#reposting 'cause the previous one bugged

[lucdoodle]

been a while since i made a silly vid like this one

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter six: i don't need to feel the sun, let me touch your skin

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Eddie's dumbassery brings the cops to… a door. Not exactly his, though.

cw: fem masturbation mention, demonic shenanigans, mean!eddie but not to reader, murder, there are multiple minor character deaths and death mentions, gore, blood, animal death mention, eddie says ACAB, smoking, implied bullying/harassment towards reader, deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. this entire work is explicit. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Eddie steps– read: stumbles– through the dusty mirror on the back of the closet door. This house he picked is one grade A shithole, but it’ll work for his purposes.

Ohhh, he’s so fucking mad. So mad. He would have stayed with you all night. He would have been there to force you to drink some water, eat some chocolate. Now that you’ve given him a chance– now that you’ve decided you want him– he would have stayed with you until you were crying from pleasure. You’re so fucking precious when you beg, and he’s a creature of pride. And lust. And gluttony and all those other fucking sins– something about becoming a demon has made them all multiply within him. 

If he’d stayed with you, he would have taken you to pieces. Pulled you apart and molded you to his whim, given you anything you asked for and more. Maybe he’d even coax you to another orgasm in your dreams; who knows? The possibilities were literally endless. 

But he’s not there with you. 

He’s here in Fuckass, Nowhere, because the cops decided to dig into your so-called ‘high school sweetheart,’ Eddie Munson.

Why the fuck he gave you his real name, he doesn’t know. Maybe because he wanted you to know it, to have it in your mind the way yours is in his, constantly. But he didn’t imagine the cops would try to look into it. 

But, of course they would, because shit like this never goes easy for him. And, of course they would decide to do it the day that he’s got a hot date to take care of.

Fucking cock blocks.

He had to leave you in your post-orgasmic haze to cause a power outage at the department of investigation before he could construct a fictitious Eddie Munson, who’d grown up in or around Eastwick. Sketchy background, a few minor felonies that don’t add up to shit, but warrant at least an arrest record. Something believable without being too on the nose.

The lamp lights flicker on and off as he moves through the trailer. The TV switches on without any physical force directing it to. He picks up a yellowing, half empty box of Marlboro reds from the end of the kitchen counter, and pulls one out of it. 

The previous owner of this house rots in a lake a mile away, a few months too late for the party. One of the good things about being a demon is that you can construct an alibi so easily, change names on house deeds and pay stubs and tax forms with the flick of a wrist. Make it so that something you say happened actually did happen, on paper. Erase something you don’t want there. 

The rug beneath his bare feet is rough, indoor-outdoor carpeting that the poor idiot who owned this house didn’t bother to switch out. Eddie’s dark jeans hang low on his hips, his chest bare and his hip bones jutting out at odd angles. He looks down and all his old tattoos are there, just the way he likes them. Your taste is still on his tongue, in the corners of his mouth, behind his teeth, reminding him of where he’d rather be. 

Eddie lights himself the cigarette as he peeks out of the kitchen window. In the yard, the coppers are rounding the rust bucket of a Volkswagen bug sitting in the tall grass.

He sits on the rickety wooden dining chair beside the door, listening to their footsteps as they mount the porch, whispering to each other. He hates cops. Always did, for obvious reasons, when he was human– but now that he’s beyond worldly measures, all they do is stick their noses in where they don’t belong.

Normally, he wouldn’t do this. A normal demon would allow the consequences of the deal you’d made to catch up with you. A normal demon would let you swim or drown when it comes to dealing with the repercussions, take their share from the deal and run away, allowing the contract to claim your soul. Just like his own demon did to him.

The thing that Eddie failed to mention to you when you cut that deal with him is that he would steal the sun just to keep you warm. He had already decided that he was in love with you when he got your petition, and he doesn’t know how to love passively. 

So, this is a walk in the park for him, all things considered.

Three knocks against the door cut over the sound of Scarface on the TV. Eddie shakes his head in solidarity at the house ghost floating in the corner, watching him with hollow eyes and creating a black hole where a lamp is supposed to be.

“Watch me fuck this up,” he whispers to it.

“Edward Munson?” The small one, Officer Leony, peers up at him with a blank expression when he opens the door. 

“Uh… yeah?” 

He stares down at her, leaning a naked shoulder against the doorframe, not bothering to extinguish his cigarette. He sucks in a long drag.

Christ, this thing tastes like ass. They don’t make ‘em like they used to. Cigarettes taste better when he just conjures them himself.

Eddie exhales a cloud of tobacco, somehow without pulling a face or retching. He’ll smell like smoke no matter what, and he’s sure that the heat of his hellfire radiates from his bare skin into the muggy air. Best to pretend it’s because he’s nothing but a smoker. He can feign mortality up to a point, and that’s where the uncanny valley sits. 

Seemingly to support this, Leony rocks back on her heels, but doesn’t step back the way she wants to.

“I’m Officer Leony, this is Officer Casey–” she gestures to the taller man beside her. “There’s been a disturbance at a town upstate, and we’re here to ask you a few questions about it, if that’s all right.”

Eddie shifts in place. Oh, no, he couldn’t have predicted this. “Can’t see what I’d have to do with something upstate.”

“Y’ever been to a little town called Eastwick?” Casey asks mildly. 

“I grew up a town over. Across the river.” Eddie lies. It gives him a certain thrill to lie to the cops again. It’s like riding a bike– you never really forget how, but sometimes you miss it when the weather’s right.

“Ever met a man named Andrew Montgomery?”

That piece of shit motherfucker. “Never heard of him.”

“He’s dating– dated– someone we think you may know,” Leony begins.

“You’ve got her name on your chest,” blurts Casey, who seems to be having trouble keeping his eyes on Eddie’s face, in favor of the glaring mark. “Nice, uh. Nice scar.”  

“It’s a brand.” Eddie can’t help the smirk that comes to his face when he glances down to see the raised tissue on his own skin. You’d only said that he burned your name on his chest, but he took that a step further and placed it over his heart. Go big or go home, right? “Not as pretty as she was, but it’s not like I can remove it.”

“Right.”  

A few paces away, in the trees, a pack of hounds snarl and bark like they’re having a real field day. 

“What’s that?” Casey nearly yelps, peering into the trees. He sees nothing. “Wolves?”

“No, those are just my dogs.” Eddie shrugs at him. He fights off a nervous laugh. “They get a little rowdy sometimes, y’know. No worries.”

Leony clears her throat. “Mr. Munson, we’re sure that given your… history, you’re no stranger to automotive accidents.”

Eddie’s eyes flick to her. “Accidents?” Accidents, referring to the spontaneously combusting car that a certain Edward Munson was held in custody for perpetrating, but was acquitted for lack of evidence.

Or something. He doesn’t exactly remember the wording he used on the fake case file. Not too on the nose, right?

“See, Mr. Montgomery’s vehicle exploded earlier today.”

“Shit, is he all right?” Pfffft. 

“Why would you assume he was harmed?” Leony asks, looking like she’s just caught him in a lie.

Eddie’s eyes flutter in annoyance. “I know cops. You don’t drive into the middle of nowhere to question someone for a bit of damaged property.”

Leony huffs. “You’re right. Mr. Montgomery is in the ICU, unfortunately. Severe burns all over his body. We just want to rule out any foul play. If you know anything at all…”

“Like I said, I’ve never heard of the guy before now.”

Leony nods, sucking on her teeth. “And, when was the last time you spoke to your ex-girlfriend?”

Eddie puffs out his cheeks, overdramatizing it. “Probably, uh…” Could be talking to her right now. “Five, six years?” 

“And you haven’t been back to Eastwick since then?”

“Why would I want to go back to that fuckin’ place?” Eddie growls. His anger isn’t entirely fake– he hates small towns. 

“I can think of one reason.” Leony’s eyes fall to your name burned onto his heart. “Mr. Munson, I’m sure you’re… aware of your ex-girlfriend’s reputation within the town.”

“Reputation,” Eddie parrots.

“As a witch.” Casey says it so frankly, as if it holds some kind of merit.

Eddie bristles and looks back and forth between them. “R’you telling me that two cops actually believe in that kind of horseshit?”

“Witchcraft isn’t illegal, even if it… were real…” Leony explains hesitantly, while Eddie tries to keep smoke from blowing out of his ears. “But rumors like that don’t form in a vacuum. We have reason to believe she may have tried to harm Mr. Montgomery. If the rumors are true– which, usually they are in these cases, she has a bit of a reputation for being unusual. We just wondered if you can recall any sort of odd behavior… besides the obvious.”

Another pointed look at the brand on his chest.

EDDIE.

Eddie glances up at the moon in the evening sky, waxing its way to full. It’s a little more than halfway there.

EDDIE. EDDIE. EDDIE.

You’re calling him. He can sense the need in your body, sees flashes of your hands moving down your stomach and dipping beneath the fabric of your pajamas. You’re just lying there, focusing all your energy on him. 

Touching yourself to the thought of him.

Your voice is ringing in his ears, screaming for him to leave this place and go to you. He fights not to wince at the volume of it. 

EDDIE I NEED YOU RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW–

Fuck, he wishes he didn’t have to do this shit. 

Eddie clenches his jaw, squeezing the door jamb so hard that he leaves scorch marks in the plaster in the shape of his fingerprints. He’s mad that he can’t be with you as soon as you call, and he hates that this is keeping him away from you.

He hates what they’ve done to you, ostracized you the way that his own small town did to him. Witchcraft. Devil worship. Unusual equals murder. Even if you are a witch, even if he is the closest thing to the devil you’ll know, he hates the way that these cops talk about you like they know you, or what you’ve been through. 

“Believe me,” he snaps, letting his temper get the better of him, “If she ever did anything unusual, it’s because she had a damn good reason to. Hell, I’d rather burn that whole fuckin’ town to the ground than see her suffer in it anymore.”

Leony’s mouth twitches up at the corners. “Is that so?”

Eddie blinks.

You fucked it up, comes the whispering voice of the ghost in the corner.

“Shit.” Eddie presses his lips together, and tosses his burning cigarette into the dead grass next to the porch. He lifts his two fingers to his lips and whistles loudly. 

Snarling and barking, a pack of shadowy dogs bound out of the trees. Red eyes glow from each smoky figure, varying in size and shape, but all made of the same infernal aether. 

Casey tries to run. Leony tries pulling her gun. The juxtaposition between the two officers is laughable, but ultimately, they both meet the same fate between the jaws of the hellhounds that swarm them. 

Eddie doesn’t see where Casey gets dragged off to– somewhere in the trees, the shouts take a little bit to die down. Leony’s throat gets ripped out first, so all he hears from her is a faint gurgling that slowly gets overshadowed by the sound of crackling as a fire catches on in the grass. 

“Never trust a demon to make things easy,” he sighs, and takes a seat on the porch. It’ll take a few minutes before the fire really gets going on the wood, and by that time he’ll be gone. 

He’ll make sure this doesn’t get back to you. It just means another trip into the computers at the department of investigation, and those wires are really fucking tight to squeeze into.

Eddie whistles shortly. “Cerberus. Stop it, you’re making a mess.” 

The Doberman spirit drops the decapitated head he’d been using as a chew toy, flinging blood all over the yellow grass. Instead, the German Shepherd spirit beside him immediately snatches it and throws it across the yard before chasing after it. 

Eddie glares. “Sauron. Bad dog.”

Out of the mix of shadowy dogs and flying body parts, a tinier hellhound than all the rest trundles up. It’s the newest of the bunch, still in need of training– but Eddie’s not entirely sure that he wants to train it to be like the rest. 

Dogs will be dogs, even in the afterlife. He chose the others for their ferocity. Most of them were the losers of dog fights; innocent animals that never asked to be put through the pain and torture that they got in life, but were trained to be killers nonetheless. They’re protective, loyal, and at times bloodthirsty.

This one is different. This dog has never killed, never maimed, never hurt anything in its little life. This one chose Eddie, sought him out, wandering through the Otherworld as a messenger with a piece of copper in its mouth.

Lacey crawls up into Eddie’s lap on her tiny legs, her little red eyes blinking slowly as she settles down onto his thighs, just like she did when she’d delivered your petition. She’d found him lounging against a tree, emerged from the mist and dropped the copper into his outstretched hand. Made a home for herself in his lap as the details of your petition rolled around in his mind, and all at once he decided you were beginning and end of everything for him. 

He would have given her back to you– she’s the one that you miss, but she’s too young of a spirit to be able to manifest as a physical dog yet. 

But she’s a cuddly thing. He can understand why you loved her so much. He feels a little bit of that love well up in his own heart, underneath your name branded across it.

His hand pets her smoky back as the fire in the grass reaches the porch. 

EDDIE WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU EDDIE EDDIE EDDIE–

Shit, you’re persistent.

[goldenseresinretriever]

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 3

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, violence, sports violence, blood probably, angst, fluff, eventual smut, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

Bradley Bradshaw’s going to pay for this. You glare at your reflection in the mirror, tentatively poking at the discolored and swollen skin on your jaw where Bradley’s fist connected last night. You wince slightly at the pain. You’ll probably have Bugs look at it once you get to work. You glance down at the tube of concealer in your hand, torn between covering up the mark for the sake of your dignity and leaving it exposed to send a message to Bradley. You err on the side of leaving it be as you get ready for your day. You can’t help but wonder if the lavender suit you’re wearing today mixes well with the color on your jaw.

By the time you make it to work, your injury is far from your mind, that is until you pass through the training room on your way to the office and Mickey stops you instantly, his usually carefree smile falling away into barely-concealed fury. “Zam, what happened to your face?” He reaches a gentle hand to skim the bruised skin and you wince slightly at the pain that radiates from the contact. “It wasn’t that guy was it?” The guy in question is a stranger on a dating app that Mickey insisted you give a shot to in an effort to diversify your life beyond work. You shake your head.

“No no, that’s later this week.” He nods, his concern not fading as he scrutinizes your jaw and you’re touched by the fierce protectiveness from your best friend. You wouldn’t expect any less.

“Zam, what the fuck?” Jake comes over now, taking your face gently in his hands and inspecting the bruise. “Who did this to you?”

You hesitate, not wanting to cause a scene. You hadn’t meant to cause a scene like this, not considering how it would look to everyone else not involved. You consider lying but as you look into Jake’s green eyes, you see them dancing with concern and fury, the sheer protectiveness in them, directed at you of all people and it makes your heart squeeze. A few months ago Jake was reserved, hiding in a shell of himself until Bugs pulled him out of it and you’ve watched him grow back into his normal self, full of love and protectiveness that extends to everyone around him, you included.

He and Mickey are still waiting for your answer so you draw your eyes away from Jake’s, avoiding either of their gazes as you murmur, “Bradley…” and you feel Jake’s fingers tighten involuntarily on your cheeks. When you gaze back at him, there’s fury in his eyes.

“Bradley did this?” His voice is ice cold and you suppress a shudder as your eyes flick to Mickey’s matching expression.

“Bradley did what? Fuck, Zam, what happened to you?” Javy joins the three of you and you watch his eyes widen in surprise when he sees the bruise on your jaw. You jerk your chin from Jake’s grasp, suddenly self-conscious about the amount of attention you’re drawing.

“It’s not what you think!” You blurt. “He wasn’t aiming at me, I just stepped in front of him on instinct and I didn’t really think it through and yeah, I got hit.”

“When did this even happen?” Mickey asks brows tight in confusion.

“Last night, Cyclone asked me to pick him up from a bar after the paparazzi found him. He was drunk off his ass and fighting with these three other guys.”

“You should have called one of us to go with you,” Jake says firmly, crossing his arms across his chest in full captain mode. You roll your eyes giving him a tired shrug.

“I didn’t want to bother you. Plus this is my job, remember?”

“The press stuff, yes, but I thought we established that the babysitting was mine.” You return his worried smile with a tired one of your own, nodding in acquiescence.

“I’m gonna have Bugs look at it but I’m sure it’s fine.” Jake nods, satisfied to leave you in her care. You excuse yourself from the boys and head to Bugs’s office to get checked out.

~~~~~

Bugs gives you the all-clear and confirms that it’s just a nasty bruise and nothing to worry about so you go about your regular work for about an hour or two until the door to your office bursts open, hitting the walls and rattling your shelves of tchotchkes. You look up from your work to see Bradley Bradshaw in your doorway, seething. You don’t get paid enough for this.

“You just left my Bronco in that parking lot?! It got fucking towed!” He snaps, stamping across the room to leer over where you’re sitting. You scowl up at him.

“Boo fucking hoo, Bradshaw. If you’re going to go out and get plastered, maybe you shouldn’t drive or at least arrange someone to drive you home.” Normally you’d be poised, and calm, and you definitely wouldn’t be swearing but Bradley sends every bit of your self-control out the nearest window. “Instead I have to come and drag your sorry ass home.”

“No one asked you to do that!”

“They did, actually. Cyclone texted me because you were causing a scene! TMZ published an article, Bradshaw! TM-FUCKING-Z!”

“That’s not my problem.” He scoffs, his face still red as he growls at you.

“Well, your beloved Bronco getting towed isn’t mine.” You growl back, crossing your arms across your chest defensively. “And by the way, if you want to avoid the press, maybe get a less conspicuous ride.” His eyes flash and his open palms meet the surface of your desk in a noise so loud and startling that you flinch back, instinctively, fear running through you before you see the flicker in Bradley’s eyes cutting through the blind rage and he removes his hands instantly, backing up a couple of steps. His shoulders are still rising and falling in anger but he’s forcibly reeling himself in.

Then you watch the confusion spread across his face as he actually takes a good look at you and you feel the urge to squirm under the intensity of his whisky gaze. His brow furrows as he asks, voice softer. “What happened to your face?” You blink up at him, dumbstruck.

“So you don’t remember hitting it?” You ask, the venom in your voice falling short of what you’d intended at the confused concern in his eyes.

“I hit you?!” His voice is full of shock and something else, maybe a hint of regret.

“Well more accurately you were trying to hit another guy and I got in the way because we don’t really need to add battery to the laundry list of problems you’ve been causing.”

“Fuck.” He rasps and you shrug, trying to appear nonchalant even as you’re feeling all kinds of confused by this new Bradley that you’ve never seen. “I’m sorry.”

Now you really have seen it all. Bradley Bradshaw just APOLOGIZED TO YOU.

“It’s fine, it’s not exactly your fault. I wasn’t thinking.” You’re actively uncomfortable now, scrambling for your mask or your anger, anything to cover up this vulnerable feeling, the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re a wounded animal, a wrong he’s trying to right, like you’re HUMAN. You hate it. “Maybe we stop with the bar fights, whaddya say, big guy?” You hate how awkward you sound but you don’t have time to dwell on it as the storm clouds roll back through Bradley’s eyes.

“I told you to stay out of it, Honey.” His voice is hard, the Bradley you’ve just seen disappearing so quickly that you’re not even sure it was there in the first place.

“I told you, no can do, Bradshaw. You keep this up and it’s going to get ugly.”

He tilts his head slightly at the bite in your tone before he smirks. “I think it already has, Honey.” You watch his eyes flick down to your jaw and you clench it, ignoring the pain that flares through the taut skin. The twinkle in his eyes is new and it makes anger lick at your stomach. Before, he was just lashing out taking his anger on you because you were conveniently there, caught in the crossfire, but this? This is casually cruel and aimed right for the kill and you have a zero-tolerance policy for that.

“If you want to quit, Bradshaw then just fucking quit.” Your voice is ice cold as you glare daggers back into rolling brown seas that warn “there be dragons.” If he wants to be cruel, you’re more than capable of meeting him halfway. “There’s a thousand other players waiting for someone to give them their shot if you’re so intent on wasting yours.”

He leans in then, his voice low and rumbling, calm and collected despite the flush of his cheeks. The wildness in his eyes tames for a second, the eye of the storm, as he delivers the kill shot. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” When he says your name you feel a chill run down your spine. It’s been years since someone other than your father called you by it. Ever since you joined the world of hockey, it’s always been Zamboni or Zam, even amongst your colleagues and professional relations. That’s how everyone knows you. “Quitting? Wasting your shot? You’re speaking from experience, right?” Each question punches the air from your lungs as you cower against the back of your chair, nowhere to run as Bradley pries you open like he’s manually pulling the nails out of the coffin in your mind, one by one. “Nothing to say, Honey? That’s what I thought.” He leans back and goes to leave, only pausing in the doorway to look back at where you’re frozen. “Like I said, stay out of it if you know what’s good for you, Honey.”

When the door closes behind him, you try your best to take a shaking breath but it’s like he’s pinned the air in your lungs and it can’t move. Your fingers scramble for your phone, shaking so hard that you can barely unlock the screen and click the contact you need most as your body shuts down. The panic attack pulls you fully into its grasp as you listen to the sound of the line ringing, praying that they pick up. When you finally hear the voice it’s like a light at the end of the tunnel that you’ve lost yourself in. You can’t form the words, but you know they’ll know. They’ll come. They know what you need.

~~~~~

You weren’t always Zamboni. In the grand scheme of things, you’ve spent more of your life NOT being her. However, you’ve locked as much of that time as you could up in a dark corner of your mind. It had been eight years since you’d become Zamboni not necessarily to escape that part of yourself but rather as a direct effect of the alienation that had come with losing that part of yourself. Only one person other than your father truly knew what had happened that turned your world upside down and sent you running from your past. Mickey Garcia had saved you, giving you something to live for that ended up creating the person that you are now.

Hockey was something that you and your mother whispered about in the middle of the night while she told you fantastic stories about her youth at the height of her career. She’d been an Olympic figure skater. She had medals and trophies filling glass cases in your home to prove it but above all the fortune and glory, she loved the sport. She loved being on the ice and had passed down that love to you. You remember her bringing you with her to the local rinks, and watching her move with such grace and poise while you teetered around at the edge of the rink, still finding your footing at such a young age.

You’d grown up, though, and you were every bit your mother’s daughter from the way you looked to the way you skated. When you were on the ice there was nothing you couldn’t do, no move you couldn’t master, just a matter of how many hours you spent on it. Your mother’s Olympic fame opened doors to rinks much later than they should have been, and even when those closed for the night, you’d spend even more hours on the frozen lake behind your house, perfecting every turn and jump.

By the time you were off to college at the University of Wisconsin, you were pretty much a shoo-in for the Olympics. The only reason you hadn’t already competed in one yet was that your mother was indignant that you fully enjoyed your life as a child before being thrust into the international spotlight. It didn’t stop you from topping various other competitions, however, and when you went to college on a figure skating scholarship, you were chomping at the bit to kickstart your Olympic career, however, the next Olympics wouldn’t be for another two years.

You spent every spare moment at the university’s rink, staying late after official practices. The biggest source of your irritation was the University of Wisconsin’s ice hockey team. They shared the rink with the figure skaters and conveniently seemed to have practice whenever you wanted to use the ice. You had complained loudly to your mom over the phone when she gave you a suggestion that would change your life for the better. Even if they weren’t figure skaters, you could learn a thing or two from watching the hockey players move on the ice, so that’s what you did. If they had practice when you wanted to use the ice, you’d plant yourself in the stands and watch them skate. As soon as the ice was cleaned after practice you’d lace up your skates and start applying what you’d observed and you had to hand it to your mom, you were learning new things by watching them. That’s how you met Mickey Garcia. Well, not exactly. One night you were stuck on a particular turn and had been practicing it for so long that you’d lost track of time, the lack of windows in the rink creating a liminal space. The main lights had since been turned on with only the rink lights remaining. You were so focused on what you were doing that it didn’t occur to you to worry about getting locked into the rink that is until your work was interrupted.

“Hey, are you supposed to be in here?” The voice broke through your concentration and you turned to see a familiar face looking back at you from the edge of the rink. You recognized the guy as one of the hockey players even though he was just wearing a hoodie and sweats.

“Are YOU?” You shot back, placing your hands on your hips.

“No, that’s the point.” He said with a rueful grin and a shrug. “I left a binder in the locker room on accident so I got the captain’s keys to let me in. How were you planning to get out?”

“The doors aren’t locked.”

“They are at 1 am.” When you gaped at him as you realized the time he laughed. “Listen, I need to study but I don’t really care where so I can do it here until you’re ready to leave and then I can lock up behind us.” And that’s how you met Mickey Garcia.

You started going to his games and he started coming to your competitions. Some nights he’d give you pointers about your skating and some nights you’d do your best to tend the goal or scrimmage with him if he needed the extra practice. Slowly you became a regular amongst his teammates as well, as Mickey invited you to watch practices up class and even skate with them during warmups. He had you point out certain techniques they could apply to their movement.

Two years flew by and suddenly Olympic qualifiers were almost upon you. You were busier than ever and you spent night after night late at the rink to practice your routine with Mickey to keep you company. Even you knew it was only a matter of showing up on the day for you to qualify, it didn’t keep you from spending every waking moment skating.

By that logic, it wasn’t a surprise that you were skating when you got the call. It was Thanksgiving break. You’d turned down your parents’ incessant invitations to come home for the break, afraid to surrender any time you could spend practicing. You don’t remember much about the day looking back but you don’t want to. You only remember answering the call, expecting to hear your father asking you to reconsider coming home once again. Instead, you only heard his sobs. Your mother had an unexpected heart attack. She died instantly. There was nothing they could do to save her. And you could have been there. You should have been there. You couldn’t remember the last thing she had said to you. You’d talked to her just last night and yet you couldn’t remember.

It wasn’t that you blamed yourself per se, but after that day you could never bring yourself to step on the ice. The Olympic qualifiers came and went as you were frozen in that moment when you’d gotten the phone call. It hadn’t been easy to thaw and return to your life, and in many ways you never truly did, but Mickey had held your hand every step of the way as he brought you to his practices, his games, and slowly you’d come back. You took a leave of absence from school for a semester as you decided what to do next as your skates hung in the back of your closet for good. Figure skating had been your whole life so finding something new seemed daunting and boundless.

~~~~~

You’re shaking and curled in your chair, teetering close to falling to the floor but too frozen to right yourself when Mickey finds you. His arms go around you instantly, grounding you with his touch as you try your best to grasp onto the beat of his heart. He’s saying words into your ear, doing his best to break you out of this state but you don’t hear them. All you can hear is your father’s screams from that day eight years ago. They bounce around your head and get louder and louder until you realize that they aren’t. That’s the sound of you screaming. Your wordless pain has found a voice and it’s heartbreaking as you fall apart in Mickey’s arms. Absently you hear the sound of footsteps drawn by the sound of your screams. Your voice breaks from strain. You’re all screamed out and your breath still feels trapped in your lungs as you heave against Mickey and his words are slowly audible. You hear the gentle reassurances and feel his hands stroking your hair and back, the repetitive motion soothing your shakes until you’re simply still, lying in his arms.

“What was she screaming about?” You hear Bradley’s voice and feel Mickey’s body stiffen against yours protectively.

“What the FUCK did you say to her?” His voice is pure fury, leaving him in a growl you’ve never heard from him. You’ve seen a lot of Mickey Garcia’s various sides, but you’ve never seen him really, truly angry until now.

“Me? Nothing.”

“You fucking liar, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY TO HER?!” Mickey’s shouting and you shudder at the vitriol in his voice as he screams at Bradley. You barely register more footsteps approaching over the commotion.

“She accused me of giving up and I told her she’d know a lot about that given that she just up and quit skating-” Then Mickey’s moving and you think you call out after him as he grabs Bradley by the collar and slams him into the wall. It only really works because the taller man is so startled by Mickey’s sudden attack.

“She didn’t up and quit skating!” Mickey growls into Bradley’s face as you watch his fist swing, connecting with Bradley’s nose, hard as he shouts. “HER MOM DIED, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” You could hear a pin drop or maybe that’s just the sound of Bradley’s blood hitting the tile floor as it drips from his nose until Jake’s pulling Mickey off of Bradley, his face a mask of quiet fury. Javy’s behind him, his eyes on where you’re still curled up in your chair, your cheeks soaked with tears. They’re not the ones you’re watching though. Your eyes are locked onto Bradley’s whisky ones. There’s something unreadable in them but amidst all that you see as much as you feel the regret. Regret and something else. It almost feels like he’s reaching for you with his eyes. You don’t get a chance to read him, however as Dare’s voice, full of fury cuts through the room.

“Bradshaw, go home, you’re done for the day.” Her jaw is set and her eyes are flashing with something unreadable as she jerks her chin to indicate that he should leave now. He nods silently, giving you one last lingering look before he leaves. Mickey is breathing heavily in Jake’s grasp, Bradley’s blood on his knuckles. Dare turns to him, giving him a sympathetic look. “Mickey, let’s chat in my office. Jake, Javy, walk him over.” Jake nods and he and Javy lead Mickey out. Mickey shoots you a look and you mouth THANK YOU to him and he just gives you a grim look as he nods.

“Zam, are you alright?” You don’t notice her come up to you and while she stays respectfully on the other side of your desk, giving you space, you can see the concern in her eyes.

“I don’t know.” You answer honestly. You’re still shaken up. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a panic attack and you’re almost unfamiliar with what to do afterwards. “I’m going to call Bugs over and she can take you home for the day, how does that sound?” Mickey once told you that the greatest strength you can get is from leaning on your friends and right now you know that’s what you need so you leave your pride on the floor and nod. You can’t battle without an army and Bradley Bradshaw just declared war.

[hamiltonconfessions-but-better]

an overview of the events surrounding the old hamilton confessions blog + proof that @\hamiltonconfessions was instrumental in its destruction

reposting because the post wouldn't show up in the tags and my perfectionism was bugging me

i. to begin with, i must kindly request that absolutely no harassment, death threats, insults, etc be sent to @\hamiltonconfessions or anyone else involved in this situation. there has been a lot of confusion going around in the wake of everything that happened. the purpose of this post is to clear up that confusion by providing all the information pertaining to this situation in one place, as well as bring attention to some ongoing issues within the fandom - not to contribute to an environment where said issues continue to exist, uninhibited.

ii. the first part of this post closely corresponds with one made by @\jittyjames. in it, she goes into more detail regarding her role in this and raises some very good points, so i highly encourage everyone to read her post as well. UPDATE: @/hamiltonconfessions was deactivated within roughly two hours of me posting this. this post will continue to serve its function as a record of everything that transpired.

part 1 - @\hamiltonfandomconfessions and its ending

if you are reading this post, you will have known of the existence of this blog and will be somewhat familiar with the hostile atmosphere that developed in the last week or so before it was deleted. people were arguing left and right, creators were being publicly called out and harassed. topics that were discussed on the blog ranged from ship wars to incest to whitewashing allegations. within a few days, a single confessions blog had caused enough chaos that it was being mentioned outside of its own posts, drama was spilling out beyond its confines and into the blogs of those involved, and even people who generally stayed in their own niches and did not interact with the fandom at large had become aware that something was going on.

on friday the 27th of september, the following confession was posted by the blog:

in response to which, jami (@\jittyjames) sent this:

her confession was posted, but deleted shortly thereafter. she sent two follow-up asks and was replied to thusly:

some people who had been around to see both her original ask and the confession that it was serving as a response to were upset by the lacklustre and nonsensical moderating inherent in the decision to allow harassment and death threats to run amuck, but delete an entirely innocuous post for reasons unknown, as well as the implications of jami's deleted confession having been specifically about queerness.

in particular, this was sent to the blog:

on saturday the 28th of september, @\hamiltonfandomconfessions was deactivated.

with the mod having spontaneously claimed to be deleting confessions by request and having inexplicably singled out jami's confession among the myriad of others, there is much to be remarked upon regarding the likelihood of something here not being right. the above essay delves into questioning the more incongruous details fairly well, so i will spare you any more of my own thoughts on the matter.

part 2 - @\hamiltonconfessions and its glaring disingenuity

on sunday the 29th of september, one day after the deletion of @\hamiltonfandomconfessions, a new blog, @\hamiltonconfessions, posted this:

for someone who would later go on to argue that they are not the previous blog's mod and ostensibly are not affiliated with it in any way, it is interesting to note a few things:

a) the rather short amount of time that passed between the deletion of the old blog and the creation of the new one;

b) the rules listed are, besides being insufficient for the fostering of a good community within the limits of a confessions blog, fairly generic, save for one specific rule. a rule which happens to express a uniquely idiotic opinion paralleled in the very first screenshot included in this post.

this is important, because few people had seen that confession, fewer had seen jami's response and the conversation that followed, and even fewer still were up to this point aware that the old blog's death was, as all the contributing evidence would lead one to believe, directly related to and brought on by everything talked about in part 1 of this post.

@\jittyjames posted her version of the events, in which she commented similarly on the above, and they replied:

around the same time, they removed the rule and asserted several times on their blog that they had no relation whatsoever to the original blog and its creator:

it is worthwhile to point out that "i changed my opinion about slurs. ok" is brief, vague and not indicative of an actual change of heart. the conviction present in their previous statements also does not fit the haste with which they apparently reconsidered their stance. all of the above screenshots, to me, look like damage control - they know that people are onto them and are desperately scrambling to hold up the crumbling fiction of their image as an innocent, clueless person who accidentally ended up embroiled in an ongoing scandal.

now, the tone of @\hamiltonfandomconfessions' reply to all of jami's asks could be said to be disproportionately aggressive and rude, as opposed to her own relatively respectful language. previously, this fact has been attributed to possible queerphobia. and without taking away from the relevance and validity of that theory, i would like to propose a few ideas regarding the identity of the mod of @\hamiltonconfessions:

a) they were the mod of @\hamiltonfandomconfessions, sent themselves the confession that compared slurs to the word "whore" and got offended when people disagreed;

b) they did not send that confession, but were the mod of @\hamiltonfandomconfessions and included that rule in the original pinned post of @\hamiltonconfessions in a ploy to avoid the drama and discussions that caused them to delete their previous blog;

c) they are a friend of or otherwise have some degree of closeness with the mod of @\hamiltonfandomconfessions, and as such were made aware of everything that was going on and acted accordingly in the aftermath.

either way, there is no doubt that, somehow, @\hamiltonconfessions was involved in everything that has happened over the past few days. i therefore raise you the following question: knowing that this person is directly connected to the previous blog, the opinions they have held and the way they have handled this situation so far, their strange, dishonest behaviour and refusal to acknowledge any criticism or commentary regarding their actions, do you feel comfortable continuing to frequent their blog? knowing that there is a very high chance that what happened with @\hamiltonfandomconfessions, its upsetting and divisive effect on our community, is going to happen with @\hamiltonconfessions as well?

conclusion

regardless of whether the mods of @\hamiltonconfessions and @\hamiltonfandomconfessions are friends or one and the same, there is a manifest lack of organisation present throughout the infinitesimal history of the new blog. one could argue that the very creation of the blog - only a day following the death of the previous one - speaks to a certain inability or unwillingness to think things through. in two short days, the pinned post was updated no less than three times. the existing rules, fairly vague and unenforceable, are missing several precautions that would prevent the mistreatment of its users and could well have been scribbled down on a post-it note five minutes prior to the blog officially becoming active. an example - "just be patient pls", a confusing and likely entirely useless rule, as juxtaposed with the absence of any rule regarding name-dropping until one of the subsequent updates to the pinned post.

overall, with the disorderly state of @\hamiltonconfessions' moderation and the inaptness and duplicity displayed by its mod, i do not expect this new blog to last very long without devolving into the very same cesspit that caused such grief to the fandom and tore the first blog apart.

[vyainide]

ㅤㅤㅤˇ ˇᨳ꤬꣦𝆃 N،ON PLAYER CHAR،ACTER⸝⸝⁞.ຳ

꒰ 🎮 °᳝ꯥ‧ٓ⭝ masterlist . ˚◞♡ ﹫nonplayercharacter ▬▬▬

〢𓂅 chapter five, cale pops ━ .ﾟ꙳ previous જ next ،ˊˎ- 𓂃 ִֶָ

synopsis. Jeon Wonwoo does not often stream mmorpgs only due to the fact that he fears his chat wouldn't be nearly as entertained as they would be when he plays first person shooting games ❲like valorant❳ or fighting games ❲like valorant❳ or horror games ❲like val– fears to fathom❳. Of all the mmorpg's he could possibly make content out of, he chooses the most boring one– according to his friends– a game that was released in the early 2000's with its latest update happening a few years back to fix a shitty bug that was turning characters nude when they teleported. The reason he keeps streaming this mmorpg? There's a particular npc that his fans, and himself, adore.

warning(s). n/a

from vyon. late update 🤝 you're welcome!!! i recently got into the one piece franchise cause of the live action... i started watching the anime too so my head's been full of luffy and zoro unfortunately, i'm sorry and i'll do it again lolol

send an ask/comment to be a part of the taglist.

tag(s) 🎟 ⁺ ❳ㅤ𖤐  @mina-yoo334 @hidinjo @sp1ng @wonuulvr @kawaiimusiccollection @keilovr @strwbwoo

2023 ©jwhoozi ㅤㅤㅤ━  do not repost / copy!

[cutekittenlady]

Tumblr Plays Pokemon; Castelia Sewers and Empty Lot

After Virbank City we'll eventually find our ways into the Castelia Sewers! This is one of the two areas we'll have access to to get new pokemon before the Bug Gym!

Now previously I linked the whole of Virbank Complex together as one area in terms of pokemon availability. And I'm going to do the same here with the Empty Lot. Although the empty lot is completely different from the sewers both in terms of tone and in pokemon available, the fact that the small park is ONLY accessible via the sewers makes me choose to count it towards the "all one area" rule.

I'm not sure if I intend to give the upcoming route 4, desert resort, and relic castle the same treatment, but its a tempting thought.

Anyway with that sorted out here is the team thus far;

And with these three we have the grass, electric, and fire types all covered marking out all pokemon of those types in this and future areas.

Note: in the empty lot its possible to catch evolved forms of some of the pokemon available there. I'm going to make the exective decision of excluding those pokemon for now and may carry on the ruling that, later in the game, that if a lower evolutionary level of a pokemon is available in an area than its that pokemon we need to catch first.

With all that in mind, here are the reposting of the rules;

Can only catch a single pokemon from every route.

Can only catch a single member of each evolutionary family. (Not team of all eevees)

Can only attempt to catch each species of pokemon ONCE. If I fail we don't get a second chance. (Can't catch pidgey on route 1? NO pidgeys on the team for the rest of the game)

Can only have a single pokemon of every type.

No repeat natures.

Any HM slave/mule will be a permanent member of the team and count towards all previous rules.

Outside of the pokemon there are two additional options; Randomize will mean choosing a pokemon based on the results of a random number number generator. Choose this if you want a pokemon but don't care which or otherwise just want to cause a little chaos. Abstain will mean skipping the route without catching any pokemon. Choose this if you want to reserve the catches and typing for the pokemon on another route.

[emilynightshade89]

A GREATER DEMON

Seance AU pt. 2

Pt. 1 here

**PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY EDIT ANYWHERE YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION**

Inspired by this scene from Penny Dreadful. 

 “What...? What are you? What have you done to Dr. Osborn???” Otto asks. The Goblin’s smile widens, “Absolutely…nothing.” he purrs. Otto doesn't look convinced. “I swear if you…whatever you are! If you’ve hurt him-” The Goblin abruptly sits up with a feigned expression of hurt. “Oh, fear not good doctor! Norman is still with us! He’s tucked away into the depths of his own mind as snug as a bug in a rug!” he cackles. The brightness in his deep blue eyes aflame with vexatious insanity. Otto tries to shake the madness of this situation out of his head, and angrily takes his hands away from the imposter as he rises to stand on his feet before him. “That’s not what happened last night!” he bellows, “I- I saw what you did to him!” He raises an accusing finger at him shakingly, “I saw…I saw the harm you caused to him, and not just physically either you fiend!!” The Goblin bursts into laughter causing Otto to flinch away in fear, his soft brown eyes widening in terror at the sound. The laugh is maniacal and empty of empathy. It’s a disturbed sound that chills Otto down to the very bones of his body. A worthy fit for the halls of a mad house. “Harm!? HA! The good Sir Malcolm is the only one who’s received any harm! He had it coming! Filthy man animal that he was…” he smiles, revealing crooked sharp teeth that match the hysteria in his eyes. “It was all just for jest my dear doctor! All for jest!! Hahahaha!!” Otto feels something snap within him. Out of fear and frustration and great concern for his friend, he lunges forward and grabs Goblin by both his shoulders as he still laughs. It takes all of his strength to desperately hold back from shaking the lunatic like a bee hive full of wasps. “Stop this!!” Otto pleads desperately, suddenly cupping Goblin's face with his hands once more to look him in the eyes. “Please! Enough of this! I know Norman and you're not him!! He’s still in there somewhere so release him! Let him go!! You foul thing! You curse! You slithering, hell wretched, hornswoggling-”

''Demon? Like the ones that promised to help bring back your Rosie?” 

Otto’s heart plummets into his stomach as icy fingers travel up his spine leaving gooseflesh in their wake. The otherwise sunlit room around him disappears into the desolate void of the hollowness that has sunken into his chest, entwining into his lungs. 

“What did you say?” Otto whispers. The Goblin, having ceased his deranged antics, looks Octavius dead in the eyes and chuckles softly. All previous retaliations go out the window as Otto begins to breathe heavily in an all God knowing fear. “What did you say?” Otto repeats. His head begins to swim as those soft brown eyes of his widen further in agitation. “Damn it, tell me!” he roars, but The Goblin remains silent. His icy penetrative gaze doesn’t flinch from Otto’s as he simply smiles at the distress he’s made in the good doctor.

Otto doesn’t answer, his lips part but words fail to form so Goblin seizes for the kill. “...Of those warm, safe, hollow nights filled with regret, yes doctor! Regret! And shame! That the one we wished most to share our bed with on such nights was in fact not dear Rosie!” Goblin laughs, his voice raising. Piercing and shrill as he reaches his sights further into Otto’s unspoken nightmares. “Oh my dear fellow, no not Rosie! Haha!! But it is with none other than the one you lost all those years ago, the one and only N-” 

 “You have such soft hands Doctor Octavious…” He says softly, leaning his cheek further into the palm of Otto’s warm hand. Otto blinks in bewilderment. “What?”

“Hmmm…” Goblin hums casually, closing his eyes peacefully and running his hands rather invitingly up Otto’s arms until they’re holding his hands against either side of his face. “It makes me wonder if you’ve ever held her like you’re holding me now.” “Excuse me??” Otto growls, fear and confusion, now all of them swiftly replaced by an anger that dangerously churns in his chest. The sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “You would dare-” “Or perhaps you didn’t?” The Goblin's blue eyes quickly snap back open, causing Otto’s breath to hitch as the same cruel grin returned to him. “Perhaps you couldn’t? Because you felt bad. Because you found something one night and couldn’t bear to share it with her. Didn’t want to hurt her. Didn’t want her to know.” Otto stares speechless as if the air has been stolen out of his lungs. He wants this creature to stop. He wants to bring an end to this game he’s unwittingly been forced to play. But he’s paralyzed with fear and anger, and so The Goblin doesn’t stop; only grins wider as he continues on the thread he’s been toying with, “Poor sweet, kind, naive Rosalie…” he tsks, shaking his head in disapproval. “But who could tell? Who in this pale, bleak and monsterous world we live in could tell of such things? Such hidden things that we keep from our loved ones eh?”

“ENOUGH!!!” Otto swiftly takes his hands back and grabs him by the shirt, hauling the fiend backward until he’s pinned to the bed in a fit of violent cackling. “ENOUGH OF YOUR GAMES!” He shouts. The rollercoaster of emotions now set loose by the broken dam. Dr. Octavius leans in enough so that he’s eye to eye, nose to nose with Norman’s imposter. His breathing is hard, but steady so as to remind himself to be aware of his strength against the body of the smaller man and not bring any harm to Norman. As terrifying as this creature is, Otto still wants to remember that he has a friend to save somewhere still deep inside.

“That’s enough!! You’ve had your fun, now release Norman Osborn!” Goblin stops laughing but his grin remains smug. “The ‘good’ Doctor gone mad.” he giggles, “mad from his pain, mad from his secrets… and of something no one else knows...” His contorted features suddenly become smooth and serious as his eyes search Octavius’s face curiously, causing Otto for a split hopeful moment that Norman had returned to him. “Are you afraid of me?” Goblin asks with a tilt of his head. Octavius leers at him. His brow scrunching up in defiance. “No…” he says calmly. And he’s not, at least not anymore. If this creature wants to play games, then Otto can play games. So long as he can find a way to help bring Norman back. 

“You think you know a greater demon? Something worse than I?” Goblin challenges with a smirk, “Tell me then…Otto. Or should I tell you?” Otto’s nostrils flare, but he’s had enough and releases him. His hands sore from their concentrated grip and steps away from the bed to put distance between them. “I think you and I both know what it is…that haunts me so,” he admits, His eyes dropping to the floor in guilt. The Goblin lifts his head and smiles knowingly at him. Otto half expects the creature to drop what hangs over his head then and there but instead, the air falls heavy with the words unsaid between them like a thick fog that only they can see through. A moment of reckoning potentially staved off for now. 

Goblin snickers, “Then the world is indeed comic, ...but the joke is on mankind. Isn’t it, doctor?” He chuckles, and then his eyes suddenly roll up into his skull as he collapses back onto the bed, an almost painful sigh escaping from his lips, causing Otto to snap back his attention towards whoever might have the body on the bed now. “Norman…?” Otto whispers.

Norman awakes to his heart pounding profoundly in his ears. A firm hand is on his shoulder and warm fingers gently brushing the hair out of his eyes as he opens them into the room. “Norman? Norman, is it really you?” Otto’s hopeful voice sounds muffled and miles away, but Norman can see that he’s hovering right over him. “Otto…?”

~~~

“I…I’m so… Dear God, I’m so sorry Dr. Octavius, you shouldn’t have to face that ever again-” “Norman…” “-I should have told you, no I wanted to tell you about him but I didn’t know when! I was just afraid you’d think I was mad! And then the seance-” “Norman please…” “Oh dear God in heaven…I shouldn’t have gone! I should’ve known! I should have known that he-”

 “Norman.”

Norman’s thin panicked shaking hands are caught by Otto’s larger ones, causing him to look up from his nervous rant with bright fearful blue eyes. Ever since he woke from his painful headache and Otto has sat beside him and told him he’s met The Goblin; words have been flowing out past his lips like an overflowing fountain. Unable to stop and unable to keep the fear and anxiety he has kept bottled up out of his voice, which sounds so small and scared, Otto can’t help but feel the shock from mere minutes ago melt away out of sorrow and comfort for his friend. Norman hated being scared, especially when someone he trusted saw him in such a crazed state.

 “It’s alright.” Otto spoke calmly. Neither one of them could afford getting scared shitless out of their minds from the situation. What they needed was some reassurance and Otto wasn’t about to let Norman over-exhaust himself and make his health worse now that he had gotten ill. “It’s alright,” he repeated. Feeling better as he saw Norman’s shoulders draw back and his hands gradually stop shaking. “I’m sorry.” Norman whispered; his features relaxing as he looked Otto in the eyes. It was hard to believe the maniac who hid behind them.    

 “You need rest.” Otto said. Norman groans. “You must,” he insists, squeezing Norman’s hand reassuringly. “We shall discuss more about this in the morning, I promise but for now…you are in fact ill from last night-” “Dr. Octavius please-” “And I don’t want you getting yourself any worse to a point where we need to call the medical doctor over. Yeah?” Norman nods, earning a comforting smile from his former colleague. “Alright,” he mutters. He looks at Otto with concern, “I just want to know that you're ok after what happened.” Otto smiles warmly. After all that Norman’s been put through, it touches his heart that he still has a concern for his wellbeing. It makes him feel as if they were back in time, working in the same lab again. At a more simpler time. “I’m very much going to be alright Norman.” he promises. Norman nods again, and his eyes follow him as he gets up from the bed and heads to open the bedroom door. 

“Oh, Norman?” “Yes doctor?” Octavius pauses at the doorway and looks back. “Please just call me Otto.” Norman smiles. A soft smile that reaches his eyes and chases the darkness away from his mind. “Thank you, Otto.” 

~~~

Otto Octavius closes the door behind him and takes a deep shaking breath. The afternoon sun outside his mansion windows has turned into night and despite his outward composure, he’s rattled to the very core of his being. He barely makes it halfway down the hall when his hands start to shake and the floor beneath him looks as if it’s swaying and he fears he’ll collapse. That Devil.... That creature... How does he...? How could he have possibly known about Rosie...? Octavius stops in his tracks. No one should know. But then how did he know??? Unless...

Otto bursts full speed down the hall. Like a specter whisking past unbeknownst to those around it, Otto flies down the hallway and straight to his private office as fast and as quietly as he humanely can. Dread sinks into his belly as the air suddenly feels colder as he makes his way into the room, past his desk and halts in front of the portrait of a beautiful woman in her mid-to-late 30s, smiling softly down upon him as she sits by the fireplace with a book held lovingly by her hands in her lap. Her painting framed by only the loveliest of woods and given only the loveliest of golden plaques that read: 

Rosalie C. Octavius ~ Beloved Wife & Friend 

Otto gulped in a breath to steady himself as he looked upon the warmth of his late wife’s kindly painted brown eyes. 

“Rosie....please.... forgive me for what I’m about to do. Know that this time, shall and will truly be Its last. I swear...”

 Otto reaches his fingers around the bottom left edge of her frame and pulls open the painting like a door, revealing the hidden safe installed in the wall. Shaking fearfully, he reaches into his shirt and pulls from the folds a silver key attached to a chain around his neck, he removes it and uses it to unlock the safe door. 

Inside, there’s only a small handful of academia worthy notebooks lying still and undisturbed as the day they’ve locked away. Otto breathes in a sigh of relief. So no one’s broken in then.. But how still..? A bead of sweat flees down his temple. I should at least make sure they haven’t been meddled with... But he hesitates. He’s driven himself away from being tempted to re-open the safe before now but today, something has changed.  

The shadows from the trees outside loom over his shoulders like tentacles. Elongated and hungry, swaying along the walls without wind to move them as Otto reaches out into the safe and gently touches the corner of one of the notebooks. He can suddenly feel the weight of them in his hands again, of how much ink he went through writing in them, of the nights spent during the witching hour fighting to stay awake with a glass of scotch or brandy as he obsessively filled them with new knowledge and discoveries for his latest project. 

Discoveries that should have stayed where he found them. Discoveries that should have stayed undiscovered. 

But waiting to be found. To be seen. To be heard. To be released. 

Otto Octavius takes the first notebook into his hand and takes it out of the safe. Just behind his shoulder, four unearthly voices whisper in his ear:

 “We knew you’d come back.”

[ohworm-writes]

#02 - Tape Two | series masterlist

⮞ Beta Reader - @jschllatt​ ! thank you so much for proofreading this for me !

⮞ Pairing - Monster!Technoblade x Monster-Hunter!Reader ⮞ Summary - Bugs are not your favorite things to deal with, especially when it’s 10 times your size and chasing through streets after you. However, maybe a sight in the dark is worth the challenging day.  ⮞ Rating - Mature (SFW) ⮞ Warnings - violence , description of bug monster ( centipede ) , cursing , anxiousness ⮞ Word Count - 3.4k ⮞ Taglist - Open! Send an Ask or DM to be added

@ohworm-writes​​​ copyright 2021 | do not repost

Dead leaves crunch under your feet, and while the sound would have been satisfying in any other scenario, this was not the one. The small, nearly inaudible noise is enough to make you stop dead in your tracks, head poking up from your previously hunched position to look around. If you saw it yourself, it could have reminded you of a meerkat. The animals, as meek as they are, are quite the attraction.

Any sound you’d make would go fairly unappreciated. You see, out here, sound was not exactly one to be a best friend. It was an enemy, if anything. If anyone or anything were to hear you, to hear your location, you could be dead within seconds! Minutes, if you were a lucky one. A single noise, much like a fall leaf turning to pieces underneath your feet, is more than enough to cause fear to course through your veins. 

It’s almost a full minute until you move again. Sixty seconds stood in the same, and quite the uncomfortable, position. However, it’s much better to be safe, rather than sorry. Slowly, quietly, and carefully; you let your body move once more. Careful step after step, one foot in front of the other, simply trying to make it from Point A to Point B. Alive, preferably. 

You had set out more than a few hours ago, maybe… 7 hours or so? Given the position of the sun, which was a little further than its previous position in the center of the sky, it was enough to tell you that noon had gone, and the evening was nearing. Oh, how the time had passed, slowly albeit. Your anxiety and cautiousness never faltered. Never once did you stroll down the street, taking in the sights of what once was.

If you did, however, you’d be able to see the beauty of it. How the trees were full of life, spectacularly green leaves scattered across it by the thousands. How the flowers, some of which had poked through the asphalt of the streets, had bloomed in bright and captivating colors of all shades. How the streets, once filled with nothing but cars and people, had now been taken back by the land. Oh, what a sight it is, and what a sight you were missing out on. 

Even though you had overlooked the beauty of it all, you couldn’t deny that being out here was a breath of fresh air. Quite literally, in that sense. No, but especially because you were out here alone. On one hand, you could see it as another factor for you to be more aware than you already were. There was nobody to watch your back, to yell out if they had seen or heard anything. No, that was all your job now. You were the one to have all say in whether you made it to tomorrow. 

Without those thoughts, though, you could admire it. You had never had a moment to yourself, with it being always ruined by judgmental stares or offhanded comments. Now, you could listen to the beautiful silence that was loneliness. A shame, some could call it, how you’d revel to have moments like these alone. Why be alone when you could be out with friends or, hell, even people! Well, when nobody seems to take your side, though, loneliness is your only friend. It’s the only thing that you know won’t leave. 

Well, it’s the only thing you hope won’t leave, especially not now. 

Though, as they say, speak of the devil, and he will appear.

A clicking noise, much similar to the sound of steps, travels to your era. It’s far, but it’s audible. The crossbow, made at home in your hands, directs towards the sound in a fraction of a second. The way your body moves with such violence, it’s a wonder how you didn’t have whiplash from the movement. Everything around you seems to come to a halt at that moment. Not another sound, not a breath, no movement or sound at all. 

You stand at the corner of a street, tacky green arrows signs in the distance held up by a rusting chain to a stoplight to tell you which street is which. ‘4th Avenue,’ the sign ahead reads, and to its right, in the opposite position, reads ‘12th Avenue.’ On your right, there’s a barbershop, the red, white, and blue cylinder set to a stop out front. The windows are smashed in, shards of glass scattered along the pavement outside, and by the smell coming from inside, you can think that a little more than cutting hair happened there.

You hone your senses in on where the noise had come from, eye to the scope as you point your weapon in the previous sound’s direction. The arrow tip points towards the edge of the building, pointing into the street aside from it. When there’s no more noise, that’s when you panic. The worst thing you could experience out on the field was to hear a quite obvious sound, and then nothing. No indication if the sound had been there at all, or if it was something in your head. If it was there, then where had it gone?

To your luck, or not, the sound finds its place in your ears once more, the clicking sound much closer than the last time you had heard it. It’s almost like the sound a rollercoaster makes as it’s climbing the tracks towards a peak, slowing as it reaches the top. As the coaster reaches the top, there’s that brief sense of both dread and relief. On one hand, because you know what’s coming next. You know that soon, that calm would pass, and you’d dive downward into something you’re not sure if you’re ready to tackle head on. On the other, you know that this is the last of the peace, and you want to relish in every moment that you can.

And just like that, the coaster dives. 

From behind the crumbling brick of the likely once lively barbershop, something peeks to look at you. It’s low at first, whatever it was, maybe a foot off of the ground. But then, then it grows tall. Much taller than you, oh by quite a lot, that is. As it comes around the corner in all of its glory, you can see this plunge is far scarier than you’d expected.

The clicking noise had come from the legs of the monster, the skinny limbs coming by the hundred. The plates, like that of armor, plated across its back, face to and away from you, instead, its vulnerable purplish underside facing towards you. Looking up, the beast towering, you see its head. Large half-moon eyes on either side of its face peering down at you, antennas poking through the top. Large mandibles protrude from the side of its face, serrated teeth fully on display from its wide-open jaw.

That was a goddamn centipede, wasn’t it?

Its body wiggles as it reaches its full height, standing above you at twenty feet or so, its long shadow casting down over you. And then it pounces. The beast leaps towards you, mandibles spread wide as it dives directly towards you. At the same moment, you dash to the side, the trigger pressing down as it sends the arrow flying towards the underside of the monster. It pierces before the monster even touches the ground, a loud screech echoing from it.

It recovers quickly, twisting its head sharply, and you’re already bolting, making a violent turn down the street it just came from. It’s abandoned as you’d hoped, but not for long. With that many legs, it catches up with you quickly. The clicking, the thudding its limbs make as they collide with the ground, is something you won’t ever be able to forget. You dash from one side of the street to the other, taking the moments you have to reload the crossbow. 

It’s a task you’d wished was much easier right now, holding the arrow between your teeth as you pull the string back with one hand, the other shakily holding the weapon. To your luck, it clicks into place, and you spend no time loading it. You look over your shoulder, being met with the quickening pace of the oversized bug as it bounds towards you, a green drool dribbling out from its mouth. Now that it’s on the ground, it’s near impossible to get a worthy shot on it. 

You had looked over the file of the exact creature countless times while at the casino. Sleepless nights left to your own devices were all spent the same; hunched over your rotting desk, reading file after file on different monsters. While the words seem to blend before your eyes, the facts stay perfectly separated from one another. 

These creatures, rightfully referred to as ‘Giant Centipedes’, are a common Euclid,  mid-level monster. They tend to find a home in heavily wooded areas and marshes, few can be found scuttling down the abandoned avenues. Avenues, specifically that is. They’re around 60 feet long on average, longer or shorter depending on their age. They molt, which is a strange and unnerving occurrence that you, thankfully, have never seen yourself. When they molt, they’re most vulnerable, the plates on their back much softer. 

But, to your luck, the one chasing you must have been between molts, its plates at their strongest. The brown and purple-colored plates shine as the sun reflects off of them. However, this was not the time to admire it. Making another sharp turn, you race down another street, your friend in tow. It lets out a high-pitched snarl as sweat beads across your hairline, calm muscles burning at the exertion. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, and your breaths, while even-paced, leave you gasping. 

With the crossbow held tight to your chest, your body at an angle as you sprint, you think about your options. One, fuckin’ hell, you better sprint as your life depends on it. Because it bloody does! Two, however, which is much more of a plan, was to aim for an opening, quite literally. You had to wait for the exact moment where either its underside was exposed, or something else. 

Looking back for a split second, you see it. You see an opening. As you move to aim the crossbow, fast as ever, you do one thing you had been terrified of doing the entire chase.

You trip.

Your body tumbles onto the pavement, with no more grace than a drunken man. You’re still holding onto the weapon, barely at that, but it’s still in your grasp. It hurts like hell, your body colliding with the asphalt, broken glass, and gods know what else. The clicking stops too, and the moment you regain your stability, you realize why. The beast is towering over you, much like before, but now you’re on your ass staring up at it. 

It’s not a pleasant sight, the green liquid dripping from its mouth and mandibles onto the pavement only a few inches away from you. Its body gives a little wiggle, almost giving itself a pat on the back for a chase well done. 

The crossbow, held in your dominant hand, sits to your side. Not because you had given up, ready to accept your demise, but rather because you were looking for an opening to shoot. Bringing the weapon out while the creature drools above you was suicide. You look up at its body, eyes trained for a moment on the arrow you shot at it, which found itself lodged in its middle. An excellent shot, if you say so yourself, especially with the confines of the moment. 

Your eyes trail higher, where its neck started and its body ended, you had no idea. The flesh molds together as one, just a long line of flesh. As you watch it lower its body ever so slightly, almost as if to smell you better, there’s your opening.

You yourself barely even react as you whip the crossbow out with lightning speed, holding it in your grip and aiming upwards. The creature can barely lower its body an inch, a snarl trapped in its throat as the arrow fires, piercing through the easy flesh of its lower jaw and coming up through the head. 

At that moment, all life leaves the beast’s body, its body falling limp above you. You’re barely able to make it to the side as it crashes down upon the place you last were, a dark green ooze dribbling as the wound bleeds out. Your chest heaves as you look at it, your body propped up with one hand as you stare at the dead beast, its lifeless eyes directed towards you. 

 As the coaster car pulls into the station, and all is calm. 

You let your body collapse against the pavement, a soft thud sounding from the action. A dry laugh sounds from your throat, a little noise to tell you that you lived. You let your eyes shut, the warm sun shining down on you as you let yourself relax for the moment. 

All pleasant moments find their close, and you’re back onto your feet. As much as you wanted to melt into the pavement at that moment, falling asleep under the gentle sunlight, you didn’t want to stick around for what other monsters could have heard you. You take only a moment to retrieve both of the arrows, cringing at the grotesque noise it makes as you pull it from the flesh, before heading back on the road. 

Your body is much more sluggish as you walk down the beat-up roads, eyes heavier from your previous antics. Most would feel lucky to be alive after something like that, but smarter people would shrug it off and keep going. Idiots revel at the moment, because as you do, you’re not paying attention, and that’s when the real challenges come for your throat. 

Hours drone on as you make your way down the streets, out of one town and into the next. You couldn’t waste time, especially with the sun falling lower and lower into the sky. Covering ground was the most important thing if you wanted to be back within 8 days’ time, and you did not intend to stay out here even a minute longer than you needed to be. 

Sweat covers your body as the sun beats down on you, the feeling of being not one you enjoy all that much. Your legs burn and add on to the exertion from earlier, you were more than just fatigued. The sky mixes with shades of pinks and purples, small clouds dotted here and there in the sky. It’s beautiful, and you stop dead in your tracks to admire it. 

You’d scold yourself later tonight, half-asleep with emotions roaring, but you take the moment now to watch in awe. As the sun drops lower and lower on the horizon, the colors come in darker shades; you smile. It’s not a fake one like you’re so used to putting on with others around, but it’s one filled with genuine joy. Your mouth falls open partially, a satisfying breeze passing by you, and there’s peace.

As the sun nearly dips fully out of your sight, you decide to call it a night. It was no use going around in the dark, as it would simply and truly be a call for death. So, with drowsiness settling, you make your way to the closest building. The architecture here differs greatly from Las Nevadas and the rural towns you had passed through earlier in the day. While it’s far more urban than anything you’ve passed, tall complexes towering high above you, it’s not a major city. 

The building closest to you is one of the shortest, only a single story to its height. From the burnt-out neon sign on the floor outside, you can tell it was a thrift store in a better life. The windows are, surprisingly, intact. Even with them being covered in dust, as you walk closer, you can see the pristine condition of the building.

Taking it as a safe enough option, you take hold of the dark handle on the door and pull. It takes minimal effort for the door to swing towards you, a smell of mold immediately taking to your senses. You breathe out roughly, pinching your nose as you walk in, closing the door shut behind you.

It’s as much as you’d expect a thrift store to be, which is rightfully not much. Hanger stands with countless dull and colorful items you’d never be caught dead wearing now fill the aisles. Small bookshelves display much more than books, leaving their contents out for you to gaze at. You can almost call the place cozy.

With a quick scope around the place, checking for monsters as well as broken doors and shattered glass, you deem it safe enough to stay in for the night. As if you had much of another option, seeing how all color had gone from the sky and the stars had shown. You set up a makeshift bed in the middle of an aisle towards the front, backpack hung up, and weapons nearby. 

It’s as perfect as it can be, and given the circumstances, you’re more than happy with it. Letting your back fall against the carpeted floor, head dropping against a pillow you had found behind the counter, you let your body sink. It’s surprisingly comfortable, with the rough and tacky carpet and the feather-filled pillow. Yet, it feels like the most comfortable you’ve been in your lifetime. 

As you let your eyes shut slowly, ready to be taken over into the realm of sleep, a soft light emits from the window, disrupting your peace. Your eyes open once more, trained to the ceiling, and you give out a soft huff. Well, if it wasn’t just your luck. Turning your head over, you look towards the dusted window, seeing blows of a bluish-green shade glow from outside.

Your body still lies flat on the floor as you watch the colors mold with one another, several strange blobs glowing from behind the glass. With a sigh, you sit up, all of that previous discomfort coming back to you at full force. You wince at the sharp pain that your back gives as you stand on your feet, muscles tight and sore. 

You grab the hatchet that was clipped to your bag, making your way towards the glass, the colors shining brighter as you near it. It could have been some daylight timer someone had set up in the past, or it could be a monster. Only a foot away, you bring your hand up to the dusted window, shivering. With a single motion downwards, you wipe the glass, ridding it of dust. 

With a row of dust gone, you’re able to look out through the window. It’s confusing when you first look at it, your mind not registering the green and blue figures floating above the street. But then, in a moment of both brilliance and stupidity, you realize. You take no time to hold the weapon at your side, swinging the door wide open as you gaze into the street. 

Gods, was it worth it. 

Glowing fish swim above the street and glide by your face. A green and blue bioluminescent glow radiates off of them, dully lighting up the street. You’re able to see their bodies twisting and their fins swishing if you pay attention close enough. A school of smaller fish comes right by you, moving swiftly by your face and into the sky. 

And, as you watch them float higher, you’re sent into a moment of awe as you gaze into the sky. Whales and fish and sea creatures alike float high up in the sky, moving between the glow of the stars effortlessly. You watch as one of the larger whales floats closer to the ground, tail swishing up and down as it propels itself through the air. Your eyes go wide as you stare, a childlike grin set on your features that even you don’t catch.

It’s… amazing. It’s wonderful in every way you could never imagine by yourself. The glowing creatures in the sky, swimming through its currents, are a sight you’d never been able to see in your lifetime. It’s something a child would squeal with happiness at, something that they, and you, would never forget. 

With a mix of awe, excitement, and delight, you spend your time admiring the creatures above. Wishing, to yourself and whatever gods may have heard you, that you could be like them one day.

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⮞ Technoblade Route Taglist - @cutiebear45 @kiki-is-the-name @hololizard @sunshinebutnotrainbows @valkyrieidunn @dominickle @err0rnan0 @lacunaanonymoused @ura-writes @jaciahbabes @mega-trash-cringe @itsberrydreemurstuff @theharborhooligan @maybeshroom​ @caliginous-skies​ @whalerus​

⮞ Author’s Note - A day late, but in my defense, I have no defense. I know I’ve done a lot of world building, but I do promise things are going to start rolling in Techno’s direction next tape! I really do hope that you did enjoy, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! 

[matchamorphosis]

𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐙 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒

・゜ʚɞ ゜・ 𝑎.𝑙𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ʚɞ 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑤𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑦 ・゜ʚɞ ゜・

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || you’ve been testing ari’s patience and it’s up to him to put you straight— even if it’s going to be your first real punishment.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 || smut with plot

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 || daddy!ari levinson × little![black//woc]fem!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 5.7K — oof i’m sorry

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || 18+ nsfw, ddlg lifestyle and dynamics, daddy kink, extremely bratty reader, big mean daddy!ari, punishment, cursing, spankings, pussy slapping, some steamy scenes, spilt apple juice, a ruined Care Bear’s coloring page, use of nickname: muffin//muffin cake — MINORS DNI || 18+ INTERACTION ONLY —

𝐰. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 || my head was spiraling out of control and I felt bratty + missed my daddy!ari nonnie so I wrote this :): planning on making much more ddlg scenarios like these because they always seem like such a hit and i have so much fun writing them! anyways I hope you cherubs enjoy this! ♡  

↬ p.s || do not repost or plagiarize my work on any other fanfic platform such as: wattpad, ao3, tumblr, etc or plagiarize my work all together. do so and i will rip your spine from your scumy asshole and shove it down your talentless throat. ♡♡♡  

it all started with a simple question.

the simplest of simple questions you know the right answer to. neverminded the fact that the supreme authority in the house, Ari Levinson, would still call you a big dumb baby if you’d answer correctly.

today was not the best day for you to endure one of your aggressively bratty tantrums he says you’re to old to commit — just as well as it wasn’t the best day for you to exclaim your snappy clever remarks he insisted you’re to little to speak of and understand.

you’re either his big girl or his little girl and no in-between’s.

today ignited something in you, lit a measly match that trailed a kerosene path he didn’t dare think fast enough to put out critically. Ari was too slow to realize the build up and now he’s facing the burning fire that’s practically charring the good nature that was usually your morally-correct actions and behavior.

today you just didn’t feel like being good.

simple as that.  

however no matter what you did you wouldn’t win, not on daddy’s watch.

glossy black Mary Janes kick the air in a fiery frenzy, folded arms shielding your face as you sob into the pink fluffy play rug. it’s laying underneath your arts and crafts table and of course your thrashing petite body that’s spiraling in the tantrum.

muffled curses and melodramatic wails fill the pink playroom and the cause of this brat fit was the man at the opposite end of the table. no more than a foot away from you, thick muscled arms crossed over his navy blue polo chest. tapping his foot against the floor impatiently, waiting for your tantrum to end he holds the plastic package of goldfish grahams he took from you.

it wasn’t a good decision to ease your previous brattiness with the brownie baked cookies. of course he couldn’t help but give into your sweet tooth if that meant for you to calm down. although Ari didn’t expect you to finish all the sugary goldfish in your snack bowl in the ten minutes you were out of supervision.

additionally, he didn’t see it coming at all when he left you at that to sip from your juice box and snack on the chocolate goldfish while you colored perfectly in between the bolded lines. all so he could finish some paperwork but not until finding you ten minutes after with the whole package at the account of checking in on you.

the sight of your hand in the bag greedily grabbing the graham goldfishes and shoving them into your mouth was a damn sight to see. even when he secretly hid it in the highest and secret, kept out of eyesight corner of the pantry closet— you somehow retrieved it and smuggled it back in your playroom.

the confiscated, nearly-empty package is now in his fisted grasp. Ari cannot believe the shade of anger and disappointment breaking unknown levels of his calming limits.

words cannot describe the irritation inflaming his mind, you’re suppose to be his good little girl.

his precious little starlet who behaved and acted accordingly but instead he has a brat screaming ass up and face down into the play rug. crying her bug head off because he took your spoiling sugary snack from you that he shouldn’t have given in the first place.

rolling his eyes at the scene in front of him, his blue hues lock on your baby lotion thighs that your tiny purple argyll mini skirt reveals. cotton thigh highs adorned with purple bows at the frilly cuffs that match the small silk ones braided into your hair he helped design, capture his eye.

ever since this morning your attitude has been off and not only did it confuse Ari but it confused you to at first. until you slowly grew into liking the devious part that was hidden inside you for so long that maliciously appeared when you woke up on the naughty side of the bed.

from Ari getting you out of bed, giving you your routine bath, arranging your outfit and getting your hair ready. as well as eating breakfast, you pouted and grumbled the whole time but Ari was still so soft and patient with you. it made your heart gooey but you were craving his mean side.

so after you two got ready and started your separate chores and hobbies for the day, you were slowly working your way to anticipating Ari get mean with you. just like your magic always worked wonders, he did get mean. scolded at you when you were in the middle of reading your book, raising his voice just a slight at you that you did all your chores wrong and haven’t even completed some.

it was scary just for minute that he even had a hint of anger in his voice but damn did you enjoy the wetness in your panties at the same time when he ordered you to do them fully and correctly. until finally what he believed would be the end to your brattiness, nap time arrived.

thankful for it as he started lunch, thinking that when you’d wake up he would recognize his well mannered princess but what he didn’t expect would happen afterwards as he woke you up that you were more crankier than before. 

the two of you had your lunch of toasty grilled cheese, thick tomato soup and chicken salad. you were still moody and cranky when you sat down in your pastel chair with the wooden pink painted words of princess displayed on the crest rail.

of course he looked at you as if a mountain troll was stealing his princesses throne because he didn’t recognize the pout pulling at your full glossy lips. the scrunched brows making a dramatic impression that married well with your anger inflicted face that spoiled your pretty facial features.

as much as your daddy thought you looked adorable being cranky, every little thing seemed to tick you off. you had a problem with everything that could either easily be fixed or was out of your hands.

the grilled cheese wasn’t cut in the shapes that you wanted, he placed the cheesy slices in your wrong disney princess plate, you didn’t want to eat your greeny nasty salad, you wanted another cup of sprite. which you were neglected of because ari had a limit set for you from not drinking anything more than the amount your tiny hello kitty cup provided.

and most importantly you wanted to have Lulubelle, your tangerine teddy bear, to eat at the table.

of course he fixed his first two mistakes but you knew better than to argue against and ask for anything that went against the rules. instead of putting you to a corner, he set up another option.

encouraged you to eat your greens to set a good example for your stuffies. replaced the second cup of sprite you wanted with a juice box of your choice and placed Lulubelle on one of the living room couches telling you she will wait for you to finish eating and washing your hands.

but even with those resolutions there were major bumps and outbursts.

you played with your food by smacking your spoon against the soups surface which caused little splatters of red dots across the glossy cherry oak table and grumbled under your breath as you picked off the crust of the grilled sandwich.

flicking it with the swiftness of your two inch acrylics, the pieces landing in Ari’s soup or hair.

it was as if you were set on getting on his nerves because damn right you were.

rolled your eyes and silently mimicked his mouth when he ordered you to stop. deviously giggled when the funny vein on his forehead that only bulged out when he was really mad at you was potentially going to pop out. 

a smirk playing your lips when the corner of your eye caught every clench of his fist when you would hit the table leg obnoxiously as you slurped your soup. misbehaved yet did what he ordered you to when you believed his attention was back on his own food.

it was a very long lunch and as much as he thought he was going to snap at you and put you in your time out chair that was rarely used because you never ever acted like this, he left you to wash up as he cleaned up after lunch.

you would normally help him with cleaning the table or giving him any dirty dishes for him to clean when he was busy at the faucet. but he allowed you to run off into the living room and play with your stuffed bear in whatever todays make belief adventure the two of you were on.

cleaning up was easy since he only had to clean the bowls, plates and utensils the two of you ate with but it wasn’t until he started to clean the table did he notice all the soup drops against the cleaning plastic as well as the chunky pieces of lettuce, tomato, and bread crusts under the table around your chair. 

Ari was close to exploding, because he taught you better then to throw food and waste it but he gave himself a breath, counted to ten and made sure to make a mental note tonight. after your special cartoon marathon, he’d have a very important talk to you about food waste and how wrong it was.

so after cleaning up and warning the two of you were going to have a talk tonight, he settled you in your playroom since it was a room away from his office. Ari never felt comfortable or secure with leaving you all alone downstairs without someone watching over you. 

adjusting and nestling the baby monitor on one of your teddy bears heart strap, he placed the stuffed bear near your arts and crafts table. even if you were glaring at him for doing so, you weren’t a baby. although as usual, your daddy shushed at you and placed a kiss at your temple that made you silent as you pulled out your coloring books from your big wooden weaved basket with a grumble.

Ari knew you despised the baby monitor but he made it a priority to place it near you at all times when he wasn’t near. even if the meeting was only going to be around fifteen minutes, your daddy wasn’t going to narrow down the possibilities of something going wrong. 

after settling your desired snacks when you remind him that it’s snack time, Ari settled your juice box that he already pierced the straw through the tin foiled hole and your brownie goldfish in your hello kitty snack bowl halfway. checked his watch knowing he had to attend the virtual meeting in less than a few minutes.

kneeling down at your level as you munched on the fish shaped cookies and colored in a fluffy cloud a Care Bear was sleeping on. pulled you into a hug and pressed a kiss to your temple, “Daddy is going to be working in his office princess. can you behave like a good girl until daddy’s done with his meeting?”

the smile that was on your face disappeared, you didn’t want daddy to go and leave you alone!

I mean what was more important than sitting and watching you color? have you feed him the chocolatey goldfish and draw pretty sparkly hearts and shooting stars for him?

“Daddy I don’t want you to go! can the work wait?” you whine but Ari shook his head with a sigh, standing up to your dismay. peering down at you as you glare up at him.

“no the work can’t wait, muffin. it’ll only be twenty minutes and after Daddy does the work he’ll be back here. helping you color a page from your coloring book, how does that sound?” the soft lowness of his voice didn’t leave room for you to bite back an aggression but only nod.

“yes Daddy I would really like that.” Ari smiled to himself at that, thinking that your brattiness has finally come to an end as he left your room.

oh how wrong he was when he arrived back once the meeting was over.

Ari literally caught you with your hand in the cookie jar and you didn’t even look ashamed at all. not stuttering trying to explain your faultless contribution to this crime-like action.

to add onto the shock, when he snatched the bag just full of five goldfishes and crumbs did you start to cry and spiral into you tantrum even when he said nothing yet.

now we are here five minutes later.

with Ari looking down at your still continuing tantrum but noticing it’s lessening with your kicks and whines.

the only thing he feels is disappointment.

not only were you ruining your chances of watching the annual cartoon marathon the cable TV’s going to premiere later on tonight— that he allowed you to stay up to after relentless begs and your good behavior from previous weeks before — but you completely spoiled your appetite for dinner.

your favorite meal he made specially to go along with the cartoon marathon but now watching your tantrum become even more relentless Ari is confirming that you most definitely will not participate in it. maybe even cut your day short once you complete your night routine after dinner and make you head straight to bed.

“are you done being a brat now?” Ari, you’re soft daddy bear snapped viciously.

however you’re still letting out whines and sniffs as you reveal your red teary eyes from the carpet. the sight of them makes him want to drop the bag, kneel down and scoop you in his arms. kiss your face and tell you he’s sorry that he took the cookies away from you, but he can’t.

Ari cannot let this tantrum slide and give you what you want no matter how much it hurts his heart he isn’t trying to calm you down himself in the security and warmth of his arms around his little one.

he needs to put his foot down.

and it serves him right, because once latching your eyes on your mean Daddy’s austere blues you grab your white tiger stuffie nearby. covering your tear stricken face within the faux white fur with a gritted and bratty hmph! 

it was infuriating how your Daddy had to take all the things you wanted away from you. obviously you didn’t have a say in anything cause you were suppose to be his good girl but why continue to act good now when you know you’re Daddy is going to ruin the only thing that you’ve been anticipated since the beginning of December?

today approximately around eight o’clock on the dot the big people channel you were forbidden to watch from was going to premiere all your favorite holiday cartoons. The Powerpuff Girls, Scooby Doo, Charlie Brown, Looney Tunes, and the various vintage episodes of nostalgic Mickey Mouse.

if all went wrong as you went down with your ship you could watch some of the holiday issued tapes of Strawberry Shortcake and Winnie the Pooh on your vcr but it wasn’t as often you would have access to the other cartoon specials you enjoyed premiering their limited episodes at the touch of a remote and Ari knows this!

your big mean Daddy knows how much you’ve been looking forward to it but he’s probably going to instead send you off to your secluded bed in the separate room he sends you to when he was to furious to have you sleep with him in your shared big king bed after dinner. 

belly full of your favorite food that’s going to stir badly in your stomach as you shift under your warm covers restless because it wouldn’t be your goddamn bedtime. only having the single company of your golden fairy nighty nightlight and the only stuffie he’d allow you to cuddle for the night.

it makes you want to explode because you know how this is going to end but you’re head is to tired to even say anything in retaliation or beg him not to reconsider.

but maybe… if you think up something quick to throw him off it’ll buy you enough time to behave and show him you could be good. 

even though you screamed all the naughty no-no words Ari would have you over his lap in a second if you even thought of them. throat sore and red eyes stinging from crying so damn much and rubbing your closed eyelid fiercely against the play rug and stuffie.

a plan is concocting in your mind, nothing devious but it will have its dose of your witty pettiness and unholy brattiness.

daddy won’t suspect a thing, you thought as you stopped your sniffs and cries.

wiped your tears with the cashmere sleeve of your cropped lavender cardigan as you got up from your sprawled position. patted your argyle patterned skirt down to smooth out any wrinkles and got back to work on the arts and crafts table.

and your plan is beginning to work because it does take Ari by surprise when you get up from your pathetic little position. the purple argyle skirt now fully covering your bum, he knows you’re ignoring his stern stare when you scoot your knees back to the small crafts table.

continuing to color from your coloring book as if nothing happened.

Ari scoffs to himself, what kind of mind game were you playing on him?

“what do you think you’re doing muffin?” Ari spoke and for once you stare back at him. eyes slightly red as evidence of your crying, they’re calm now as they meet his.

“nothing Daddy, i’m just coloring,” you spoke, the crayon in your hand shading in a midnight sky. Ari continues to stare down until he takes the crayon from you— but what he doesn’t expect is that when he snatches the crayon from you he accidently knocked over your apple juice box.

the mellow yellowish liquid spills onto your crayon box, containing the limited edition colors you prized. soaking your beloved coloring tools with the sticky juice; it made your bottom lip tremble as you quickly grab the slightly soggy box. you let out a whine as you feel tears spring in your eyes.

the unintentional incident and your heartbroken state almost has Ari yet again stumbling to fix what wasn’t really his fault. leaving the room to get paper towels and a cleaning spray.

coming to terms with this, you’re surprised to find the casualty of your crayons diverting the attention away from you and onto something else.

maybe if you kept this up, eight o’clock would come and he’d have nothing else to do then allow you to have your cartoon marathon.

you thought as you tapped a single finger to your peachy cheek in thought.

all you had to do was put him in situations that would conflict him into think it was initially his fault therefore guilting him into giving you what you wanted!

then you’d be set on the living room rug with a plate of your favorite food on your lap. a stuffie at your hip and looking up at the tv as the credits for the first cartoon of the night rolled in.

quickly finding some Lysol wipes and tissues in the playroom you clean up the mess and the cardboard crayon box as Ari’s loud footsteps come closer and closer.

swiftly disposing them in the craft trash basket and settled in your cushion seat before he arrived in the doorway with his arms full of cleaning supplies. when Ari stepped back into the room he was surprised to find you already cleaned up the mess and properly sitting as you continued coloring.

twirling a braided lock of purple silk bowed hair around your finger. figuratively showing how much you were controlling those dominant Daddy instincts of his he wasn’t going to have you get your way.

you still need to come to terms of all the wrongs you committed today and if all goes well he’d decide if you could attend to that cartoon marathon. “muffin?” Ari spoke and on que your head lifts up, your pearly white smile so tender and innocent as if you weren’t messing with mind to get whatever you wanted.

meaning excuse all the trouble you got yourself into.

“yes Daddy?” voice soft and perky as you settle the crayon on the table, he catches you sitting up straighter. elbows resting on the table and arms pressing close to your chest to pronounce your plump cleavage the top three un-buttoned piece of your cardigan displayed.

the delicious sight has him licking his lips, wanting to throw you over his shoulder with the loud and rough slaps to your ass and take you to your room. throwing you on the bed and rip every little piece of clothing off of you. 

—but that’s what you want him to do, you want to have him distracted from the task at hand. especially when the task is putting you in your place and marginalizing your chances of watching the night special of holiday cartoons.

“what do brats get?” that question has you dropping your eyes from his to stare blankly at the coloring book and lined arrange of crayons in front of you.

did you want to answer him correctly or did you not want to answer at all?

the options where bouncing in your head but you didn’t realize Ari’s still waiting for you to answer when you ignored the question. picking up a crayon and colored in a Care Bear as if he didn’t ask you anything at all.

“muffin are you listening to me?” Ari sighs, tone no longer the softness as a few minutes ago and no longer bearing the same patience as before.

it doesn’t match your inattentive focus, you’re still coloring and teasing him. the sleeve of the tight periwinkle cardigan slipping off your shoulder, showing more of your rich skin that Ari wants to kiss and mark with his lips.

shaking his head out of it, telling himself that he was the adult and you were the brat and he was going to— no matter how much you were going to cry — discipline you into obedience and get his well behaved muffin back.

“i’m going to count to three and if-” he’s cut off when you roll your eyes on him, catching his voice in his mouth like a frog in his throat. Ari’s conflicted entirely and pissed entirely because you’ve never rolled your eyes at him, ever.

so as you persisted to ignore Ari, scribbling one of your multi colored crayons, you have a pink one in your hand. shading in a heart and an idea shines like a lightbulb above his head.

without any warning his large hands snatch the coloring book from under your grasp. the pale purple crayon in your small hand that was once shading in Share Bears fur runs along the whole paper. the sudden climax of running colored wax against moving paper, shocking you to a gasp.

an offended wail excludes from your mouth but Ari is too pissed to feel sympathetic. getting up he holds the coloring book he bought for you during the weekend above his head. somewhat enjoying and taking pleasure as you stand up on your tippy toes and jump to retrieve it with fail. 

indeed taking pleasure as he stares down at your full tits bouncing in your comfortable tube top that’s underneath the cardigan. loving your cries and whines as you beg him to give your coloring book back.

eyeing your tiny delicious figure that's far too small to reach the skyscraper height that holds your beloved Care Bears coloring book. it made Ari’s heart melt when you hugged and pressed your kisses all over his bearded face when he gifted you it some day ago but he never thought he’d enjoy taking it away from you.

right now he has to put you in your place and ignore the tightness in his pants to deal with later. “Daddy you ruined my drawing!” your sobs and whimpers proclaim, continuing to jump as your cries became louder and tears become more present.

“you didn’t answer Daddy’s question little one,” he hissed and with that your cries come to an end to just reveal a glare then a smirk.

quitting your attempts of retrieving the coloring book you turn around and walk away. a slight hypnotic flow of your hips and curves making Ari’s eyes train to the plump assets.

“what was the question again?” you sighed tiredly, encouraging the deadly glare your Daddy has on you.

a yawn overcoming you as you hovered your hand over your mouth that makes Ari scoff. glossy lips still bearing cookie crumbs at the corners you stretched, you lick them off and you bite your lip at him.

mocking him in your divine rebelliousness.

letting out little high pitched noises as you arched your back with your hands twined together above your head. again, to emphasize your cleavage, “would it just go in one ear and out the other or would you actually listen and answer like a good girl?” Ari seethed.

you stand there and register it and of course you were heading off the direction you want but maybe you can turn the tables on him. “i’ll be a good girl Daddy, I promise i’ll listen,” voice soft and assured.

Ari cocks his head to the side at that promise, quirking a brow but not breaking the stare he has on his precious angel that’s playing the devil. he’ll put that promise to the test, walking around the small yet wide arts and crafts table he finally stands in front of you.

making you heart thump louder and louder with each step he takes.

crouching down on his knees to face you at your eye level, Ari sees the devilish twinkle in your starlight eyes. waiting for him to ask the question he knows you can answer correctly.

“what do brats get?”

his stern and mean face that always makes you stutter on your own words and trip over your own feet clashes with yours.

of course you can answer correctly, you can but you can’t believe how fun and thrilling it is with not just your growing ego but the wetness growing in between your legs. soaking your lace panties when your hands lift up to trace his bulging biceps through the short sleeved polo.

“treats?”

you whisper, before your hand goes to grasp the bulge of his trousers that he lets out a pleasured hiss. before you can smirk he’s slapping your hand off his trouser covered cock.

and in a blitz of a second you’re squeaking out a squeal as Ari grabs you by your arm. dragging you to the rocking chair resting near your bookshelves of thick hardcover storybooks and sits in the cushion seat before throwing you over his lap.

whines and cries getting louder when Ari lifts up the tiny argyle skirt to reveal your ass. tummy squirming against his lap he pulls gently at your hair to lift it up.

“keep squirming and i’ll add another five to the twenty you already have,” he hisses but you still can’t believe everything has lead to this.

Daddy never gave you spankings.

never gave you physical punishments before but as much as you were despising the situation you can’t believe how your slicked core is getting wetter with each second that’s passing. with your Daddy’s large hands caressing your ass cheeks and those thick fingertips teasing your pussy’s slit.

“you’re going to count each spank I give you and after each spank I want you to thank me. no whines, no crying just ‘thank you Daddy’. do you understand me?”

Ari’s deep low voice above you rumbling your core like thunder on a dark stormy night. only leaving you to whimper in fear as you nod but were caught off guard when he landed a loud swift slap! to your ass. causing you to gasp in pain.

“yes!” you cried but squirmed when he chuckled down at you. leaving you wandering what you did wrong before he landed another spank to the same cheek. causing you to cry out and feeling the honey of your pussy drench your inner thighs.

“what was that? did you even listen to your Daddy?” he hissed as another rough spank crashed onto your ass, “what do you fuckin say?” he practically roared, leaving more tears to drop down the landscape of your dewy face.

“one! thank you daddy!” you wail pathetically, tears soaking your cheeks, you knew your Daddy is doing what was best for you but you couldn’t help but want to squirm away from his grasp.

catching you doing so he grips your neck in his grasp. “don’t you fuckin run from me now muffin, you acted like a brat so i’m gonna treat you like a fucking brat. we have one down and nineteen to go, don’t disappoint me,” Ari seethed before grasping your panties and pulling them off you.

by pulling off he ripped them at the area that covered your ass, marveling at the wetness of not just the panties but your pussy as well. “my muffin got worked up misbehaving? you get your dumb cunt wet when you disrespect Daddy’s authority?” he murmurs.

stuttering and attempting to answer the words become inaudible once your lips part at the calloused hands of Ari’s. soaked panties in his hold, he shoves them into your mouth. making you taste your own sweetness as he licks his own fingers from your honey and moans at the tangy palette.

“I thought we established no talking, you really are just a stupid little girl,” as much as his words sprung tears in your eyes you couldn’t help but feel your core burn. clenching your thighs together as result he darkly chuckles at the pathetic action.

his hands grip your thighs to forcibly split them apart, “oh muffin cake don’t distract Daddy now,” he darkly chuckles and before you now it a loud and swift slap hits your wet pussy. making you cry out in pain that’s slowly growing into pleasure.

“you’ve done enough of that for today. right now Daddy’s gonna have to punish you,” his hand that’s still at your cunt rubs it.

the slick of your wetness sounding off creating an erotic echo in the room and just like that he’s slapping your small wet pussy with his rough hand again. 

“and no matter how much you cry or squirm or beg me to stop I want you to handle it like the big girl I know you can be. do you understand me?” his growl overcoming your muffled pained whimpers and moans as you feverishly nod your head up and down.

pulling the panties out of your mouth you nod your head, “yes Daddy, I understand,” you whimper after a few hiccups.

you can’t see the smirk plastered on his face but you can see his risen hand in the air from the corner of your dress up hand mirror. angled on the floor to capture the moment, shuddering when it disappears from the mirrors image you feel the rough spank at your cheek.

not as rough and angry as the first three but still enough that it stings tremendously, “two, thank you Daddy,” 

“that’s what I like to hear muffin,” Ari smirks before getting back to work.  

your Daddy continued to give you your deserved spankings, your ass bruised and sore by the time he was finished and was satisfied with each one you counted and thanked him for.

praised you for not squirming even when you wanted to as he covered your ass with the thin material of your skirt.

“you did so well muffin cake. handled and took your punishment like the good girl I knew you could be,” he whispered lovingly in your ear m as he carried you to both your shared bedroom to rub some soothing lotion on your sore bum.

“thank you Daddy. I-i’m so sorry I was so bad today,” you whimpered as chocked hiccups become more unbearable. eyes swelling up with tears and a little sob erupting from your mouth. Ari shushes it by taking your face in his hands and pressing a kiss to your lips.

“it’s okay baby, I promise everything is okay. no matter how bad you act always know, always know that Daddy still loves you. i’ll always love you muffin cake, that’s forever.” those soft blue hues lace with yours and you truly do feel at ease.

nodding your head at his soft supportive assertion, his forehead pressed to yours and your noses rubbing tenderly against each other. making you giggle and he grins as he laughs with you before setting you down on the bed.

Ari rubs the soothing cold lotion against your bum, continuing to shower you with divine praises, sweet appreciations and heart warming adorations that made your peachy cheeks sore from your never-ending smile.

afterwards he gently carries you in his arm downstairs heading to the living room. telling you how you and him were going to fix the coloring page he ruined as snuggle you face into his neck. large bunny stuffie in you locked armed connection he settles you down on the couch.

grabbing the fluffy throw blanket draped on one of the other couches he grabs it and wraps your lower half in it. giggling as he tucks it around your sides to make sure you’re nestled nice and warm, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Ari glances down to his watch with a soft smile, clutching the remote on the coffee table he turns the TV on.

smirking at your confusion when he goes on the channel that’s minutes away from airing the cartoon marathon.

“Daddy what are you doing?” your hushed voice catches his ears, Ari turns his head over his shoulder at you looking up at him with those conflicted doe eyes.

“i’m letting my muffin watch her cartoons. Daddy knows you’ve been waiting a month to watch them and daddy knows his princess deserves it,” his soft smile only but eludes your guiltiness.

“but i’ve been really bad today. b-bad girls don’t get TV time. they don’t get to watch cartoons,” you sob as tears began to fall once more but they’re quickly wiped away at Ari’s warm hands, cooing you into calming down.

“Daddy knows you’ve been bad today, but you proved to Daddy that you were good at handling your punishment. bad girls don’t get TV time, you’re right, but bad girls who take their punishments well and understand what they did wrong get TV time. because they’re no longer bad girls,” he smiles and you smile as well, leaning in for a kiss he accepts.

“there’s only a couple of minutes left before the premiere starts. Daddy’s gonna be in the kitchen starting dinner, if you need anything just call Daddy’s name out okay?” he whispers and you nod your head, shifting attentively on the couch to get into a comfortable position.

smiling to yourself as you pull your bunny plushie closer when the commercials end and the beginning credits to How The Grinch Stole Christmas starts to roll in.

you come to a solid conclusion.

no matter how you get in your bratty fits that your Daddy is going to forever love you. and no matter how stern Daddy is and how angry you are at him, you’re forever going to love him.

and no spanking or ruined drawing is ever going to change that!

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[ds0408]

We meet again-2

Jason's POV

I ran after Damien and saw him crying under a tree. Crying. Oh. My. God. Damien never cries. I called the rest of the family and told them we can not do the tour because of some problem and they should come to ivy's garden asap. then I slowly walked up to Damien and sat next to him. I know that right now I am supposed to be a brother.

"Hey lil'D, what happened. Who was that girl?" I questioned. He sniffed and then said "At the league I was not the only child raised, she was with me. We were the only thing keeping each other sane." He then got out the chain the girl gave him. and removed a particular ring. "This ring. Is the promise ring I gave her before our betrothal ceremony" Did he just say BETHROTEL?! "Did you just say betrothal?!"

"It was our choice Todd. anyway, I promised I would never cause her any harm, and wouldn't let any harm come to her, I promised I would love her and her only."

"Then why did she give it back? Isn't she supposed to be the one wearing this?"

His breath hitched "I broke a promise, I hurt her, and not only physical pain emotional too."

"Is it ok if I ask what you did that caused her pain?"

"During the attack of death stroke, my mother over heard her name come from the enemy's side and apparently there was a traitor within us. Mother thought it was her and told me she must deserve pain after what she did to grand father. So I went to search for her, I found her in the middle of dead bodies, I couldn't tell whose were they. She saw me and pleaded me to believe her, she told me she was devoted to me and only me, but my rage took over and I told her I didn't believe her and attacked, She only defended, then I sunk my katana in her waist and once I did that, Mother came and saw she had a look of pity and guilt. I asked her as soon as we left and she told me it was a mistake"

He had tears washing down his eyes. I feel so bad. He had so much going through and we were all brats to him. I sighed "What is the other ring for?" I asked

He smiled a sad smile "Our engagement ring, she looked so beautiful in that dress. We were engaged at the age of five. Everyone were saying she looked elegant. That night we told each other everything- well at least I think everything, I still have my ring" He removed a black and silver ring and showed it to me.

I sighed and hugged him, to my surprise he hugged me back. Then he fell asleep crying. Then I looked back to see Dick, Tim and Bruce saw the scene.

Chloe pov

Mari-bug was almost crying. I know everything about her past, about Damien and the league. We went back to the class while I comforted her. Then suddenly the horrendous voice came and the lies are out of her mouth like they are fluent "Damien is so sweet, On our last date he said that he would propose to me once I am of age."

"That is so sweet!!" said Mylene

"Awww!" said Alya

Then I whispered to Marinette "Honestly, these people need a brain transplant"

Marinette replied with " Hey the transplanted brain would go for a waste, at least give it to someone who can use it" We both end up snickering at that.

"WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT MARI-BRAT!!" Yelled Alya

Before I could say anything Mari beat me to it.

"Wo so original" she said sarcastically while slow clapping and I soon joined her "You just beat Bob-Roth" I bursted Laughing at that I could see Julika trying to contain her laughter, Even Rose and Nathaniel.

(Hey guys, I just saw that a few people reposted my previous story WE MEET AGAIN-1. So I just wanted to say if you could mention or tag me if you repost any of my works)

Tags:

@buginetye

[getofy]

touch (b.k)

bakugo x gn!reader; no spoilers; fluff; mentions of bakusquad

cw: just pinin’ katsuki </3; lil’ suggestive if u squint ? ; he’s also mean here, but i mean, when is he not?

wc: 457

my favorite rhetorical device is repetition and it rlly shows in this fic bruh pls. orginally, it was meant to be centered around touch (since that is what i firmly believe katsuki’s love language is), but then it turned into this monstrosity?  i apologize in advance for what you’re about to read. i was struggling so hard lol. i promise the other parts will be better aaa!!!

dt: my bakugo obsessed friend. i hope yesterday was better than the previous day was bubs. don’t stress urself out too much. katsuki is proud of you for working hard. 

part 1/5 of the love languages series

  —Bakugo Katsuki was not in love with you, 

  and he most certainly was not attracted to you. 

   To assume that he felt anything other than annoyance regarding your personality would be a gross misinterpretation. At best, you were every synonym for unremarkable, and at worst, you were a nuisance. 

  Simply put, you bugged him. 

     He was not keen on the honey-coated melody you called your voice, nor was he drawn to the intoxicating scent of your stupid shampoo. Absolutely nothing was alluring about you, and he acted as such. Though, the messy quartet of his self-proclaimed ‘friends’ would beg to differ. 

  According to them, he transformed into an incredibly helpless, sappy, and lovey-dovey puppy whenever you walked into the room. But so what? Nevermind what Kirishima, Denki, Mina, and Sero thought. As far as Bakugo was concerned, they knew absolutely nothing. His classmates had to be as dumb-as-dirt to believe that he had a ‘soft-spot’ for you. 

  Bakugo was tired of the conspiracies regarding the two of you’s relationship. This was because it was undeniably ordinary. Even calling it platonic would be pushing it. To him, what you two shared did not in any way grant Denki and Kirishima’s constant teasing. 

It’s not nearly as big of a deal as they both make it out to be.

  When he chooses to sit next to you, it’s because the seat neighboring your own just happened to be free, and not because he was chasing the tantalizing high that came from brushing his thigh against your own.

  When your hands leave his own blistered covered ones, they only ache because of how ultra-sensitive his quirk makes them. Not because he secretly hopes that you’ll be back to keep them from being lonesome once more.

  When he decides to pull you in close during a training exercise, it’s because he’s saving you from being demolished by a dummy. Who cares if he lets you hold onto him for a beat longer than what was deemed appropriate? It was only because breaking through your firm grip was more irritating than the way your hand felt against his bicep. 

  And when he turns in for the night, his mind only wanders to what it would feel like to press his lips against the back of your neck for a fleeting moment. A non-sensical daydream caused by temporary exhaustion. That was normal and nothing to be concerned about.

  Sure, he would be the first to admit that there were certain traits about you that vexed him, but they could be explained away easily through simple logic and reasoning. Something that everyone except he and you seemed to lack.

  There was no way Bakugo loved you.

   So what were you doing to him?

*do not repost my work without proper credit and my explicit permission

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[goldenseresinretriever]

You Catch More Bees With Honey: Chapter 2

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw, blindsided by a team he trusted like family has been traded to the San Diego Dogfighters. Across the country from the place he calls home, Bradley feels lost and betrayed. Not to mention the familiar faces and ghosts from his past that he now has to face every day at work. Bradley’s caught between wanting to show his former team the mistake they made in double-crossing him and wondering if it’s time to hang up his skates after one final season. You’re living your dream as the PR representative for the Dogfighters. When Coach Maverick made a bid to bring his godson to the team, you hadn’t batted an eye. Bradley was a good teammate, and a good player. Unfortunately, the Bradley that shows up in San Diego is nothing like your research suggested. He’s moody, irritable, aggressive, and angry, throwing a wrench in all your careful planning. What’s caused such a drastic change in him? And can you figure out how to help him before he makes a mistake you can’t fix?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, dead parents, drunkenness, alcohol consumption, violence, sports violence, blood probably, angst, fluff, eventual smut, age gap (28 and 38), enemies to lovers, suggestive language, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: This is a repost of my completed series, You Catch More Bees With Honey. It was originally posted in November-March 2023, and was lost when my blog was deleted.

Previous Chapter // Series Masterlist // Next Chapter

“Bradley Bradshaw, #86, five-minute major for fighting.” You let out an audible groan as you watch the ref lead Bradley off the ice into the penalty box. Bugs gives you a pained smile as she nudges your shoulder with hers even as you can feel the rage radiating from Cyclone. Bradley’s got drying blood in his mustache from where he took a retaliatory hit from the Florida player after practically throwing him into the boards. Bradley’s been avoiding you the tiff in your office. Clearly, he hasn’t spent the time considering your words since he’s taken the first opportunity possible to ignore your advice. When the line changes you make eye contact with Jake as he swings over the boards, grabbing his water bottle. You watch as he takes a drink, his mouth set in a thin line that has nothing to do with the current 5-2 score in the Dogfighters’s favor, and everything to do with his alternate captain.

You know this has to be hard on Jake too. Even though he was spared Cyclone’s screaming session the other day, you could tell he was aware of the problems and risks that Bradley was presenting. Jake’s the team captain and Bradley is one of his guys, which makes him his responsibility. The biggest problem, however, is that Bradley had been partially right when you argued the other day. Hockey’s a contact sport and fighting is a part of the rules as well as the culture, and it’s hard to argue with the results given that Bradley is currently the third-highest goal scorer on the team.

After finishing his drink, Jake turns on the bench to face you and Bugs, his green eyes hard. “We need to talk.” You and Bugs give him firm nods before he turns back to the game. It seems Cyclone is too busy glaring daggers at the penalty box to notice your exchange. You sigh, as you realize just how much longer your night has gotten.

~~~~~

You just manage to wedge your tiny Bug in the driveway next to Javy’s Landrover. The way he’s parked is the equivalent of manspreading across the space that could easily hold two or maybe even three cars on a good day. You growl in frustration as you do your damnedest not to slam the door in frustration as you get out to survey his handiwork. Your car is a pastel pink convertible bug and it looks comical parked next to the giant SUV, but you sigh and lock it before heading up the short walk to Jake’s front door. The seaside home with beach access was tucked cozily into a sleepy suburban neighborhood. It's not what you’d expect from a bachelor NHL player but the more you’ve gotten to know Jake, the more it makes sense. The main is painfully domestic. This is affirmed by the sight you’re treated to when you open the door that’s been left open in anticipation of your arrival. Jake is at the stove, making pancakes despite the fact that the sun has long since set outside. Bugs and Javy are seated across the counter from him, already digging into their plates.

“Hey, Zam! Thanks for coming!” Jake calls, offering you a smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Congrats on the win!” You answer, dragging a chair from the dining room up next to the counter since there are only two stools. Bugs elbows Javy and he offers you his stool, taking the chair instead and somehow still looking comfortable at the raised countertop. You give Bugs an appreciative look before sliding Javy’s plate over to him and taking a seat.

You fix Jake with a look. “So, what are we going to do about Bradshaw, because I know Cyclone is just ITCHING to fire me over it.” Bugs stiffens next to you and you turn to look at her bewildered expression.

“He can’t fire YOU because of BRADLEY’S behavior! How is that even your fault?!”

“His behavior isn’t, but how the press spins it? That absolutely is. Sports outlets are calling him dangerous and a loose canon. It’s reflecting poorly on the team, not to mention Dare’s and Mav’s leadership, and of course Cyclone’s management.” You shrug as Jake hands you a plate piled high with pancakes.

“You’re not his babysitter though!” She exclaims and you swallow a mouthful of pancake, gesturing at Jake.

“Correct, that’s your man’s problem.” Jake scowls as he flips a pancake. You just raise an eyebrow at him and he growls.

“Look I’ll talk to him first thing tomorrow, alright?”

“Fhank hou!” You chirp brightly through a mouthful of pancake and he rolls his eyes. “Love you, Jake!” You flash a hand heart at him as you go for another bite.

“Love you too, Zam,” he says with a rueful smile and Bugs giggles next to you.

“What about me?” You turn to Javy, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“What about you?”

“Do you love me?” He grins wolfishly at you.

“Well now, Javy, I know better than to love you, I’m not trying to catch anything.” You say dryly.

“Like feelings?” He waggles his eyebrows at you.

“Like chlamydia.” You respond coldly and Bugs chokes on her pancakes beside you as Jake bellows a laugh.

~~~~~

The next morning you’re already elbow-deep in damage control over Bradley’s behavior last night which ended with him getting raucously drunk at a dive bar, when Mickey comes into your office, wordlessly placing a pink can of Monster on your desk. Your hands are instantly off the keyboard and wrapped possessively around the can as you grasp it tightly, cracking the tab in record time to take a long sip.

“Marry me,” you groan as you come up for air.

He laughs, shaking his head. “I told you Zam, if I still haven’t found a trophy wife by the age of forty, the job’s yours.”

“Jokes on you, Mickey, you’d rather be a trophy husband than have a trophy wife.”

“What can I say? I’m a feminist at heart.” You snort, ignoring the way the carbonation burns your nose as he grins, tossing himself into the chair across from your desk.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere?” You ask with no bite, a matching grin gracing your lips as you turn back to the email you’re sending, occasionally bringing the pink can to your lips. He shrugs, settling further into the chair.

“We’re doing individual conditioning for the rest of the morning, I needed a break.” You nod, typing away at your keyboard. The two of you sit in comfortable silence as you finish the email and finally turn back to him.

“Mick, I need a favor.” You slump, resting your cheek against the cool surface of your desk, regarding your best friend’s sideways face.

“Anything,” he says without hesitation.

“What’s the deal with Bradley?” You watch the storm clouds gather over his normally sunny disposition. Despite the tension that now lingers in his slumped form, his voice is light as he says, “No idea.” He shakes his head and you can see his jaw tightens. “That’s just the thing? He’s quiet, kind of a loner, but perfectly nice to everyone on the team. He doesn’t argue with anyone, hell, not even Javy!” He shoves an irritated hand through his hair, his eyes darting around as the tension in his shoulders seeps into his actions.

“So you have no idea why he’s acting out? He was never like this with the Flyers. All the research I’ve done indicates not a single incident that would explain his behavior, I’m drawing a blank here, and you know I never draw blanks when it comes to this stuff.” You’re about to turn and press your forehead against the desk next but you catch the flit of Mickey’s eyes and sit up instead, leaning across the desk to point an accusatory finger at him.

“You know something!” He grimaces and shakes his head but you shake yours back indignantly. “Mickey Garcia, I know you and you know something!” He shakes his head again, lips sealed and you let out a groan of frustration before you purse your lips tightly, sitting back, folding into yourself a little. “Mickey, my job depends on this, please.” Your voice is quieter now, vulnerable, and you hate being vulnerable but Mickey’s seen you at your lowest. He’s earned the right to see you like this.

He sighs, letting the tension run out of his body as he faces you. “Look, this isn’t anything, really, just something I’ve observed,”

“Mickey, I’ll take anything at this point.” He nods slowly, taking a deep breath before continuing.

“I think there’s something going on between him and Mav.” He says slowly and you perk up at that.

“Him and Mav?” Mickey nods.

“Whenever Maverick corrects him or even just tries to suggest something to him, he gets standoffish and weird. I’ve noticed it a couple of times and I don’t know, it could just be a coincidence but he’s not like that with Dare.” He studies his hands as you turn this new information over in your head. “You seem to think that’s something.” He states when you haven’t said anything in a few minutes as you wrestle silently.

“Mav is Bradley’s godfather.” You say, finally. You need another head to help you think this out. You watch Mickey’s eyes widen as he absorbs the new information.

“Fuck, really?” You nod. “You think there’s something going on between them?” You shrug, shaking your head in confusion.

“That’s just the thing though? Maverick specifically asked to trade for Bradley when we were building and negotiating the roster.”

“Damn,” Mickey sits back, rubbing his jaw at the influx of new information.

“I’ll say.” You mutter and the two of you sit in silence a while longer, mulling over the mystery before you until Mickey finally has to leave you with your thoughts and caffeine.

~~~~~

A few nights later you’re wrapping things up after yet another late night. The arena is empty as you make your way to the parking garage, looking forward to going home and putting your feet up while some mindless TV show plays in the background. Of course, that’s not happening as you receive a series of text messages from the last person you want to hear from right now. Well, it’s not a message so much as an order. The first message is a link to a TMZ article posted thirty seconds ago. It’s chronicling the latest in Bradley’s drunken escapades at a dive bar not far from here. The second message makes you audibly groan. “Get him out of there. NOW.” You have half a mind to call Jake and tell him he’s up for babysitting duty but you know that’ll just cause more problems than it will solve. You’d rather leave him and Bugs out of Cyclone’s line of fire. They’ve suffered enough.

You groan again, listening to it bounce off the concrete walls back to you as you lean your head on the cool metal of your car, mourning the loss of your quiet night in. You’re hardly dressed for the bar in your pink suit but at least if the paparazzi are still hanging around they’ll recognize you immediately and back off. Resigned to your fate, you get into your car and put the name of the bar into the navigation.

~~~~~

You pull into the parking lot, glaring at the mass of cameras and reporters lining up outside the building waiting for their prey. Your instinct had been right and as much as you wish you were at home right now, you have to thank Cyclone for calling you. This had the potential to be a dumpster fire if Bradley was left to his own drunken devices. You catch sight of Bradley’s obnoxiously bright blue Ford Bronco in the parking lot and you make a mental note to suggest that he find a less conspicuous mode of transportation if he’s going to insist on self-destructing in public. You take a moment to breathe and check that your ponytail is still flawless as you exit the vehicle, locking it behind you before squaring your shoulders and marching up to the pavement in front of the dive bar, right in front of the cameras.

“Alright people, let’s move, show’s over.” You scan the crowd that’s making no effort to clear out whatsoever. “Anthony! Andrea! Mason! Let’s GO!” You clap your hands once, the crack of skin on skin deafening on the street. You notice the three paparazzi you’d just called out by name start to squirm uncomfortably. It pays to know the enemy by name, they respond much better to threats that way. “Nathan! Louise! Gary! I can do this all night and still have time to call your lawyers the minute the clock strikes nine, let’s get a move on, shall we?” That works and you see the crowd start to move.

You wait, hands on your hips until the last of them disappears into the balmy San Diego night before hauling open the door to the dive bar that’s been painted black to keep out the light and coincidentally also the cameras. The bar is cast in red light from the numerous neon signs that litter the walls advertising various beer brands. Your eyes adjust to the light as your ears sort through the music crackling out of the jukebox in a corner, the murmured conversation of regular customers, and finally settle on the raised voices in the back of the bar. The sound of skin hitting skin swallows up the sound of your heels peeling off the sticky floor as you get closer to the commotion. Bradley’s standing at a pool table, the cue stick looking almost comically small in his huge hands. His shoulders are tense as is his jaw. There’s the beginning of a bruise coloring the edge of said jaw and his lip is split, dried blood smeared on his chin. His eyes are hazy and unfocused from the alcohol he’s clearly been consuming. There are three guys surrounding him who look worse for wear even as they leer at the much larger man.

“Alright boys, we’re done here.” You snip, hands on your hips as the three guys turn to face you. You watch Bradley’s head turn to unsuccessfully focus on you.

“And who do you think you are, Missy?” One of the guys scoffs as he gives you a once-over.

“His PR rep, so unless you’d like this to get a whole lot uglier in the legal department, I’d get out of here if I were you.” You watch their eyes widen in surprise even if some of them look suspicious. “Bradshaw, let’s go.” You jerk your chin at Bradley, but he shakes his head.

“Fuck off, Honey, this isn’t your business.” Bradley glared at you and you could have laughed if you weren’t so pissed off. “Come on boys, let’s finish this.” The men look warily between the two of you and slowly start to back off, clearly taking your threat of legal action seriously. Bradley, however, is having none of this and you move into his path before you can think it through. Bradley’s fist that’s aiming for the man closest to him collides with your jaw and you go down hard, spared from a sticky collision with the floor by the man Bradley was aiming for. Your head is spinning with the force of the blow and you’re very aware of why Bradley’s defenseman because there’s some serious force behind his punch even inebriated. The older man who caught you helps you stand shakily and you blink to try and clear your vision as he asks if you’re alright. You manage a nod, waving him off as you straighten, glaring at Bradley who’s staring at you, bewildered.

“BRADSHAW. OUTSIDE. NOW.” Thankfully, he’s smart enough to drop the pool cue and start heading towards the exit. You march after him, still shaken up from the hit that’s definitely going to leave a nasty bruise. You make a stop at the bar, stopping Bradley from getting too far with a death grip on his bicep that’s too large for its own good. You close out his tab and the bartender gives you a sympathetic look that tells you she’d been watching your little altercation as she passes you a ziploc of ice and points you two towards a side exit and you give her a tired thanks before dragging Bradley behind you. The night air is as sticky as the floor of that bar and you grimace as stray hairs stick to your jaw that’s damp from the makeshift ice pack you’re cradling to it with one hand while you drag Bradley towards your car with the other. You pin the ice pack between your shoulder and chin while you fish your keys out of your pocket, unlocking the car and practically throwing Bradley at the passenger side. “Get in, Bradshaw, and if you throw up in my car I swear to god I’ll kill you myself.” Bradley drapes himself over the top of the car and if you weren’t so damn tired you’d muster up the energy to laugh at how easily he covers the width of it, the man truly is huge.

“There’s no way I’m gonna fit.” You suppress a groan at Bradley’s words.

“Shut up and get in the damn car, Bradshaw.” You put your hand on your hips, wondering exactly how much trouble you’d get in if you just left him here.

“S’not a car.” His brown eyebrows pinch together in imitation of great focus even as his words are slurred, exhibiting exactly how much he’s had to drink. A guy his size doesn’t go down without a fight, not to mention that he smells like a distillery. Your feet hurt. You should be home, in your pajamas with your feet up. Instead, you’re still in your work clothes in a shady parking lot outside a dive bar attempting to wrangle a drunk hockey player into your car so you can take him home. Your patience was already paper thin when you got here, now it’s nonexistent.

“Bradshaw. Car. Now.” You snap. He gives you a dubious look as he yanks roughly on the passenger side door and maybe he has a point because you watch as he gracelessly smacks his obnoxiously large head on the bottom of the canopy that forms the doorframe. You can’t help the bubble of deranged laughter that escapes your mouth. You’re exhausted and seeing Bradley Bradshaw get a little comeuppance for the trouble that he insists on causing you is karma at its finest.

He’s groaning and attempting to fold himself into your bright pink bug which would probably be a tall order when he’s sober, but drunk? It’s an impossible task. You sigh and get into the car, turning it on before slamming the button to retract the canopy. Thankfully, it’s a beautiful night in San Diego as you pull out of the parking lot, the cool air whipping your ponytail around. You glance at the man next to you to see that despite being crammed into the passenger seat like a trick snake in a can, he’s fallen asleep, one cheek smashed against the window, a thin line of drool escaping a corner of his mouth. You chuckle to yourself, and if you pause to take a photo for later at the next streetlight, he’s none the wiser.

~~~~~

Halfway back to your apartment, you realize you have no idea where Bradley lives and you groan, making a turn that’ll take you back to the arena. When you pull into the long-empty parking garage, you lean your head against the steering wheel, praying for patience you’re not sure you still possess after the night you’ve had. Bradley stirs now that the car has stopped moving, blinking against the harsh lights of the parking garage.

“Where are we?” He groans, covering his eyes and you turn to glare at him.

“Work. I don’t know where you live.” He grumbles a low sound, before spitting out an address that you quickly enter into your navigation, scoffing at the luxury apartment complex that it belongs to as you put the car back into drive. Bradley drops his hand as you pull back out into the night air, letting it rest out of the window that he’s rolled down.

Since he’s awake and you’re not in the mood to beat around the bush you casually ask, “What’s the deal with you and Maverick?” You’ve been thinking about it ever since Mickey mentioned it to you. If Bradley and Mav are having issues, you need to talk to Mav about it. Bradley’s quiet, his attention focussed out the window, the breeze whipping his sandy brown curls into a frenzy that’ll be a bitch to tame in the morning. You see the hand in his lap curl into a fist, however, and you swallow, hoping he’s drunk enough to let an answer slip.

“Maverick’s the reason I got traded.” His voice is quiet and the slight slur is almost lost to the wind and sounds of the night but you catch it.

“I know, he asked for you specifically. It was sweet.” You say, prodding gently, fishing for anything he’s willing to give you. Bradley snorts and you turn slightly to see his fist is even tighter and his jaw is set.

“Sweet? Considering I’ve seen him once in my life before now, at my mom’s fucking funeral? I wouldn’t call it sweet.” Your heart lurches. You knew both of Bradley’s parents were dead but you’d assumed he and Mav were close as a byproduct but this was news to you.

You curse the appearance of Bradley’s apartment complex coming into view, desperate to get more information out of him as you pull into the driveway. A doorman rushes over as Bradley opens his door and all but tumbles out of the car like water out of a dam.

“Mr. Bradshaw, sir!” The older man exclaims as he wrestles Bradley to his feet with a surprising amount of strength for his age. “You’ve had too much to drink again, Mr. Bradshaw.” He chastises gently as you come around the car to try and help as he waves you off. “I hope you’re not giving your pretty lady any trouble.” You give him a tired smile before shaking your head.

“Oh I’m not his pretty anything, we work together.” The man nods, giving you a smile.

“Alright then miss, I’ll take him from here, don’t you worry about him.” You glance at his name tag.

“Thank you, Tony.” He gives you another bright smile and waves you off with his free hand.

“You get home safe, miss!” He calls back to you as you get back into your car, watching him lead the much taller drunk hockey player into the building like this is every night for him. Well, it probably is. You turn over Bradley’s revelation in your mind as you drive yourself home to your waiting bed, exhaustion setting in along with the throbbing in your jaw.

[shooting-starry]

Trust me. Love me. Shoot me.

Atsumu Miya x female reader

Summary: Atsumu finds himself with a young woman who is more that what she seems.

A/n: I had zero motivation to day to write this but please enjoy!? As always, please don’t repost! To support me please like or reblog. Also!! Send me a request if you want to be added to the tags list for this series!

Y/n= your name

L/n= Your last name

Y/h/c= your hair colour

Y/e/c= your eye colour

Warning: extremely unedited, mentioned blood, mentioned fire, burning, medical stuff, needles

Previous//Next

Atsumu woke up with the warm  morning sun spilling through the window, and the fresh morning air cascaded through the open window. There was no pain in his body and his head was light. His head was lying on a soft, plush pillow and the silk sheets were smooth against his skin. Everything was fine.

Well almost fine. The only problem was that he didn’t own any silk sheets. He had scratchy cotton ones. In alarm, Atsumu sat up straight and looked around the somewhat familiar room. He was is a room with lightly coloured walls and a few plants which hung from the ceiling. Beside the door was a body length mirror with two coat hooks beside it. Next to where he sat was a beige bedside table with two drawers and a single daisy in a small glass jar and 2 doors which he guessed led to the closet. Directly across from him was a  desk with a small stack of books, a spiral bounded notebook, and a few pens, along with a girl, L/n. She had her nose in a book. Her eyes following the line she was reading. Her face was relaxed, but scrunched in displeasure, or maybe anticipation, at the book in front of her. Her nimble fingers flipped the page. As she kept reading, her eyebrows scrunched and her mouth fell open in surprise, or maybe hatred or shock,  at the new page. That was a beautiful expression that she wore.

Astumu didn’t want to admit it, but she was beautiful. Her face was doll-like, giving her the illusion of youth, but her eyes showed much more maturation and pain, but held kindness and love. Her lips looked soft and sweet, and were especially beautiful when she pulled her mouth into a wide smile. Her hair looked elegant however it fell around her face, or maybe she would look more breathtaking with her hair up. It beautifully framed her face, and made her y/e/c eyes stand out. L/n’s voice was also beautiful. It was melodic and sweet, but could also held the intensity of a thousand dagger. Her laugh would sound nice too. Maybe it would be a light chuckle. Or maybe a breathy laugh where she would crinkle her nose. Or if her laugh was a belly laugh full of life and happiness. That would be lovely. Astumu watched as her face contorted to many different emotions, surprise, hate, confusion. But it made him sad that her face was almost always neutral. Emotionless.

Suddenly, the door opened, and in walked the man with dark hair and metallic blue eyes. He was very tall and was decently built. His eyes scanned the room taking inventory of the situation. L/n looked up from her book and gave him a discreet nod.

“Hello L/n-san. Anything new?” He asked. His voice was smooth and empty. His eyes, and L/n’s shifted to Atsumu. He felt like a monkey in a zoo enclosure, with everyone watching him as he flung his feces at the wall. He watched as L/n and the dark haired man had a conversation though eye contact, head movements and face expressions. The “conversation” mainly consistent of L/n rolling her eyes and the man angrily raising his eyebrows.

“Well do you have a plan for that ?” L/n said finally, breaking the silence, but adding to the tension within the small room. At least Astumu knew that the mystery man’s wasn’t a potential danger.

“Well Y/n we need to take care of Miya-san first. For all we know you would have brought a wanted criminal into our house! How do you think the rest of us will react?” The man yell at her. L/n kept her face straight. No sign of any emotions covered her face and her eyes became more intense, almost like a tiger ready to kill.

“I am going to say it once. This is my house. I will decide when things happen and how things will happen. I decided to help someone who was dying on the street, and you don't get to judge my kindness. Not after what happened at the train station!" she stated with a calm icy tone, book long forgotten on the desk. The room was noticeably colder and Atsumu was feeling unsure of what was happening. The tall man stood, face unmoved, but behind his eyes showed something more. Something about the train station bugged him. He didn't speak or move, but his compliance was displayed through his eyes. He walked out wordlessly and shut the door behind him. Astumu was still in shock. Not sure if it was the situation in general, or maybe it was the amount of power L/n held.

“So how are you feeling, Miya-san?” She asked, breaking Atsumu from his thoughts. Her voice back to the sweet voice he remembered from the day before.

“Am fine, what just happened?” Her inquired curiously, hoping to get an answer. The mysterious man gave Atsumu many question, and not a single answer.

“Well Miya-san, I think you are forgetting our deal. You said you would tell me everything, and so far you haven’t. So if you could please tell me, then go ahead.” She replied in a teasing manner. Astumu tensed at her light hearted tone. The stark contrast between her light-hearted tone now and the cold tone from just minutes ago made his skin crawl. The eagerness was written on her face as she sat cross legged in the chair across from him.

“Well it’s complicated. Ya see, we were gonna ambush a rival yakuza. But they saw us comin’ and fought us back. A got hit a few times, then someone lit the building on fire. I ran out, then I ended up here.” He said, recalling the events of that night. He remembered the scent of blood, both his and the people around him, and the gasoline, and the horrid screams of people in the fire as their bodies burned. He was lucky that he got out. He wondered about his closest acquaintances, Kita, Suna, and Aran. But also his twin brother, Osumu. Damn how could this happen? If anything happened to them, then it would be his fault. All because of his recklessness. Snapping  out of his thoughts, he looked at L/n who was in deep thought. Her forehead was crinkled and her eyes seemed to be seeing right through him.

After what could have been only five minutes, she got up quietly and walked towards the closet. Inside the closet was an artillery of medical supplies. Multiple boxes of gloves and masks, along with a small fridge that held many small bottles of drugs. There were also a crash cart with everything that could be sues in an emergency, a defibrillator, a breathing bag, a tracheotomy kit and tubes. There were also about 3 oxygen tanks with small carts. She rummaged around in the closet until she got out some bandages and a small suture kit with a pair of needle drivers and toothed forceps along with a few other tools Atsumu could not recognize. Then L/n grab a small vile of drug and a needle from another part of the closet. She walk towards Atsumu, tools in hand as he watched curiously. As she go to the bed side table, she injected the needle into the vile which Astumu could now read as “morphine” and carefully pulled back the piston until there was maybe 5 milligrams of morphine. She grabbed his left arm and injected it into his bicep. Then she grabbed his left leg and removed the bandages from his leg. At first, he was questioning his lack of pants, before he remembered the “incident”. As your hands nimbly unwrap the bandage, the stench from his leg escaped into the room, causing him to plug him nose, but L/n seemed unaffected as she unwrapped the bandages. Once the bandages were removed she walked to the small garbage can beside the foot of the bed, which he did not notice, which was already half full of bloody bandages and the sweatpants from earlier. L/n carefully inspected the neatly done stitches, making sure there was no sign of the wound reopening. Once she was sure there was no sign of reopening or infection, she rewrapped the leg in new clean bandages.

“Thank you for the information Miya-san, you will need to rest so your wounds don’t reopen or become worse. I will be back in a few hours so please don’t move and if you need anything please just scream.” She said curly before turning around and leaving before he could reply. Atsumu felt very confused, but he also felt drowsiness. “Maybe from the morphine” he thought before drifting off to sleep.

Sometime later, he woke up to hearing voices down the stairs. There were 3 male voices and L/n’s. They were murmuring urgently.

“L/n-san, we can’t let him stay here. It’s too dangerous. If they find us we will be killed. You know that.” Said the first voice, which sounded like the mystery man from earlier in the day.

“No Akaashi-san, it will be fine.” Replied another deeper voice. “I don’t see why not besides we could take care of anything that happens.”

“Why are you being kind to that lowly yakuza. It doesn’t fit your character.” Replied the first voice, which Atsumu now knew belonged to the mystery man, Akaashi.

“I am always this kind. Besides Akaashi, you are just overthinking it too much.” Said the deep voice again.

“Yeah ‘Kaashi, I agree with them” said another , “Even if they figure out that we were responsible for those incidents, they have no proof”.

“Exactly Akaashi-san,” you agreed, “And if he does anything, then I will take care of him”.

Taglist:

@kayleighbeccaa

[a-cupof-jo]

Set Up My Heart Pt. 3

Pt.2 - Pt.3 - Pt.4

College volleyball player!Johnny Suh x reader

Rivals-to-lovers

Fluff and angst

Synopsis: Ever since that fateful day Sophomore year of high school, Johnny Suh had been an insufferable thorn in your side. Once you made it to college you thought the two of you would never have to see each other again. That is, until a sudden school transfer has the entire university buzzing.

~~

“You know, I still don’t think that your highschool troubles are because of Johnny,” Chohee plopped down on the couch next to you.  “You know that most highschool kids are awkward messes that always feel like the world is against them.”

“Of course I know that, but for me the world took the human form of Johnny Suh,” you try to reason.

“Y/n,” Chohee shook her head. “Okay, so maybe, just maybe, he did somehow make your highschool years worse than they should have been. Do you think that maybe you can move past that? It’s been a couple of years. You’ve both grown up and matured.”

You scoff, “I know that you always look at the good side of people, but there is no way Johnny could be a decent person. Did I tell you about the time he put glitter down his homeroom teacher’s vents? They had to bring in an HVAC guy to clean it out cause it got so clogged that the fire alarms kept going off.”

“But did anyone get hurt?” Chohee tugged the coffee table closer to her, “I mean it seems like it was a harmless, yet expensive, prank.”

Huffing you turn to your laptop, “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“And I am,” she rested a hand on your shoulder. “But Johnny doesn’t seem like a bad guy. Even though he embarrassed you in front of some of your high school, doesn’t mean he intentionally meant to.”

“You know, I don’t wanna talk about this anymore,” you clicked to the assignments you have due next.

“Y/n, you can’t be upset with Chohee. We don’t know what Johnny or you were like in highschool. We don’t know what his intentions were or why you were picked on, but we are trying to look at this from a neutral perspective.” Desiree turned to look at you from the kitchen table. “Besides, what about Jungwoo? He’s living with the dude. That means that he at least thinks Johnny’s decent enough to live with him.”

You frown, “Jungwoo can be…naive, but he generally has a good read on people. What if-” you gasp. “What if Johnny has secretly paid him off and is keeping him hostage. He can’t say anything then and Johnny certainly has enough money for it.”

“What about Jaehyun then,” Chohee questions.

“They’re in on it together. They have secretly captured Jungwoo and held him hostage so they could get closer to me. Only then could Johnny continue to make my life a living hell,” you stand up from the couch.

“Y/n,” you look down at Chohee. “You need help.”

Desiree snorted before the two burst out laughing, “Seriously, I bet you’re never gonna see him. Campus is big enough that you’re never gonna cross paths.”

“I might never see him, but I know he’s here. That’s enough to bug me,” you sighed as you went back to your laptop.

Chohee huffed, “You’re impossible.”

“You love me anyway,” you bat your eyes at her.

Desiree gwaffed at you, “You wish.”

You stuck stuck your tongue at her before laughing. You sombered as you looked down at your assignment, “I know that this seems immature, and that you guys think I should let go of the past.” You felt your eyes burn and wiped at them, “You just don’t realize how much of my high school career was controlled by Johnny. I had to regain my reputation and I… felt like I had to prove to him, to myself that I…” you sighed feeling ridiculous, “Every second I was in that gym I had to fight for my position to show my coaches and teammates that I was worthy of being on that team. It took one game for all that effort to go down the drain. My coach never liked me and used my team’s loss to Johnny and the boy’s team as a way to move me back to junior varsity, even then I rarely played.”

“Oh, y/n,” Desiree sat down next to you. “I’m so sorry you felt that way and that your coach was a dick, but that doesn’t mean that all of this was Johnny’s fault. He was just a scapegoat for your coach.”

“It’s not just that!” You stood from the couch, “He did so many other things. Taunted me, made fun of me, even gave me a stupid nickname, ‘raining y/n’, that doesn’t even rhyme!”

“Y/n,” Chohee rested her hand on your shoulder. “Just because he-”

“No!” You rip away from her. “You guys keep justifying his actions or make it seem like he wasn’t a part of the problem. You don’t even know him. You don’t know what he did to me and you’re not trying to understand why I’m so upset. No, don’t try to defend yourself right now. I’m done talking about this.” You slammed your door as you walked out of the apartment. Not catching the startled look of Jungwoo as you stomped past him and onto the sidewalk.

Jungwoo stepped up to your apartment door, his hand hanging for a second before giving a light knock. Chohee threw open the door, “Y/n we- Oh, Jungwoo. Did you see y/n just now?”

He gave a sheepish nod, “I did. She looked upset.” He looked toward the sidewalk, “I just wanted to return the cookie dish from earlier. The guys and I loved them.”

Chohee smiled as she took the plate, “Thanks, it was mostly y/n. Desiree and I were just her sous chefs.”

“I don’t think that’s right,” Jungwoo paused as Chohee shrugged. “Anyway, Y/n’s… blowup didn’t happen to be because of Johnny, did it? Cause Johnny has been in a pissy mood all day and I really didn’t think this ‘’rivalry’ between them was going to be such a big deal.”

“Y/n is upset with me and Des. She thinks that we support Johnny over her. We’ve been trying to understand her story, but a lot of the details are blurred,” Chohee sighed.

“Jae and I have been dealing with the same thing. Johnny keeps saying that it’s all her own fault and that he did nothing wrong,” Jungwoo scrubbed a hand down his face. “I think they should just talk about this. Whatever happened to them in high school has festered for too long. They are both adults and need to move past this.”

“I don’t know,” Chohee wavered. “I think this is more than just leftover resentment. Y/n has so much hatred for Johnny and her explanation just doesn’t all add up.”

Jungwoo pursed his lips, “There’s nothing we can do for them right now. Neither of them will see reason. I just don’t want this to come between Y/n and I’s friendship.”

“I’m sure it won’t,” Chohee placed a hand on his shoulder. “Y/n can separate her feelings for Johnny with your guy’s relationship.”

Jungwoo hesitated before whispering, “Is that why she ran out on you?” He gave her a sad look as Chohee gasped. “I’m sorry, but I think it’s too soon to say whether or not people are going to be hurt. I’m…gonna go now. Have Y/n text me when she gets back.” Jungwoo turned head down and walked down to his apartment.

~~

Tag List: @lanadreamie @beyond-gethsemane @michplusb @qianinterprises @stayctday @jaxminskale @nanascupid

~~

*Repost from previous blog*

[talpup]

Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud.  He knew there would be trails.  He knew trouble would come his way.  Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant.  What he didn’t know.  Didn’t expect.  Was that literal Chaos would come his way.  That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble.  Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers.  For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

***IMPORTANT Note*** Got an ask on tumblr last week asking why I (and other writers) ask for comments if we love writing.  My response can be found here on my tumblrs page.

But it’s my friends repost that I wanted to highlight:

“Case and point, if you want continuous and quality continent from your favorite writer’s, then you the readers need to give continuous and positive quality feedback and/or polite constructive criticism.

And if you don’t feel comfortable expressing your appreciation in a comment, then go and send in an anonymous message to tell said author how much you love their writing, but don’t abuse that feature to complain or throw shade at someone’s hard work.”

I have one regular commenter on this fic and a few occasionally commenters.  Given the amount of hits I get every update, the response is barely more than 1%.  If you think that’s disappointing and hurts, you’re right.  I’m not a machine and would GREATLY APPRECIATE some regular feedback.  Thank you.

Chapter 86

“Light cannot survive without Darkness.  Without Darkness how would we know what Light was?”

Yami groaned.  Even in this cursed, tormented, communicative dream world that was forced upon him he hurt.  “You’re really starting to bug me.”  Yami growled at the unseen voice.

“You are the End of the End.  The Lord of Destruction.  The--”

“I told you to stop calling me that!”  Yami yelled.  His temper was bad enough without being reminded and called the name that dead bastard had called him.

The disembodied voice’s tone changed.  “You should not to be here. This is not for you.”

Though Yami agreed, the change in timber and unaccustomed words set him on edge.  “What do you--”

“What is this place?”  A different voice asked.

Yami spun around.

What the hell was Alowishus Spade doing here?

Yami’s right hand went to his left hip.  Instead of gripping the hilt of his katana, Yami’s hand closed around nothing.  His katana wasn’t there.  Nor did he have his grimoire.

Yami muttered a curse and demanded to know.  “Is this you Crazy Killer Voice?  Or is the Lord of Lunatics really here?”

“Death should not be here.”  The voice said, sounding offended and confused.

Alowishus looked about the black void that was somehow both substance and space.  Eyes fixing on Yami, Alowishus said in awe.  “This is you. Or a representation of the force within you.”

Yami readied his stance for anything.  “Why were you so interested in what happened here if you could just bust in?”

Still trying to figure out how he got here, Alowishus said.  “I hardly broke in, my boy.”

Yami sneered.  “I’m not your boy.”

Realization dawning, Alowishus said.  “The portion of your mana I took into myself.”

“The what!  When?”  Yami’s head swirled.  The last thing he remembered was him, Teris, Nozel, Fuegoleon, and Greywright being held by some mad magical scientist from the Spade Kingdom.

“Calm down and let me think.”  Alowishus snapped.

“You are not meant to be here.  This is not meant for you.”  The disembodied voice said.

“I agree.”  Yami said, staring at Alowishus.  “How do we get rid of him?”

“Now wait one moment.”  Alowishus said.

“You are the Darkness.  None can exist in you unless you allow it.”  The voice said.

Yami wasn’t sure he understood, but he wanted Spade gone.  As much as he hated his time here, the voice was right, it was his space.  Even if Alowishus could do nothing to him in this realm, which Yami wasn’t so sure of, he didn’t want Spade around.  A cold burning rage ignited and overfill him.

Alowishus stood rooted to the ground, memorized.  Yami’s eyes flicked black, a great dense cloud of darkness came off him.

Alowishus watched as the void that was the Darkness within Yami became one with the young man.  “You are truly magnificent, my child.”  The force within him speaking of the force within Yami.  Alowishus pushed the rising force of Death down and said.  “It is right that you will be the one to finally deliver what I have sought for all these years.”

Though disappointed, Alowishus didn’t struggle as he was swallowed by the darkness.  It would’ve been futile to fight against it.  This place was made specifically for Yami.  The Darkness that they were surrounded by either a part of the actual force that resided in Yami or some sort of representation of it.

Alowishus gave Yami a parting smile.  “Till we meet again, Yami Sukehiro.”

Alowishus woke-up with a sense of disorientation.  He rubbed his head trying to remember the forgotten dream.  Something important had happened in his sleep; he could sense it.  But try as he might, he couldn’t remember what.

He sat up and went to his private office, stopping to stand at the shelves behind his desk.  Seeing his father's silent skull he frowned remembering another time, long ago, when he had been regularly haunted by somewhat forgotten dreams.  Back then he had been so confused, weak and frightened…

He was Fin Spade.  Son of Princess Mira and Erin Spade.  No! He was Garo Belin, son of a middling merchant family.  No.  He was… He was…  He shook his head, stumbling through a fielded landscape known as Dais.  He couldn’t even say where in the Clover Kingdom he was, his obsession with finding out who he was consuming all thought. All he knew were the stories that came with this place.

That long ago human mages had fought back Chaos and brought Order.  That Elves were said to watch the place, making sure Chaos wasn’t unleashed.  He didn’t know anything about Chaos; but there were certainly no Elves around here.  At least none that he had seen.

His death magic allowed him to sense the dead; and he followed that sense to…

Garo frowned.  The ground looked like any other patch of earth surrounding it.

He laughed maniacally.  He didn’t know why he had expected different. Why he had expect the ground to show some sign of the coveted answers that laid beneath.

Garo stretched out his hand, his magic pulling the long dead body of Fin’s father from the earth.  He sensed an endless labyrinth of tunnels somewhat out of phase beneath him but ignored it.  What he needed were answers, not more questions.  And if he did this spell right, his father—Fin’s father would hopefully be able to give them to him.

Garo ripped the skull from the corpses body.  The sun was beginning to set, the dark night of a new moon ready to descend.  He had learned a few years back that his magic was more powerful on the night of the new moon.  And him finding Fin’s father’s body a few hours before such a night felt like fate was on his side.

The spell took everything he had and more.  Garo died forcing Fin’s father’s soul into the skull.

It would take Death’s third incarnation to finally get answers.

Alowishus shook away the memory of his second life.  Garo had been pathetic. Fin, broken from story’s of his mother's death and father's abandonment, wasting most of his life in despair.

It had been his third life where he had finally taken the things Fin and Garo had learned and begun to understand what and who he was.  It had been during his third life that he found the skull of Erin Spade; that thanks to Garo housed Erin’s soul.  It had been his third life where he had found his purpose.

Still, as successful as his third life had been, the early years of it had been wasted as well. Firstly, it had taken him ten years to fully remember his previous two lives.  And even with the knowledge the skull had given, he still didn’t know everything. Nor had knowledge given him direction.

What was he suppose to do?  Live out his days alone until he died and was reborn?  Would the cycle ever end?

Not one to sit and wait for answers, he had set out to make his own.  In doing so he had gained followers and begun to build what was now known as the Agents of Chaos.  It was the iteration of his third life who was known as Master of Master's.

Alowishus stared at Fin’s father's skull.  His father’s skull. Cause no matter what life he lived and who had sired him, he was still Erin Spade’s son.  For it was Erin Spade who had wrought this endless cycle of life and death upon him.

His heavy hand landed on the bleached bones head.  “Will it ever end, Father?”

With the three days that surrounded the new moon gone a week ago, the skull remained silent; the soul within it fettered and unable to speak in his mind.

Alowishus’ grip tightened wishing he could cause Erin Spade physical pain.  “I am Death.  The true end. I will end it.”

Comments are VERY MUCH appreciated and really make my day; so as a 'tip' for reading this free work please leave a comment if you enjoyed reading it.

Thank you to those who have left hearts.  And a special THANK YOU to those who have recently left comments or re-blogged. They really mean a lot.

***IMPORTANT Note***

Got an ask on tumblr last week asking why I (and other writers) ask for comments if we love writing.  My response can be found here on my tumblrs page.

But it’s my friends repost that I wanted to highlight:

“Case and point, if you want continuous and quality continent from your favorite writer’s, then you the readers need to give continuous and positive quality feedback and/or polite constructive criticism.

And if you don’t feel comfortable expressing your appreciation in a comment, then go and send in an anonymous message to tell said author how much you love their writing, but don’t abuse that feature to complain or throw shade at someone’s hard work.”

I have one regular commenter on this fic and a few occasionally commenters.  Given the amount of hits I get every update, the response is barely more than 1%.  If you think that’s disappointing and hurts, you’re right.  I’m not a machine and would GREATLY APPRECIATE some regular feedback.  Thank you.

Next chapter snippet:

Yami smiled down at her.  One day he’d tell her what the word meant. Maybe.  He almost made her a different promise; but it would sound too sappy so he said instead.  “We’re going to be late.  Think Julius will have a problem with just the two of us going somewhere if it’s to meet someone?”

Teris was about to answer that she didn’t care what her brother had a problem with when Julius’ voice sounded.

“No. But I do have a problem with you having secret meetings with my Vice Captain.”  Julius said.

[majorasnightmare]

Please help me and my partner, @dantemoore0 , two queer trans/nonbinary 22 yr olds, find a place to live in 30 days.

Posted September 5th, 2019

I've neve made a donation post before so I'll just explain everything here

TLDR: Me and my partner, @dantemoore0 , both live with his mother in her apartment. After asking us to go unemployed for several months to avoid scheduling conflicts for things she wanted to do, she is now requiring us to both submit job applications and be hired by the end of today. We have 30 days to save money from that job before we are forced to move out. We have no money, no credit, and no friends nearby to live with, and the job she wants us to work at is one im incapable of doing so, due to symptoms of my mental illnesses. She is demanding we leave in 1 hour as of this post to apply at our McDonald's where she expects them to hire us on the spot and for us to begin working that job tomorrow.

Please, we need money to do literally anything about this situation. I'll put my paypal link under this paragraph. All money will be kept in paypal so that if the situation changes i can send it back to any donors without having to wait several days for my bank to process the transfers. Note: my paypal uses my legal name, one I'm normally loathe to put online, but emergency circumstances require it.

PAYPAL:

LONGER SUMMARY:

This morning, we were woken by @dantemoore0's mother, who gave us the news that we had to start working today and then move out in 30 days. Until this point, we had both been unemployed for several months, experiencing verbal abuse from her as she ignored our mental health issues and chronic fatigue and demanded we continously clean up her apartment, and regardless of how much we cleaned, we would be yelled at afterwards for not doing enough and for the house looking filthy anyways. She had been out of town the past 24 hours and we spent that time cleaning, and we didn't finish until 6 in the morning. My body is in so much pain I can barely walk, and I am incapable of standing for longer than a few seconds.

I am autistic, as confirmed by my mother, without any diagnosis paperwork as she declined so that it wouldn't show on my records and interfere with my future. I'm incredibly sensitive to touch and texture, and preparing food on the regular, quickly, is not something I am capable of doing. I am also in a massive amount of pain, and my anxiety is spiralling out of control to the extent that I uncontrollably spasm during panic attacks, which happen often now. These new symptoms are terrifying to me, and I've been regularly suicidal, which she claims makes me a selfish and disrespectful person to her. I have been continously going into shutdowns that render me completely non-verbal

I have $5 in my savings account, and $.83 cents in my checking, I have no credit card or any kind of credit history at all, and @dantemoore0 is deep in student loan debt he's been unable to make payments on, causing his credit to drop. He no longer qualifies for her previous credit union after being disowned from his formerly adopted family and has spent the past several years without a bank account.

We have 3 cats to take care of, which his mother got us after feeling guilty about the amount of stress she causes us, and we are almost solely responsible for their care and maintenance. We haven't been able to take them to the vet even once, and as such they haven't been spayed or neutered. Two of the cats are in heat and must be kept seperate from their male sibling, and one of those cats has a medical condition (we think) where she will remain in heat until she is bred or spayed.

I have no shoes to work in, because all I own are sandals that were gifts from friends to avoid overheating in the heatwave, and boots that were christmas presents from family. My last pair of work shoes was thrown out by her, and my partner's shoes are several sizes too big for me to wear

On top of this, our cats are running out of food. She refuses to get the kind of wet food they eat, and then, because they aren't eating the kind she does get, stated that she isn't going to get them more food because she's sick of the cats "wasting her food and money".

We have several tote boxes of belongings from when we moved in together that we have no place to store. We have no luggage for our things, and no dresser for our clothes, and no way to transport any of our belongings because neither of us has a license or a car.

We have a bug infestation thats from a combination of living above a Public Storage rental space (where she gets housing through her job), and my previous abusive family. As such, she made us throw away 90% of our furniture including our dressers and most tables and boxes. Most of our belongings now are expensive presents from friends and family over the years that, on top of being financially valuable, provide some of the only sources of emotional reprieve we have. If we continue living with her, she has said we would be required to throw those away for fears of bug infestation. These include both our TV's, all of our gaming consoles (2 PS4's, a PS3, a PS2, and a WiiU, all gifts) and most of our video games and DVDs.

We have no Wi Fi/Internet at our house, and rely solely on our mobile data to communicate and do things. We can only put in job applications on the rare times she can drive us to our college campus, where only one of us can apply at a time due to me no longer having my login info, because application websites crash on our phone even when using the desktop version.

My physical health is deteriorating rapidly. Both mine and my partner's mental health are going to hell.

Even after all that, I feel like I'm forgetting info. If i remember anything more, I'll edit this post, and put it under an Edits header, and date it.

For anyone who read this whole way and doesnt want to scroll again, I'll repost the link here. Again, all donations will be kept in PayPal until they need to be used, where I'll make a post to inform everyone that the money was spent and what it was spent on (with receipts as proof when possible). I want to be as reliable as possible on this