smirk plastered on his moist lips.

Seeing your two closest, bestest of friends like this is— well, not exactly something you're used to.

Yeah, sure you three goof around all the time, and sure Satoru sometimes comes up with dirty jokes about you that Caleb makes quick work to and sure there was one time they both taught you how to properly kiss guys— but this?

This is new.

“Aaaand? Watcha' sayin? Yer' in?” the white-haired drawls, that wicked glint lighting up his cerulean eyes as they slide from Caleb to your exposed, dripping center. He swears your panties are practically pasted to your folds. “Winner takes it all.”

Caleb just smirks, trailing the back of his fingers along your inner thigh. “Hell yeah. Buuuut,” his voice dips, husky and pointed, “you sure you can handle her? Bet you don’t even know where the clit is.”

Satoru whistles, clearly entertained. “Woah. Cocky-much.” Then he flashes you that wicked grin, muscles twitching from the possesive grip on your thigh. “Yer' lettin' him talk ta me like that?”

You roll your eyes at their banter, hips twitching into the empty space between them. “You guyssss, seriously, quit it and do.... something already.”

“Aight, aight,” Caleb murmurs, voice thick with amusement as he hooks his fingers into your panties, sliding them to the side. He’s just about to slip a finger through your slick folds when Satoru's hand swats! his away.

“I know where the damn clit is, starboy,” Satoru's grin is all teeth. “Riiiiiiiight—”

He presses down, finger circling with maddening precision until it hits your bundle of nerves dead-on. The pressure is just enough to make your thighs jerk, threatening to clamp shut around their heads. But both of them shoot out an arm without missing a beat, pushing your legs apart and holding them there with synchronized ease.

“—here,” he finishes, eyes glittering with smug satisfaction.

“That’s a no-brainer.”

Caleb snorts, unfazed. “Well duhhh. She’s soaked, Satoru. You could find it in your sleep.”

Satoru chuckles low in his throat, still teasing slow circles with his soft pad. “Then maybe ya oughta put in some effort before I win. Or not. Couldn't care less.”

Caleb's eyes narrow slightly, then he leans in without warning, tongue flicking out to replace the others hand, making your entire body jolt. “You talk too damn much." he murmurs, lips brushing your clit just barely, ripping your flimsy panties almost completely off with one strong pull, earning a shocked yelp from you. “Earn your keep.”

Then he licks, a slow, devastating stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring it like he’s been starving.

And suddenly, they're both on you at once, two hot tongues, slick mouths feisting upon you as if as if you were the last thing on earth they'd ever get to taste.

Satoru dips low again, mouth locking onto your clit with practiced ease, his tongue rolling and circling like he’s studied every nerve under a microscope. He hums against you, the vibration sending a ripple up your spine before he ends the barely holding on annoying strap of your cloth off you completely to further suckle at your buttony clit.

Caleb's grip tightens on your thigh as he kisses the soft skin, soft brown hair tickling your thigh as he moves up closer, his mouth dragging open kisses along the crease where your leg meets your needy core.

“Sweet fuck,” he mutters, dragging his tongue flat against your entrance now, slow and savoring, wanting to memorize your taste.

Satoru glances up, eyes gleaming. “Yer' takin’ your time down there, or just scared I’m gonna make her cum first?”

Caleb answers by sucking hard, just below your clit— just close enough for your hand to fly and latch onto the brown bush of hair while Satoru increases the pressure right on your swollen clit, tongue flicking in sharp, teasing pulses.

"Nghhhh! Y-yes r-right there!," you cry out, hips bucking, but their hands hold you down, keep you spread, keep you right there with nowhere to squirm or run to.

Caleb groans in response and fuck— he could cum by just listening to your sweet cries, hips deseraptly humbing deep into the matress.

You're sweet—so damn sweet. He can't breathe, can't be, except in the act of devouring you whole like you're the only thing he's ever wanted. He'd always imagined tasting you but this? This is heaven for him. And there's no way in hell anyone can take this honeyed cunny from him.

Only over his dead body.

And Satoru? God, he's an idiot.

An idiot for not dragging you into this sooner. A goddamn fool for letting this sappy bastard Caleb share in your sacred juices. And the biggest fool of all for grinding into the sheets like some needy, feral mutt, each spurting of your essence landing right on his tastebuds and he's sure he's addicted by now.

Because you are addictive.

You can't think.

And from the way your vision's already going white at the edges, legs desperatly shaking as the overwhelming sounds of slurp slurp slurp numbs your senses, and you're not sure who’s winning.

But you're definitely losing— in the best way possible.

You feel Caleb's tongue sliding lower ashe parts your folds gently, sucking one side into his mouth before dragging his tongue up the other. He's so gentle, so reverent, but there’s an edge to him now, a heat in his breath that promises he’s not going to let the cocky white-haired win.

Satoru's not having it.

He quickly flattens his tongue against your clit and starts flicking the bud so fast and devastating, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you still.

“Gonna make her cum first,” he says like it’s fact, “watch.”

Caleb only narrows his eyes, clicking his tongue in irritation before diving back between your legs, sliding his tongue deep into you. “Not if I get her gushing first.”

His words come out muffled, barely audible, vibrations of his voice adding onto his nasty tongue gliding through your hole, hitting your sweetspot with one swift roll of his tongue.

Bingo.

God, you would snap your thighs together if you could, but their strong hands make it impossible for you to escape from this overwhelming pleasure.

You're at your wits end at this point, tummy sucking in as Satoru pulls back just enough to smirk, placing a teasing smack! to your clit.

“Oh? Playing dirty already?”

Caleb doesn't care to answer. His tongue moves in slow, deep strokes, licking into your pussy while his lips seal around your entrance. You can hear it— the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth fucking you, tongue curling, nose brushing your clit.

The white-haired would love nothing more than to yank that jackass away from you and taste you himself, show you just how deep his tongue can bury itself inside you, how much better he can please you— but he holds back.

He wanted this game, after all.

“Fine. I can play dirty too.”

He reaches up, lifting your hips slightly before he sucks your clit into his mouth— hard. His tongue flicks fast, merciless almost, desperate to force your attention onto him.

You choke on a sob as your hips buck up into his mouth, hand tangling in the snowy hair while one of your legs hooks over Caleb's shoulder, heel digging into his back.

They're working together now, without even meaning to.

You're thrashing, hands now clutching the sheets, legs twitching as heat coils tight in your belly. You're—

“Close. She's close,” Caleb mumbles against you, thumb circling your inner thigh, "C'mon, baby. Cum for me."

“I'm still here, ya know,” Gojo purrs, then moans into your clit as you slightly yank at his hair. “Cum for me, cutie. Wanna taste ya.”

“M' gonna— gonna eat it up. Allll of it,” Caleb adds, breathless, lips gliding over your slit desperatly, selfish tongue draaaaging over your cunny, begging for you to just squirt right into his mouth. “You want that, pretty?”

With a nod and a quick glance at the cerulean eyes yearning for a reaction on your features and those lilac hues trying to suck your soul into his, you break.

“Thereee she is.”

Caleb's a madman now, fingers bruising into your thighs as if trying to keep you wide open, greedy for more. “So sweet, baby. Such a messy cunny— f-fuck.”

Your orgasm hits sudden and hard, whole body shuddering, thighs clamping around their heads. Voice cracking, cries and rambles of their names barely reaching their ears. Tears form at your lasline, toes curling at the massive wave of pleasure as your face contorts.

“Hahhh, ya should see yer face, pretty.”

Satoru's lips shine with your release, big fat beam plastered on his face as his tongue flicks one last teasing stroke over your clit just to make your body jolt.

They don't stop, keep going, mouths locked on you, dedicated as they suck and lick and pull every single drop you're offering out until you're twitching uncontrollably.

“Fuck,” Satoru breathes, pulling back to admire the mess. “Poor baby 's wrecked already."

He leans up to kiss you, slow and filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. It's so nasty but still adicting, him devouring your mouth like a man starved as Caleb glares up at you, placing a possesive kiss to your thigh followed by a jealous bite to your flesh.

His hands begin to slide up your sides, and then he's at your other ear. “Still hungry,” he growls so deep you can feel the wetness oozing out of you. “Want more— g-gonna cum for us again, you can do that for me, yeah? Be a good girl and cream alllllll over me? Hm? Pleaseeee, baby."

"Hmm? M-more?"

"Mhmmm," Satoru conters, fingers brushing your soaked folds as he stares daggers into the brunette, placing a quick kiss to your temple. “Gonna give me one now?” he teases. "Fair's fair, cutie. Can't let him be the one takin' the win.”

The snowy head dissapears between your legs now, attacking your pussy again, mouth latching onto your pussy like he’s got something to prove, because he does.

His tongue flicks and curls, lips sealing around your clit in a maddening rhythm. He moans into you, and the vibrations make your back arch, sparks racing up your spine.

Caleb tilts your face to his, claiming your mouth with a possessive, greedy kiss. His fingers trail upward to pinch your nipple, rolling it just right while his tongue tangles with yours.

You're gasping into him, breathless and overstimulated, caught in the push-pull between their mouths, thighs locking around Satoru's head, white locks peaking from the gap as your hands grasp for the brunettes biceps.

“Feel that?” Caleb pants against your lips, teeth nipping just enough to make you twitch. “He's working reaaal hard for that second one, huh? But I’m still your favourite, right?”

"You wish." Satoru's pace quickens now, two fingers slipping inside you now, curling right against your g-spot as his tongue keeps torturing your clit.

“God,” you sob through breathless kisses, “you're both—fuck!—both insane—”

They moan in sync.

"W-wanna have you i-inside."

Both sets of eyes snap to yours. Wide and starved, ridiculously pretty for two men who already pulled an orgasm out of you— more incoming.

“Who?”

They ask together, like some twisted choir of temptation.

"D-don't care, just wanna—”

Satoru is the first to move.

You barely register the shift of weight before he's positioning himself beside you, hard-on of his pressing through your side, threatening to break free from his grey joggers, warm hands sliding under your thighs, smacking your pussy hard before he muffles a moan between biten lips.

“Greedyyy,” he murmurs, voice dipped in silk and sin. “I love it.”

Caleb shoots Satoru a look that could kill, jaw clenched, fists tight, barely holding himself back. He's twitching with restraint, knuckles white, his teeth gritted. But he doesn't speak, not yet. Instead, his hands go to the waistband of his boxers, yanking them down with a rough, frustrated grunt. His cock springs free, hard, flushed and leaking from the torture of holding back for hours.

He leans over you, guiding himself to your soaked entrance, knuckles brushing your hip like a silent apology he doesn’t have the words to speak. “I-inside. Inside.” he pants, voice frayed at the edges, trembling with desperation. “Gonna— gonna let me fill you up?"

You nod, hips twitching upwards and his tip catches the hood of your clit— that’s all it takes.

He pounds his entire girth into you in one swith thrust, burying himself to the hilt with a groan that sounds damn near feral. His head drops to your shoulder, breath hot and uneven as he starts to move, hips grinding into you, deep and raw, like he can't stand another second without being inside you.

Meanwhile, Satoru slides down again, mouth back at your clit, tongue relentless, his hand now freeing his hard cock, wrapping around the base as he spits down onto it, spit and your juices mixed, serving as lube.

He's jerking his length, hand locking around his blushed tip, hips stuttering as he watches your stuffed cunny streeeetching around Caleb's cock with needy, desperate gushes of your juices.

"Oh f-fuck." He's stroking his cock in firm, hungry fists, pace matching every brutal thrust Caleb drives into you. His breath hits your thighs in hot bursts, and his tongue doesn’t quit, flicking, curling, lapping at your clit like it's the only thing keeping him alive.

“Shit, shitshitshit—fuck,” he whimpers, almost delirious, dragging his tongue up your swollen bundle of nerves, circling it with the flat of it, slow and mean. His voice cracks into a moan as he stares down, wide-eyed, at the taut swell forming just beneath your bellybutton, his jaw going slack, eyes rolling to his skull. “Look at that. Fuck, look at her. Stuffed full and still takin' it— like a champ, baby. Yer' made for this.”

Caleb can't even form a word.

He's gone, eyes glazed, lips parted as he watches your cunt suck him in over and over again, the obnoxious sound of your crying pussy causing goosebumps to arise on his skin. His control is snapping thread by thread, hips pounding into you with frantic need, every movement fueled by the way your walls grip him like they own him, like they don't want to ever let him go.

His brain's fried, lost, so goddamn lost in your vice-like grip, your delicious, honeyed moans and that gorgeous face of yours contorting into the cutest grimace. All he can do is fuck you harder, bullying his cock deeper into you, eyes glued to the bump at your tummy, hand pushing down onto it.

You're gasping, twitching, mind unraveling with every thrust, every hot, wet flick against your clit when both their faces lift at once, hovering over yours.

Then it happens.

They both go for your mouth, lips colliding—messy and hot, and you're caught between them. Caleb growls against your cheek as Satoru laughs into your mouth, and suddenly both of them are fighting for your kiss like lions would for their prey.

“Mine,” Caleb snarls, pulling your face toward his with delicate force, crashing his lips to yours, shoving your body higher against the headboard with every ragged snap of his hips. You're crying out into his mouth, helpless against the feral need behind every movement.

“Nahhh,” Satoru pants, laughing breathlessly as he licks along the edge of your lips, stealing kisses where he can between Caleb's frantic ones. His hand works faster on his cock, slick and twitching in his grip, precum smearing across his knuckles. “She knows where home is,” he growls, voice pitched low as his thumb swipes his tip, eyes locked on your teary, bliss-wrecked face.

Your vision is a blur of white hair, brown curls, sweat, and tears. You're full, stretched around Caleb's cock still pumping into you like it's the last thing he'll ever do, while Satoru's tongue slips between your parted lips, your neck, nipples— messy and open-mouthed everywhere as he drinks down your moans.

“Say it,” Caleb gasps, pulling away just enough to pant against your lips, his voice shattering with need. “She's mine, right, pips? Fuckkk, tell me your pussy 's mine—fuck, baby—t-tell me."

"Awww, think she's gone dumb", Satoru coos, jerking himself faster, watching your stomach bulge slightly with each desperate thrust Caleb drives in. “Look at her cryin' on ya.”

Caleb shoots him a warning glare, fighting the urge to punch him in the face before he leans in, knuckles brushing your side as his eyes meet yours. “Shh shhh, baby. It's alright, you're doin' sooo well baby. So perfect f' me, yeah?”

And you are.

Tears streaming, mouth open in a silent cry, trembling beneath them. And when your orgasm hits again, it wrecks you. No warning, no build—just a sudden snap that makes you seize around Caleb's cock, milking him so hard he shouts, hips stuttering.

Satoru watches the exact second you cum, and that's all it takes.

Caleb's thrusts get rougher and sloppier, like he's afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn't fuck you deep enough, hard enough. His hands dig into your waist, grounding you in place as he slams into you, panting brokenly against your jaw.

“Fuck, baby— so p-perfect—'m not gonna last—” he chokes out, voice cracking with the strain. “Wanna cum with you—i-inside you—please, pleasepleaseplease.”

Caleb's whole body tenses, and then he's spilling inside you with a deep, broken groan, hips grinding against you to stay buried as deep as possible, pushing his hot white seed further into your womb while your poor cunt flutters around him.

“Fuuuuck, that's hot— yer so— fuh-fuck! so damn sexy, baby.” Satoru desperatly tugs at his length, lips tugged between his lips has his eyes jump from your messy cunt to your blissful face.

You blink up just in time to see him stroking his cock, slicked in precum, veins bulging down his shaft. His face is flushed, lips swollen from kissing and licking you raw, saliva trailing down his lips before it drips down onto your flushed skin. His snowy bangs stick to his forehead, eyes glued to where Caleb's still inside you, cum dripping out of your stuffed, stuttering hole.

He's such a mess, drool leaking from his mouth like he's a helpless, lust-drunk addict, completely dumb on you, eyes vacant, every twitch of his body a desperate plea for release.

“'M gonna—shiiiit, I’m gonna— gonna paint your stuffed tummy like a canvas.” He groans as his dick twitches at the thought, and then—

Thick ropes of cum spill across your stomach, hot and heavy, painting your skin in messy streaks. Satoru curses through gritted teeth, milking himself with sharp jerks, never looking away.

When he finally lets go of his cock, his chest is heaving, grin half-drunk. “Goddamn,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a filthy kiss to your cum-slicked stomach. “You’re a walking wet dream.”

There's a beat of silence, your breathing shaky, brain half-melted into the sheets until Caleb, still nestled deep inside you, strokes your thigh soothingly, littering kisses to your jaw.

“Sooo,” he begins, voice low and smug against your ear, “who rocked your world harder?

You groan. “Oh my god. Really?”

He grins, biting lightly at your shoulder. “Dead serious.”

Satoru shifts to your other side with a dramatic sigh, propping himself up on one elbow. His fingers trail up your stomach, lazily circling the mess he left there, before he leans down to whisper near your lips, eyes gleaming.

“I mean, we could settle a rematch,” he murmurs, tongue swiping the corner of your mouth. “But 'm pretty sure ya screamed my name when ya came just now.”

“Delusional,” Caleb mutters into your neck, but his hips twitch forward just slightly, like the challenge is already baiting him.

Gojo smirks, dipping to kiss your collarbone. “Hey, sweetie, still got one more round in ya'?” His hand slides between your thighs, teasing. “'Cause I'd really like to win this time. Fair and square.”

Caleb's mouth curls into a grin against your skin, grip tightening around your hips.

“You're on.”

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 2025.

Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 5

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: Finally ready to give the Soldier the serum you've been tirelessly working on, you're put under the microscope. Terrified and doing everything you can to keep this man alive, you make a discovery.

Warnings: Captivity, nonconsensual touching (ass slap), angst, needles, mention of torture, and fear. Fake and very uneducated medicine :) MDNI

Authors Note: Hi! I'd like to warn that there is a part of this chapter that includes the reader being touched without consent by Rumlow. (Ass slap.) I've been trying to portray the readers captivity very realistically, with fear, horror, and realism. I apologize if anyone is uncomfortable. Please Comment and be kind!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

You found comfort in talking to the Soldier. You realised you may have started to go insane, with all that silence. It wasn’t like he was suddenly chatty, but it still helped to know there was someone else there. Even his small grunts of reply were enough to keep you going.

You doubted he had much of a clue about what you were talking about, but he was always listening. 

After the first batch of rats died from the deterioration in their bodies- so bad they could no longer drag themselves to their food bowls- you started working on a new batch. Then one after that. The cycle continued until, slowly, the rats started surviving. Some were even thriving. Good as new. It was hard to marvel at your own discoveries when you knew the human trial was coming. 

Specifically, on Him.

Your captors believed the tests had gone on long enough and they were ready to begin the real test. You weren't so sure. But it wasn’t your decision to make. Nor was it His.

With a loaded syringe, you stepped up to your charge. His gaze was cold and cloudy, set somewhere through you. You held your hand out for his arm. He gave it to you. With everything prepped, you pressed the needle into his vein. “I need you to tell me everything you feel.” You whispered, injecting him finally. “Headache, muscle aches, blurry vision, anything.” You insisted, withdrawing the needle.

Pierce and a handful of other men stood over your shoulder, watching intently. Your heart thundered in your ears, blood rushing to your head. This could be a death sentence for you both. You stood before the Soldier, tasting iron from where you’d chewed into your cheek. You repeated silent prayers in your mind.

He sat there, staring at his arm. He flexed his hand and pulled it into a fist. You wished you could read his mind. “Oh- make sure to move your arm, get the blood flow going.” You blurted, almost forgetting the most basic step.

He lifted his arm over his head and rotated it. His bicep bulged, flexing then releasing. “I feel fine.”

You released a deep sigh of relief. At least you didn't burn a hole through him with acid. Your relief was short lived when a quick slap smacked against your ass. 

Your spine went straight, tight as a bow string.

“Nice job sweetheart, you didn’t kill the beast.” A man you had come to know as Rumlow, said.

Your wide eyes stared straight across the room, and suddenly an entirely new type of fear hit you. Previously this was a matter of life and death. Alive or dead. Breathing, or a bullet to the brain.

But that split second cracked open a whole new type of hunt. You were a rabbit in a den of wolves. 

A woman surrounded by men. 

You swallowed, your arms holding your notebook tight to your chest, so tight you almost couldn’t breathe. You could hear the voices around you, and knew something was happening. You knew they were talking to you, about you, but you couldn’t hear it. 

You felt the heavy weight of the Soldier's dark gaze. You slowly made eye contact with him. For a moment, you questioned how safe you were alone with him, all those times. You tried to push it away. You needed to have something, someone, anything you could trust. At least rely on.

You needed him to be good.

You felt that primal fear of him wash away when you finally noticed the crinkle of his nose. He was disgusted. Distant and helpless, but disgusted. Though he was always a little tortured, so that didn’t make much of a difference. But you could see it. The moment that slap echoed through the room, his eyes were on you. 

Maybe you were just looking for something in his expression. Something familiar and understanding. Maybe you were projecting, because in all reality, you were alone.

You felt so deeply vulnerable it terrified you. 

“I’ll need to monitor him through the night.” You whispered. 

Pierce leaned in, “speak up, but some bass in your voice.” He laughed.

“I’ll need to monitor his progress through the night, in case anything happens.”

“Yeah, I know. Pull up a chair, he’s not going anywhere.”

He didn’t leave? This is where he slept? You stared at the bench he always sat on, your cheeks warming in a deep flustered anger. God, how low could they treat him?

You blinked through exhaustion. It had been hours since the rest of the men left- except for your constant guards. You were working, you knew you were working, but you were exhausted. You didn’t think you could take much more of this. 

The soldier’s arm twitched. Your eyes snapped open. “You okay?”

The man grunted, flexing his fingers. 

You stood. “What is it? Does it hurt? Can you move? You need to move your arm- the blood flow-”

Your own panic was setting in. If he died, so did you. No, if he died, they wouldn’t kill you- they would torture you. They would make you live in a suspended reality of agony. You would never see your family again. Never see your home, your cats, your friends. Your life would end in the low lighting of a modern dungeon. The last thing you would ever know would be pain.

“It’s cold.”

“Cold.”

He nodded.

You blinked. Cold. Cold? “Okay, okay, it's probably just the serum flooding your system. I didn’t warm it.” You muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “No, that’s stupid. I injected you hours ago. I can’t be stupid right now. Okay,�� you settled your hands on your hips. “I’m gonna start poking you again.”

You started with electromyography. You inserted thin needles into the muscles of his arm, connected to electrodes. After a bout of test moving and flexing, you began recording the electrical activity from the muscle. “This is called electrodiagnostic testing. It helps identify muscular disease. I should have told you the first time around, sorry about that.” You muttered, gently lifting his arm  and bending it for him. 

“You see, the electromagnetic pulses are showing me your muscles ability to respond when the nerves are stimulated. Pretty cool right?” You explained, gesturing to the computer monitor where waves and flat lines were displayed. 

“Once you are still, the lines should go flat. If they don’t, then we have a problem.” You gestured for him to let his arm rest. You watched with bated breath, waiting for the lines to freeze. 

“I used to think electromagnetic pulses were like magic. When I first started studying them, I realized how incredible they could be. I knew a doctor once that used them on ants. Stimulate the right nerve and they're doing whatever you…” 

Wait.

You watched the screen.

You looked back at your charge.

His arm.

His body.

His hopelessly blue eyes. 

The brain.

The. Brain.

You stood straight, your lips pressed together, as if silencing the words that wanted to slip free. You slowly stood, your body moving like a rusted machine as you moved behind the Soldier. He turned his head to watch you, then looked back forward assuming you were just continuing your study.

You brushed his hair aside, moving from the base of his neck to the crown of his head. 

It was there. 

Several of them, actually.

Small, thin, curved scars, carved into his scalp. They looked old, long healed. Your lips parted in shock.

You didn’t think it was possible, but it made perfect sense. They had been operating on the man for years, it seemed. They were experimenting on his brain. Electromagnetic pulses to several homes of the brain, ones that controlled impulse, movement, memory, speech.

With the right mental conditioning, and the right place to poke, they could make him do anything. 

He wasn’t just a blind soldier. He was an actual shell of a person, trapped inside his own body. 

You stumbled back, slamming into a cart of machine parts. You shook, trying to stabilise yourself. This was so much worse than you thought. These people were so much worse than you thought. They had mastered the art of taking over the human mind. 

They’d tortured this man and bent him in ways you couldn't fathom. 

There was no reality in which they would let you go home after this. After what you knew, before and after this discovery. You’d ignored the signs, in a vein of hope. But you had seen their faces, all their faces. They had told you too much about this man that no one in the modern world had known about.

They were going to kill you no matter what you did. 

And that realization nearly broke you. 

You collapsed to the floor and sobbed.

A/N: This story is full full fulllll of angst, and will continue to be that way for a while. Please enjoy!

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination

[montybooks]

Hiii

first of all I wanted to thank you for your AMAZING Light headcanons! I really like how you characterised reader :).

I've recently got into death note and I wanted to ask if you could do similar headcanons with L ? (Im not rlly far into the story so pls no major spoilers)

Some headcanons! Eat my child eat it up!!!

⸻

🍰 L Lawliet x Shy, Quiet, Weird/Freaky!Reader Headcanons

(I kept it similar to the light headcanons in a way! Especially how reader is characterised!)

⸻

1. First Impressions:

• L is instantly drawn to you because you’re one of the few people in the room who isn’t trying to hide how strange you are. You just… exist in your own weird little bubble, and that makes you fascinating.

• You say something odd during a group conversation—like comparing people to moths or muttering about how blood looks under a microscope—and he zeroes in on you.

• You don’t try to impress him, and that alone makes him want to know more.

⸻

2. A Connection Beyond Words:

• Your quietness doesn’t put him off. L finds comfort in silence. In fact, some of your best “conversations” are just long periods of shared space—him working, you doing your thing beside him.

• When you do speak, it’s either unsettlingly insightful or deeply strange. He loves the unpredictability of it.

• “Do you think ghosts ever get tired of haunting the same place?” you ask once, eyes on the ceiling. L doesn’t even blink—he gives you a ten-minute theory on ghost fatigue.

⸻

3. Your Weirdness Matches His:

• You once gave him a gift that made most people uncomfortable: a perfectly preserved animal bone or a poem that read more like a curse. L thought it was “wonderfully unique.”

• You’re both emotionally strange. You’re not outwardly affectionate, and neither is he, but you understand each other—a glance, a shift in posture, a shared look is enough.

• He watches you when you’re doing something odd, like talking to a plant or sketching morbid doodles, and you catch him smiling with his eyes.

⸻

4. Daily Life Together:

• You get him weird snacks he didn’t know he needed. “Try this; it tastes like depression and sugar.” He’s obsessed.

• He lets you sit on the floor with him, knees tucked up, eating sweets and talking about existential fears like they’re casual weather updates.

• When you’re anxious or overstimulated, he doesn’t press you. He offers you quiet, a hoodie, and a gentle pat on the head with a ���There, there,” like a cat.

⸻

5. His Possessive Side:

• L doesn’t do jealousy in a traditional sense. He just watches very closely when someone else talks to you—analyzing everything about their intentions, behavior, and risk level.

• If someone flirts with you, L doesn’t confront them. They just find their secrets mysteriously exposed on a public database days later.

• He never outright says “you’re mine,” but he’ll drop a spoonful of cake into your mouth while staring someone else in the eye.

⸻

6. Emotional Vulnerability:

• You’re one of the few people who can get L to sleep—because he only sleeps when you’re nearby. It’s a trust thing.

• You once found him awake at 4 a.m., sitting in the dark, overthinking a case. You simply sat beside him and said, “It’s okay to be a person sometimes.”

• That moment? Core memory. He talks about it once in a rare emotional slip: “You said something once. I think it saved me.”

⸻

7. You Notice Things Others Don’t:

• You’re observant in a weird way. You once asked, “Why do you look sad even when you smile with your eyes?” and he stopped typing.

• You pick up on his burnout, his loneliness, the way he avoids touch like it might hurt. You don’t try to fix it—you just exist beside it, and that’s more healing than he expects.

⸻

8. Freaky-Soulmate Vibes:

• You both say things at the same time sometimes, usually something grim or bizarre, and just accept it without comment.

• Your love language is weird comfort: bringing him something unsettling that made you think of him, or drawing creepy doodles on his notebooks.

• You once asked, “If you had a Death Note, would you tell me?” He replied, “Only if I was sure you wouldn’t turn me in… or take it for yourself.” Neither of you broke eye contact for five seconds straight.

⸻

9. Physical Affection (When It Happens):

• L isn’t great at physical affection, but he allows you to lean on him, braid his hair absentmindedly, or rest your head on his shoulder while he types.

• You touch him like he’s fragile porcelain, which unnerves him at first… until he realizes how safe it feels.

• Sometimes you fall asleep with your arms around his waist while he’s still crouched at the computer. He doesn’t move for hours.

⸻

10. If You Ever Left Him:

• He wouldn’t beg. He’d just… watch you go. And then lose interest in everything else for days. Weeks, maybe.

• You’d get strange messages in your inbox—photos of cats, an old inside joke, maybe a cryptic puzzle only you could solve.

• He wouldn’t let go emotionally. He’d carry the idea of you like a ghost—his favorite haunting.

⸻

I made sure no spoilers were in here!!! Hope you looooove this one!

[raointean]

Funniest responses* to the "What does "Blorbo" mean?" question

(In reference to my silmarillion fandom linguistics project, the results of which you can find in my "survey says" tag)

*not necessarily the full response, some are just fragments from longer responses. Also, I'm not filtering by "correct" or "incorrect" responses

Special Little Guy (gender neutral)

Lmao. That's like, my special little guy. He takes up my brain space. I'm rotating him.

you know how lilo from lilo and stitch has that doll she made, complete with backstory? basically like that

one's blorbo is a character one cares a lot about. it kind of has like... condescending or woobifying connotations? like expressing that Maedhros is your blorbo is sort of uh... one imagines like, a chibi Maedhros. cute, not scary. but it doesn't necessarily imply the speaker has distorted perception of the character in general, just a sort of fondness

The character a person wants to use as a doll/stuffed animal

A character who the author loves too much (and knows it)

"OMG Blorbo was in the new trailer for 5 seconds!" is a common statement

which often provokes... strange thoughts at 11pm.

Beloved character who you think about entirely too much and also enjoy putting in Situations

It implies some degress of being pathetic as well.

No relation to Blorbo Baggins.

The character you put under a microscope, put through the cheese grater, put into the salad spinner, and squeeze like a plushie.

A beloved character whom you want to both stick in a microwave and protect with all you have

character one fangirls* over (*gender neutral)

Just a little guy, whom I am deeply enamored of and just want to squish on the head and see what happens.

Favourive character, often pathetic, someone to pity as much as love

obsessed. baby. Will run my mouth off about them

the word "favorite" wasn't enough to encapsulate "the exact kind of character made specifically for me in the lab" either. my friendgroup started calling those types of characters "callouts" because they were calling you out by existing Exactly To Your Tastes

(not necessarily in a way that condones their actions, but deeply beloved nonetheless)

The "cinnamon roll" kind. Idk I love Namo but I'd never call him a blorbo, it just wouldn't feel right.

??

dear?

My personal favourite character, whom I want to adopt even if he's a dark lord

A particularly beloved (or beloathed-in-a-positive-way) character.

Generally seem to be problematic favs.

I think it was originally meant to be somewhat mocking, but it was wholeheartedly adopted and is now used unironically.

A favored character that usually is subjected to great amounts of trauma and or fluff.

A favourite character, usually male

The obsession character

Feanor/character you are unreasonably attached to esp. if they are a Bad Person TM

The character who is most special and beloved to you (and often that means you're gonna put them through The Horrors)

a character that makes you chew on the bars of your enclosure

Special little character from my shows(tm)

usually having an aura of kicked wet puppy (brimby)

You'd build a shrine to them

Idk, ask the children 😹. Er. Hot character you like? I'm sure people have very complex definitions explaining why they like the hot character but I don't take fandom that seriously.

Your guy (gender neutral), not a comfort character, but perhaps a character you would like to see experience the worst situations possible (affectionate)

occasionally blorbo from my floor (my cat)

Just a widdle pathetic guy 🥺😈

A favourite character, thuogh usually one you squash like a stress ball or squeaky toy rather than put gently on a shelf

Ungoliant

Guy (gender neutral) who I hold in my hand like a neat rock and look at

character whom i will put in a glass and shake

character you are putting in the metaphorical salad spinner

A favourite character, often a war criminal treated like they did nothing wrong, they are a little kitty

(character you're particularly attached to and usually put in physically and/or mentally torturous situations for fun)

A character you’ve imprinted on and like seeing in misery. They’re your wet cat you enjoy pouring water on but also toweling off

Your favorite character, to whom no harm may come (except in the service of angst)

my guy. my friend my buddy. the person

Literally your favourite ever character, but not like you want to f*ck them, more like "how much can i let them suffer?"

Your favouritest character from media that you like to put in all kinds of situations, but is not morally problematic.

favourite character you want to bully

a fictional character that you like to an obsessive amount, typically more than other favourite characters; your specialist little guy; someone you are unwell about; you don’t always have to like your blorbo per day but they must take up constant thought space

[stuck-writing-sickos]

Slick (yandere coworker)

ONE

[Masterlist]

T/w: suggestive, violence, gore

So you got jokes, don't you now?

You notice my keen interest, and it makes you nervous. I'm sorry to see your darting eyes searching for an escape whenever I approach you, but that is all I will be sorry for. You see, I don't care if you find me off-putting: I like to see whichever way you react.

I have drifted through a couple of countries. I assume so have you. Cultures may vary, but under laws, social etiquettes, cuisine and fashion, we all aren't so different. We eat and sleep. We feel good when we get what we want, and we feel bad if we don't. And since not everyone is aware of how similar we are, most of us like people who agree with us a little (or sometimes, unfortunately, a lot) more than the rest. You would assume I am a cynic, but I in fact celebrate this persistent likeness among us all. I think it is humanity. Wouldn't you agree?

And what I rejoice in even more so is the effort that we put into controlling these primal instincts. Self control - a rare and remarkable virtue. You work hard on it: punctual, courteous, and moderate on all front. I like to see it, the way you resist your emotions at any given point to upkeep this image. What minotaur are you keeping away in this intricate prison you have built? Let me in.

You see, I don't want to sleep with you. Sure... it would be nice, but that isn't my end-goal at all. If I were to, it would have been out of morbid curiosity. I want more than sex. I need to know you like an autopsy. I want to cut you open, peeling through your skin, cutting through your muscles, and opening you up to take a look at the way your organs are arranged. I will be precise, I promise, in both slicing you open and sealing you back up. All I want to do is look.

With how wary you are around me, I didn't expect for you to say yes to dinner. Maybe you were sick of eating alone, or maybe you just felt rude not to. Either way, I could tell that whichever reasons compelled you, it wasn't about me at all. No matter.

Again, this isn't about you.

You courteously ordered the mid-range price item. I asked if you were sure. You said you liked that dish. Do you, now? I didn't correct you. You refused wine, even when you were not driving home. You didn't think I would notice you coming in from an Uber, did you? I pretended not to see you coming in - you're not the sole clever one between us. I didn't push it anyhow. I liked what I was seeing: you were cautious and observant, safe under you soft-spoken exterior.

You asked me questions. You wanted to know where I grew up, if I had any siblings, how college was for me,... so on and so forth. You didn't answer any of mine - not really. I got a little antsy, I admit. Not every day do I see someone not keen on talking about themselves.

So you got my history and I got that you grew up "pretty far from here", that your hometown was "quaint but charming", that you went to college for "a degree you "aren't even practicing right now". Funny. You got jokes, don't you? You gave me a little taste of my own medicine. I felt as if we were trying to meet eyes through our own microscopes.

I didn't push you to open up. I thought entertaining your questions would loosen your guard eventually, but you were committed to your fortress. Fine... all good. I could still watch the way you move, precise and gentle as you maneuver around the table with candles, empty glasses and flower vase. You were too smooth, as if holding back a force. It was as if I was looking at a pressure cooker. This level of management implied, at least - from my humble opinion - a boiling chaos from underneath. After all, equilibrium can only be attained by equal forces.

You kept yourself so effortlessly mysterious, it made me wonder why you would even go on this date with me. I bumbled my way through the food and dessert, antsy and eager to see a crack on your mask to no use. I suppose you got into my head... not the other way around. Still, you kept me going - your elusiveness thrilled me.

As I said, I like anomalies.

You got me so good, that by the end of the night past all the talking and electricity, my confidence took such a hit that I offered to drive you home with my tail between my legs. I would love to say I was taking it slow, that I was enjoying the process of solving the puzzle that you were, but truth is I was ashamed of myself. You didn't unravel the way I hoped you would, and I protected myself with the conviction that you were a robot, and that I wasn't that interested in your process after all.

So you could imagine the surprise when you tilted your head with the most deviously clueless look and said "really? I didn't think I was going home."

[si-nemo-me-reminiscetur]

either 18 or 21 for the dearest most darling-est Ginger Snaps

26 for Chameron

(Meeks voice) Yes, sir! <3

Answers to this ask game, everyone feel free to send me more!

Content Warnings: implied self harm [ginger snaps] | blood, stabbing (metaphor) [chameron]

18 — ginger snaps; kissing for encouragement

Steven watched Cam carefully, how with trembling hands he snapped open the violin case and looked at the instrument for a moment. The cave wasn't a stage, was not music class, but it also wasn't the privacy of their dorms, the common room even. It was something open and cool even near summer.

The others were talking, waiting, joking. Their voices muddled together to a current that ran right past Cam's silence. The motion of taking the violin out of its case had something eager.

"You can do this", Steven said, his hands repeating, mirroring the words. "I know you."

"Well, maybe know me a little less." There was a laugh in Cam's voice. "I'm doing this for you and Pitts, not myself."

"I don't believe that." Steven watched Cam inspect the bow, retune the strings—as if he'd ever let them sound anything but perfect—and place the violin under his chin. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to show off at least a little."

Cam laughed again and Steven grinned up at him. With a sigh Cam put down the violin again, not ready yet, waiting. He didn't call out for attention, a habit Steven tried to break for him. Middling success.

He took the empty hand—Cam's music rested in the other one—and kissed his knuckles. The skin dry and almost split open. Another bad habit, hot water over shaking hands. He kissed him again, felt the trembling fade, felt callouses on Cam's fingers. Music had left his skin blemished, but it was just a testament to his devotion.

"Good luck, maestro."

"I don't need luck", Cam said, leaned down for a kiss. Daring or bold or just careless to display his pride like that, but if this boy had something to be proud of, it was his music. "I have you."

Steven kissed him back.

26 — chameron; kissing as an apology

Charlie Dalton would consider himself rude for never saying thank you or please or I'm sorry, but most people didn't deserve these words anyway.

He had no one to thank for in life but himself.

No one to ask for something.

No one to apologize to.

Or so he had thought.

Cameron had carefully shaken him awake every day for the past week, no words spoken, just two taps on his shoulder, shaking, a step back to see if it worked. It had, every time. As if Charlie's body was just waiting for the signal, the impact of gentle kindness.

He didn't deserve it, but Cameron didn't understand these things. He didn't get the rage Charlie felt, he just had to suffer it.

No more.

It had been enough suffering on both sides, no words spoken, only a gentle touch and Cameron folding the laundry and Charlie making both their beds whenever he could. The cold smell of smoke hadn't left in what felt like years.

Charlie didn't remember how they had found themselves staring out at the lake, but it didn't matter. He apologized with a fire in his voice that had been smoldering for years and Cameron thanked him with a voice that came from the bottom of the ocean.

"We're going to regret this", Charlie said. He wouldn't, he just said it. Because he knew Cameron would, Cameron was someone driven by his heart and looming shadows (shame, guilt, fear).

"I don't believe you." Cameron turned to him, his chest exposed and the knife already stuck there. Charlie carefully put one hand next to the wound. This is going to hurt us both.

He pulled ... him closer. The kiss should have tasted like ash or salt or something rotten, but Cam's lips were sweet and coppery, addictive.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. The words had to be transferred heart to mouth to mouth to heart, they weren't the same when spoken aloud.

"Thank you", Charlie said in the microscopic space between their lips, his breath caught somewhere distant. Choking on something. Blood perhaps.

"I'm sorry", Cameron whispered before Charlie finished speaking as if they've reversed their roles, an exchange happened unknown, unwilling, unwanted.

Then the fire came back to Charlie, something warm not scorching this time. Cameron must have understood this, right? He was the only person Charlie had ever had to apologize to, properly.

He kissed him again. And Cameron allowed it, open chest, heart, sky.

[dirtbra1n]

hello db dirtbra1n stains4ge, in front of you are two keys. both unlock a box containing a concept. you have no choice in which key is used, you just the sensation of turning one, unlocking the box. it opens wide. inside is a letter the size of a fingertip that when put under a microscope reads as follows:

Heyyyy I'm on a roll with asks this week it seems. how peculiar. anyways a post in the sasamiya tag has me thinking. in the adult au, the choice to have miyano be big on alcohol is pretty interesting. I wonder about how that habit grew into how it is when we see him first. it's not the most out there trait for him honestly, he has the vibe of someone who you could get a drink and chill with. he already has a penchant for anything not sweet and there are plenty of drinks that give him just that. but I also wonder on the more... psychological end of things. what made it a preferred habit for him. one thing i could think of is that it could have stemmed from drinking being a common social vice, and a traditionally masculine one at that. but really it could be anything. anything at all. I need to reread the working adults au. goodbye [throws smoke bomb] [chokes and coughs] [dies on the spot]

I really like the microscope letter trick malt. forces me to practice being good at the things. also I’m sorry I’m a few days late I was actually rereading working adults au earlier and focused on this specific page for reasons that don’t matter* Look at miyano’s shirt he probably got as merch from an izakaya

have actually been thinking about boozehound miyano since last week For reasons I’m sure we can all. probably guess at. it’s a trait I like a lot it makes perfect sense to me. mister boozey chocolate enjoyer

drinking with him would probably be so fun for real. he puts his back into his commitment to it. Anyway though malt I think you’re pretty much right on the money on all fronts. he likes the taste of booze, with his being #employed drinking is a super common after-work pastime and bonding opportunity for coworkers, he totally gets an extra boost off the masculinity of it Like it’s really just something he was destined for I feel like. buying his first drink was probably something he was counting down the days til his 20th birthday for and I’d BET you he probably went out with his parents for it

I think I’ve seen a few people worried about the implications of his #ALCOHOLISM Which I . like it makes sense I can’t really be 🤯 about it but also I think it’s fine. history of addiction in my family aside it’s like Well sometimes people just really like things that are technically objectively bad for them. I’m happy for miyano in that he’ll definitely start looking older when his kidney starts beating his ass. if booze and BL are miyano’s adult vices then I support him #MYFRIENDMIYANO

so many goddamn issues, this guy has

that said if you think up some for real psychological reasons for it you know I wanna hear them. I always like to hear what you’ve got for me malt Now I’m gonna crouch next to your corpse and lightly slap your face until you stop being dead. Love you

[therealslimstrider]

I'm pondering on the concept of "as above, so below" in relation to personal strengths and weaknesses - usually they are two sides of the same coin.

Someone incredibly passionate and ambitious about their work will often come off as distracted to their loved ones at times. Someone who is pensive will often come off as aloof, or maybe a wallflower. Someone who puts everything they have into taking care of others will often have difficulty asserting personal boundaries. Someone who is quick to anger could, under the right point of view, be seen as endearing for that very trait. Someone who is caring and attentive could be considered smothering at times.

I spent a decent chunk of my 20s attempting to methodically snuff out every single flaw I am personally aware of, which is all of them, all of the time. I have a flat affect and am usually distracted and struggle with conversation, which sometimes presents the image of me being uncaring, or just extremely fucking awkward. I am so self-obsessed and my head is so far up my ass. I take myself way too seriously, and I find the energy expended to remediate this not worth the side effects of being even more neurotic and compulsive in the process of putting myself under an even stronger microscope. This is an eternal zero sum game. I can only net neutral. I want nothing less than the very best possible life for those around me, but this compulsion is rooted in my obsession of control. Or is my obsession of control rooted in the love for those around me? It's impossible to give a finite answer to this, and stupid to try.

I also spent my 20s actively looking for a partner. I fucking hate being alone. I don't care if I can be perfectly happy without a partner - the need for someone in my life to become mutually completely obsessed with has been my deepest darkest passion since I was old enough to have those. And I got those pretty early.

I had been through so many fruitless repetitive at best - downright humiliating and mental breakdown inducing at other times - conversations and gone so long without any follow through. I had grown distant from my family for a couple of years, isolated by the shame of never being in control of my flaws enough to avoid arguments or silent treatment or downright cruelty from people who I thought were my friends. From the time I woke up to the time I cried myself to sleep, I was under prey animal levels of stress. And I genuinely believed every second of it was my fault for not doing better. How could I tell my family I'm a complete fuckup who makes his friends miserable?

I don't think I was a perfect friend, and I freely admit I needed more self-awareness and tact at the time. But, without sharing details, I let myself get treated like fucking dogshit because it was easier than six hour arguments and being left out.

It just one day... I guess clicked in my brain like hey. This doesn't happen to me when I talk to Dave, or Jane, or anyone. I can just talk to them. Any time I'd make a misstep, I would break the fuck down. I would freak out.

And it'd be fine. Not even that they had made this grand effort to forgive me - it just didn't faze them.

And John... I never thought I'd meet the Prince Charming of my dreams. I have a very vivid imagination and very particular tastes. I am high maintenance. I'm possessive, and surrounded by equally possessive splinters. I'm cranky most of the day.

It's nothing to him. It's like at worst I bumped his shoulder. He doesn't even care. And believe me, I've interrogated him thoroughly. He makes it so fucking easy to feel loved, that for the first several months it terrified me. I kept waiting for that to fade, or for him to stop asking to come over, or to set me down like hey, we need to have a serious talk. But it's just been day after day of both of us being ourselves, exactly as we are comfortable being - but together. It just works.

Clawing my way out of that spiral back into having confidence took so much out of me. I'll be god mother fucking damned if I lose that spark again.

[giselberts]

ok so i don't think my fic of nima will ever see the light of day so i'll just. write my thoughts on her/her story here.

she's a bit fucked up from middle child syndrome. her ex-gf (imogene) only cared about The Grind™. she goes to argos extractions after quitting her wonderfully paid ryujin job and LOVES it because for once she gets to see that her work is real!! sure it's rocks and dust but she can hold the rocks. she can chuck them at heller. she can't chuck numbers on a spreadsheet at ularu's head.

constellation is the best of both worlds to her because she gets to use her brain to help sarah and walter with the boring paperwork side of constellation and she gets to be in space and throw space rocks at whatever companion is crazy enough to go with her. she gets to see the world beyond neon and the stupid neons (haha) of her office and it's like letting a dog go off leash. she gets to be a lil weird with andreja. she gets to be a foodie with barrett because she quit smoking and her taste buds are revived once more. walter lets her put on her space linkedin that she works for him for a made-up position that makes her look really important.

and then uh. the hunter gets barrett. just when they were about to start acknowledging that they're a bit more than work friends even if he's like that about dating again. then she gets a bit unhinged. she goes from universe to universe trying to find The One universe where all is great and good and no one is dead and maybe even her parents aren't complete dicks to her.

by the time she finds that universe she's even more a bit unhinged but it's fine it makes her even hotter. she brings a binder full of notes on how to avoid every Bad Thing that could happen to constellation and it WORKS. they're bewildered because the scary lady with the fuckass bob who's still wiping blood off her space suit and boots knows everything about them but she knows something about these artifacts they found so! they can keep her. it's fine. it's all fine. barrett finds it a bit scary that she knows a lot about him but that just makes him want to study her under a microscope. and also it's kind of hot to have a scary lady like her be so into him, who spent a lifetime hopping from universe across universe just to find the one universe where he's alive. that's dedication and committment right there.

anyways nima al-fada the absolute icon that you are. nima pics under the cut because i love her

[naerwenia]

Nemesis, The Ultimate Weapon - Nemesis x reader, part 3

I just wanted to write Nemesis smut, but man, here we are, crawling towards the day I understand that I have to start with the smut if I ever want to get there.

Resident Evil Nemesis x female reader

Wordcount ~1100 words

I've been overthinking this so much, so this chapter is more of a "let me write few nice scenes".

Part 1 & Part 2

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

Nemesis became more angry and erratic during the weeks after he was brought back after the first full mission, not only for the weird limbo he was put in, not quite stored away like a weapon, yet not a soldier living in a barrack with other soldiers. After healing from his wounds, Nemesis was intermittently kept between stasis and research, which included training. As a success, he was put under a microscope with a group of scientists trying to see if it was better to keep him in stasis between use, or was it better to try and keep him conscious, training and ready. 

Yet, while his biological functions and muscle mass were healthy and even improving, his behaviour was mercurial. There were times the tyrant behaved like a machine, perfectly executing every order given to it by marked superiors, only following the instructions given that day and stopping when ordered to, yet he was still flawed. The files kept piling on the rage the T-Type showed and how doctors failed to stop it or even temper the effects the rage inflicted on the tyrant. Every step out of line was followed by the facility putting Nemesis T-type in stasis for an analysis on the error, but there were no patterns to be found on the reports or biological graphs measuring vitals, muscle growth, the infection from the parasite, and brain activity. 

While in stasis, Nemesis’ mind wandered. It played over memories, heard roses’ smell, felt sounds of laughter, tasted the touch of another, and dreamed of something unexplainable. A sound that almost reached him, a warmth that was separated by a thin glass, but Nemesis felt like there were miles between him and the sound. The warmth was different from what he had felt before. Flames had seared him, burnt the restricting cloth to his skin. It didn’t hurt per se, but compared to the voice, flames felt like thousand spears impaling him, tasted like rubber and rotten onions. Still, he would step through those flames to feel the distant voice touch his face again. He tried reaching out, trying to lift his hand to reach out, tried moving to reach the voice, but could not. So he let the dream come to him, a warm voice sang to him, his skin heating up as a brush of soft touch caressed his scars, both old and new, and the song wrapped him, covering the hurt, healing him. For once, Nemesis felt he could relax his muscles, suddenly noticing how light his arms could be. A deep breath squeezed past his teeth, a flash of peace filled his mind, and as soon as the breath left his mouth, the crushing weight of reality pushed him back to his body and made him aware it was nothing but a hallucination, unreal, fabricated moment. It just got worse when his mind replayed the memory of the girl calling his name and how he immediately lost her. She was real, he knew it, and she was taken from him. The moment of respite and peace was taken away from them, replaced by constant pain and anger, feeding his wrath.

A brain scan revealed the dreams to a lab assistant, first fascinated by the intensity of the brain activity, rushing to write down what he saw, only to stop soon, as his mind found a troubling thought in the fact he tried to write about the dreams of a weapon. A dreaming weapon, B.O.W with vivid dreams no one knew of, and no one could ask as Nemesis’ facial structure prevented complex speech. The experiment had higher thought, he was able to solve problems and adapt to situations when on a mission, but Nemesis was still just an experiment, subject of the nemesis alpha parasite and intricate gene manipulation, yet the scene in front of him reminded him more of a cuttlefish dreaming. The fMRI changed colours and Nemesis’ skin seemed to slightly pulse, like the tyrant was trying to move in its sleep. The assistant had to remind himself the BOW was self-aware, that was part of the design, but having it clearly dreaming made it difficult for him to write a report as clinically as was expected, stopping every few sentences to choose his words deliberately. There was a part of him wondering if the tyrant was dreaming of the girl, you. 

Your presence at the facility was a sort of open secret and while no one admitted to spreading rumours, your every step was followed by a question and every breath with a wild assumption. Not a test subject, not at least yet, not a prisoner (this was not a jail but you could not leave), and not an employee. You were cared for, all your needs met both physically and mentally; food, warmth, showers and clean clothes, even people to talk to and a television to spend time with, but it was clear you were just a valuable nuisance. There was no way you could ever leave as you had seen too much, and even if you agreed to keep your mouth shut under the threat of immediate disposal if you ever uttered a word, your capability of speaking to Nemmy was valuable enough to keep you locked in your box for safekeeping and potential study when they had enough data to formulate a method for the study, when they could decide what it was that interested the men in suits.

Restless in your bed, you turned over to your other side, trying to sleep, but the fluorescent lights outside your door kept flickering, interrupting the constant hum they emitted. For no particular reason, you decided to hum to yourself, finding a tune from your youth you had almost forgotten. The tune comforted you, wrapped you in a warm embrace while hoping Nemmie would hear the song too, feel the song like you felt.

There was a certain charm to being the princess locked away in a tower, but there was no way you would stay here any longer than the day your voice could reach your prince. Your submission was to be earned, and you had played your part long enough to know agreeing to everything was not going to earn you an escape or even a life inside that was good enough to find interesting or fulfilling in any way. The thought of death from a gunshot was always on your mind, every corner here was guarded by trained military, but it would be preferable to existing as a decorative sword stored away in a locker. There was a way out, and you could see it; it just needed a call.

And as you closed your eyes, Nemesis opened his.

[encyclopika]

Hey there! I saw where you were answering questions about careers in marine biology. I recently had to put a hold on obtaining my vet tech degree due to the externship wearing me down, both mentally and physically. It has left me in a state of depression because I really did enjoy the work and was passionate about it! But my body could not keep up due to my illness. I say all this to ask: Are there any careers in marine biology that aren't too physically demanding? I've been passionate about ocean conservation and research since I was a child, and the idea of working at an aquarium as an aquarist or an exhibit interpretor has been on my mind recently. But I've heard some people say that even getting a job at an aquarium is difficult and even unlikely. So, I would like to hear the opinion of someone that is actually in the field before I have to toss yet another dream away! And thanks in advance, I know this was a lot hehe

Hey, no problem at all. For the short answer, yes there definitely are jobs in marine bio that are less physically demanding! I would say that an educator at an aquarium isn't too demanding. I don't want to assume what your abilities are, but when I worked at my local aquarium, it was a lot of standing and walking around, however, i don't see why you couldn't be accommodated. I mean, plenty of retired folks get into doing that. An aquarist might fit you well if you were going to be a vet!

I'm fairly able-bodied, so I can't assume what you would need. I will say that at-sea work is extremely grueling and demanding. That is unfortunately where the animals are, though. I'm actually at sea right now in the middle of the North Atlantic winter and we expect to get pretty bumpy and rolly in a few days. Just the safety training is intense to get out here.

However, one of my coworkers gets seasick so bad, nothing can cure her, so she doesn't ever come out. Instead, she's the head of our local seafood program. Most of what she does is at her desk, making phone calls, and coordinating seafood tasting events and coming up with new promotional ideas. So, yes, it's totally possible. Most of my job is at a desk reading and writing, too. Last time I was at sea was in November.

Lots of labs have extensive work looking under microscopes at algae and zooplankton (very cool and groundbreaking stuff). And still, I have a friend that works for our state environmental department - she handles fishing permits and other leadership duties in her role.

So all that to say - yes! I wonder if your background in being a vet tech could help put you on course for marine animal disease research? Marine parasites is definitely a field of study. I think it's very possible for you to find a niche in this field that will fit your interests and needs. 😀

[smokescreenstuff]

Sharing this because I got the urge to write. It's not really an AU, but I guess I could make it one it you guys wanted.

Smokescreen woke up with a pain in his chest which quickly faded. Pushing himself off the ground he looked around. A pyramid, more accurately, the inside of one. He had been hit by Megatron's new weapon, the Dark Saber.

He looks down at himself, the Phase Shifter on his wrist, that must have been how he survived. Dirt and grime all over him, he'll have to wash up later. A big slash mark across his chest and shoulders, tinted slightly purple. He didn't know why, but he felt like he needed to hide it.

Smokescreen picks up dirt from the ground and smears it on the wound, wincing in pain. Maybe that wasn't the best idea.

He slips out of the pyramid and sees Optimus fighting Megatron.

…

Smokescreen walks into base, surprising everyone that he was still alive. Even Arcee seemed somewhat glad that he hadn't been reduced to dust. Bulkhead attempts to strike up a conversation but he's interrupted when Arcee asks a question.

“How did you survive?”

Smokescreen chuckles, “I may have borrowed the Phase Shifter…”

Smokescreen knew he was going to be scolded for taking it, but he didn't care. It kept him alive. Ratchet opens his mouth to scold Smokescreen, but the look on his face makes Ratchet stop.

“Smokescreen, I'd like to give you a checkup,” Ratchet states as he starts walking to the med-bay.

Smokescreen follows close behind.

…

Once in the med-bay he sits down on a medical bed. Before Ratchet can tell him to do anything he takes a nearby rag and cleans up the dirt he rubbed on his wound.

Ratchet immediately moves closer to inspect it, growing worried as he notices the purple tint. He takes a sample and puts it under a microscope. After a while he starts trying to mix up some kind of concoction.

“Uhh… Ratchet, what are you doing?” Smokescreen is very confused.

“I'm making a medication to help fight the dark energon,” Ratchet doesn't look up from what he's doing.

Smokescreen looks down at his wound. He knew deep down why Ratchet was doing that. The wound was created by a weapon of dark energon, an infection of some kind would be expected, but that didn't stop Smokescreen from freaking out internally.

…

Ratchet handed Smokescreen a cup a few hours later. He takes a drink and starts coughing, it tastes horrible.

“It's bad,” Smokescreen groans.

“It's medicine, it's not supposed to taste good,” Ratchet sighs, “Just tell me if you start feeling weird or something. I made extra in case you need it.”

Ratchet starts welding up Smokescreen's wounds.

…

Smokescreen wakes up in the middle of the night, a strange voice in his head. It's too quiet to make anything out, small whispers of chaos. He practically slides out of bed, forcing himself to get up. One look in the mirror sets him into panic mode, he needed to get Ratchet, now.

He runs through the halls and bursts into Ratchet's berthroom, “Ratchet!”

Ratchet barely wakes up, just enough to see what had Smokescreen all worked up. He quickly gets out of bed and drags Smokescreen into the med-bay. He forces more medicine down Smokescreen's intake, clearing up what had them both worked up. Purple optics, finally returning to a sky blue.

Ratchet spends the rest of the night making more of the medicine. They both knew fully well that the medicine only worked for a few hours at most, but they both prayed that was enough. Enough to keep the dark energon at bay… enough to keep Unicron at bay…

[iniziare]

Pick one? Oh but that is so difficult, because what I enjoy is the way you analyse character's to the finest degrees because it brings a whole new layer to interaction. You've got that depth of curiosity that ends up with you putting every character you write under the microscope and identify small nuances about them and detail the importance of them to the fundamental foundations of their character. It's fantastic. If I had to talk about a special favourite, I think I would be stuck between Kafka and Ruan Mei (much like Welt) because I love what you've done with both. With Ruan Mei its how you've established love as such a central theme to her character, understated, calm but ultimately love. And with Kafka, dear Kafka, I could not specify. I just adore how thoroughly you match my Elio, how she fits so well. How she's a lingering presence impossible to forget, I certainly suffer from this as much as the muses do.

Welt is a very greedy man, we've already established this (I jest, I jest, we all know that the real greedy one here is Aalto), though also with—— exquisite taste, if I may say so myself.

I actually still can't get over your phrasing of 'depth of curiosity', it resonates with me as much now as it did when I first read it. That, and your line of 'the importance of them to the fundamental foundations of their characters' combined sum up my brain when it comes to my muses. Because on some level it kind of sews together two big things, which is the reason, and the passion. It's not asking 'What is this?' but instead going: 'Who is this, because of this?' It's not just taking what you hear at face value, but hearing how it's said, but most importantly: why it's said. That's why I can't uproot Ruan Mei from love, and longing (and the showcase of what 'longing' can look like in an entirely different kind of person), and why I can't pull Kafka away from something... akin to a 'douleur exquise' (I can't think of a better term), this yearning that feels almost sacred because it affirms just how deeply one can feel, how deeply she can feel. I love them both wholeheartedly, they're some of the most incredible muses that I think I've ever had the honor of writing, and I'm even more humbled to be writing them alongside you. The one person who understands the type of curiosity that lives in my bones, because I think it lives in yours, too. Yes, I will absolutely compliment you in turn, Charlie, because you deserve it in more ways than one, and then another hundred times. And no, it's not just because you made me emotional reading your message to me, but because I truly think that this fandom has you at its center, firm, consistent, and so very passionate, that you inspire me (and surely many others) on the daily. You have such a mind that you extend to your muses, that they often read as if they temporarily abandoned their media, and hopped into your hands because you write them as faithfully as their original media does. You don't just read their lines of dialogue, you don't just read their character stories, or transcripts of their quests, you go beyond them— you think of what it means that they managed to get from A to Z, and if I ask you about N, you're able to tell me exactly how they got there, how B, I, and K, mesh into M, and that means that N ends up looking as it does. But if they made even the tiniest change of decision at E, then N would've looked like this entirely different thing. And when I say 'this entirely different thing', I don't just mean that you tell me 'this random thing', I mean this specific other scenario that you can tell me the details of as enthusiastically, certainly and credibly as their actual canon. And it's because your curiosity led you to understand them at their core, you understand the 'why', and you care about said 'why' so firmly, or at least it seems like you do. Welt Yang? He's a perfect example. I'm still taken aback to this day by how thoroughly well you know him, while it's not like he's a muse you've written very actively and thoroughly for so long, you know? It's so impressive that it's almost intimidating (in the best of ways). That's my favorite part of you as a writer: the fact that when I read your portrayals, that you seem to write them with the same ease as you draw breath. I know that sounds like a cop-out, surely, but it isn't. You just, you actually have a mind that I'm envious of, you know; you make writing look even more fun than it already is, somehow. You—— make me want to write more. And I don't know how that happened, but it did. And so here I am, clung to your leg like a baby panda bear, and I can't let go, and even if I could, I wouldn't want to.

This, all of this from you, is praise that I don't know how to accept, other than to say thank you, and to fire some of it back to you by saying that you're truly, truly one of my favorite writers, and minds that I've come across on Tumblr in all of my years. And I hope that I get to enjoy many more of them, with you on my dash, and in my drafts. Thank you, Charlie, this means more than you realize. Also, forgive me for the American spelling in this, I didn't actually do it on purpose. It was Kafka's fault, okay?

Prompt: One thing you like about a muse of mine. // @resolutepath

[batw1nggg]

objectively hinanami does make more sense then komahina other then the fact that like chiaki is fucking dead and i could give you my genuine and serious opinion on this matter (which is just that they are both canon. it is possible to fall in love with two people.) but i could also just explain to you that hinanami is simply too boring for my tastes. i want to see those bitches ARGUEEE i want COMPLEXITY AND NUANCE i wanna STUDY THEM UNDER A MICROSCOPE and TAKE THEM APART ORGAN BY ORGAN and PUT THEM BACK TOGETHER i want a love that is SICK and DESPERATE and PASSIONATE i want to watch them CRASH AND BURN and then make something beautiful out of the ashes. ‘hinanami works better’ YES. and thats EXACTLY why it’s not for me personally

[storkmuffin]

Oh, the 2019, Christmas VLIVE, was (in summary) a live where the members seemed to talk more openly about their friendships with one another! In fact, I would say this was the moment where the real people sort of... bled through the personas they all portray. I remember the first time I watched it, it made me feel uncomfortable. The curtain was pulled (or so it felt. Perhaps this was some elaborate ploy by KQ to form a more passionate fanbase. I don't know, and I don't find it tasteful in speculating).

It is long—one hour or so—but I'm sure there's people who have collected the "highlight reels" from that live, so to speak. Here's a link to it if you ever find the time to listen to it!

https://youtu.be/bjU8GN73ZBY?si=dK9RtM4CgS-A1iDM

I've heard through the grapevine that the live caused a lot of fans to feel really strongly. And, as a previous anon said, send hateful messages to the members—particularly Yeosang. Granted, I wasn't there to witness it as I recently (also) got into ATEEZ. I do find it curious that fans felt so strongly. If I were any smarter, I would perhaps draw comparisons between people's lived experiences and what they believe idols are going through.

Alas, I am not, haha.

Oh, and the phone call incident was when Yeosang (who was on a VLIVE with San) decided to call Mingi, and the call was "invalid." It is really funny—especially with San laughing and Yeosang trying to call back and not understanding why it wasn't going in. Of course, ATEEZ used this moment to tease both Yeosang and Mingi... but then they soon explained the situation multiple times—which I think didn't even need an explanation in the first place—thoroughly. Most likely, due to fans who took it too seriously.

Here is a link to it also. If you want to skip to that part specifically, it is around the forty-four minute mark or so.

https://youtu.be/HRUNvA4isuk?si=LJtZOEOTVweplGbE

To be honest, those two lives (well, more like the fan reaction to them) were the reason I don't try to "play with ATEEZ like dolls." People take it to heart too much, so that any fictional analysis of their personas makes people believe it is an attack on the person behind it. But their interpersonal (fictional) relationship are so, so fun to put under the microscope. Especially with the established ATEEZ world lore.

Anyhow, thank you for providing me a space to ramble about this all! Have a lovely day or night .. (⌒‐⌒)

You are a scholar!!! Thank you for sharing!!

Also, I see you with your sleight of hand:

If I were any smarter, I would perhaps draw comparisons between people's lived experiences and what they believe idols are going through.

Alas, I am not, haha.

Because of course, I'm doing this on main in public openly on the daily at this point. Yup. :D I'm looking forward to watching this X mas Live. Bless your for providing the link.