#so i strongly advise against picking a fight

[katsukidynam1ght]

seeing anti bakugou posts always gets me because i’m so torn on deciding whether to be amused by people’s idiocy or annoyed by it

like damn y’all really have no life experience huh

and for those of you that do you really have not moved on from anything have you

going to start psychoanalyzing people based on why they hate bakugou and bkdk

[86espresso]

*clears throat* dialogue 12 with bedsy after his first nhl fight 👉👈👉👈👉👈👉👉👉👉👈👉👈👈👈👉👈👉👈👉👈👉

🫡🫡🫡 thank you for requesting 🩷

☯︎ “I know it hurts, we’re almost done”

ALL you could do was stare.

This was just supposed to be a temporary internship.

As one of the younger athletic trainers, you were in charge of the younger people on the Chicago Blackhawks. And that meant instantly hitting it off with Connor.

It was only a matter of time before the friendly relationship changed and one thing led to another; he had you pressed up against a wall with his mouth on yours.

Sure, nothing developed.

Yes, it was your job to care.

But you’d be lying when you say your world didn’t slow down as Connor went down into the mess of limbs and bodies.

He got out of the penalty box and headed towards the bench, where you were. Your expression was stoic and unresponsive as he settled next to you. Wordlessly, he took of his helmet and you held his face so he would look at you as you inspect him.

He mouths ‘I’m sorry’.

You’ve strongly advised him to stay out of fights as much as he can and he just went against it. The last thing he wanted was for you to be upset with him.

You find a bleeding cut on his temple and shake your head.

“You had one job, Connor.” You say as you press a wet towel on the area. He winces, his face scrunching up slightly as the warmth of the towel stings him.

“I know it hurts, we’re almost done, babe.” He feels his cheeks heat up.

“Listen, can we-?”

“Later. Go play right now. We’ll talk later. I’m not that mad.” You add emphasis and a small smile.

Connor picks up on it, smiles back, and plays the rest of the game energized in anticipation.

[ms--lobotomy]

“How many geese do you think I can take on in a fight?”

oh. oh anon. i love this prompt. i owe you my life. happy sanguinala :)

LION EL'JONSON- Stares at you. Is thinking about how many geese he can take on himself.

???- The geese got them.

FULGRIM- This is not a question that Fulgrim is prepared for. He dances around the question and never gives you a direct answer. Asshole.

PERTURABO- Depends on what mood he's in. If he's in a petulant one, he'll just grunt and get back to work. If not, he'll give you a normal-ish answer.

JAGHATAI KHAN- One of the Primarchs with greater faith in your ability to take on geese in a fight. Gives you a logical answer based on your fighting prowess and stamina.

LEMAN RUSS- Leman takes this question very seriously. Out loud, he measures up your combat abilities against smaller opponents. He's blatantly wrong.

ROGAL DORN- "I will not allow you to take on any geese in a fight. Do you have any idea how dangerous they are?"... He lectures you on why fighting geese is a bad idea.

KONRAD CURZE- "Four," he says before you ask the question. He flashes you a shit-eating grin, as he knew how much you wanted to ask the question.

SANGUINIUS- This one hits a little too close to home for him. "Can we... can we pick a different animal, please?"

FERRUS MANUS- "The flesh is strong." Pushes you to fight these geese with your bare hands. Has faith in you.

???- Is a goose. Honks at you.

ANGRON- He will not leave you any geese, even in this hypothetical scenario. He wishes to engage them in glorious melee combat himself.

ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN- Thinks about it for a second and lets out a chuckle. Not as bad of a lecturer as Dorn, but will ask you if you are prepared to fight so many geese.

MORTARION- Has no faith in you. Massive pessimist about the whole deal. Advises you to not even engage one goose.

MAGNUS THE RED- "Depends on the environment," he says before getting back to his studies. You are left to contend with what environment you want to fight geese in.

HORUS LUPERCAL- Throws his head back in laughter, putting a hand on your shoulder. He gives you a throwaway answer.

LORGAR- Asks you what you're thinking. Strongly advises you not to fight ANY geese, but ends up giving you a plausible answer.

VULKAN- Asks you if you're serious about fighting geese. Asks you if you need any armor and/or weapons. Is prepared to back you up in this fight.

CORVUS CORAX- Stops what he's doing to think about the answer. Gives you an honest estimate, if a little pessimistic.

ALPHARIUS- Fighting the Alpha Legion is a lot like fighting a bunch of geese. I refuse to elaborate.

[queenuchiha89]

Could you do like a Stu x Reader where Stu as ghostface sneaks into readers house and fucks her? (Awake or asleep)

Ask and you shall receive! Hope you enjoy! 🙃

*** NSFW ***

*** 18+ MINORS DNI ***

*** TW. DARK CONTENT ***

⚠️ WARNING: This story contains noncon, unprotected sex, forced cream pie, choking, knife play, and lewd language. Reader discretion is STRONGLY ADVISED!!! ⚠️

It was a cool spring night in the town of Woodsboro, and the majority of the town's population were peacefully asleep. All except Stu Macher of course. He had been stalking his target for weeks. Learning her schedule, her interests, hobies and routines. Studying her. Like so many nights before, Stu silently made his way into her house using the not so hidden spare key under a potted plant on her back porch. This night was not like the rest, however. His desire for her had reached it's breaking point and he could no longer resist the urge to take her.

After letting himself in, he makes his way up the stairs, down the hall, and quietly into Y/N's bedroom. He stood there for a moment, admiring her form as he watched her chest rise and fall with each breath. He crept up behind her patiently waiting until he felt the time was just right before jumping on top of her and forcefully cupping his gloved hand over her mouth tightly to muffle her screams. Y/N's eyes grow wide as she's forced awake by none other than Ghostface. As she beings to struggle against him, Stu aggressively presses his knife to her throat. "Try to scream and I'll cut your fucking throat... Understand?" Y/N's weeping eyes looked up at his masked face and nodded swiftly in agreeance. He slowly began to run the tip of the blade down her side to the line of her panties and with one swift movement, cut them away from her body. He yanked the thin lace panties off her, and forcefully shoves them into her mouth, gagging her. She writhed under him, trying to fight him off to no avail.

Stu looks down at Y/N's eye wide with terror, as he pins her hands to the bed over her head and drags the blade over her erect nipples. "I bet, if I touch you right now... You're already wet..." He says to her, and a faint red blush creeps across Y/N's cheeks. Stu smirks behind his mask at the shame clearly showing on her reddened cheeks, and he drops the knife beside her on the bed. His gloved hand trailed down her body to her warm center, and slide two of his fingers inside of her. Y/N gasped from the sensation, as he slowly removed his fingers. "See... You are enjoying this... Aren't you?" He laughs as he shows her how slick his gloved fingers are simply to humiliate her. Stu could no longer resist, he had to have her. He removed his throbbing cock from under his black robe, and forcefully pushed himself inside her. His sizeable cock stretched out her walls and she felt the burn from him tearing her upon entry.

Y/N whimpered in pain as Stu began thrusting mercilessly into her, taking her viciously. He reached over, picking up the knife once more and dug the tip into her chest, a small bead of scarlet forming as he broke the skin. Her muffled cries and whimpers only fueled his need to fill her up, and he fucked into her harder, hungry for release. "fuck, I'm going to fill up that pretty little pussy, slut... Isn't that what you fantasize about anyway?" Stu says in a low and sadistic tone. Y/N shakes her head back and forth violently, lying about all the times she's fantasized about Ghostface breaking in and taking her just as he was now. As hard as she tried to fight it, she felt her body tense, as her walls gripped around his cock, each thrust pushing her closer to the edge of her own climax. "Don't fight it slut... Cum for me." He demanded, knife pushed tightly against her throat. Y/N had no choice as her body betrayed her, and she shook as she came, her tight walls pulsing around him. With a few final thrusts, Stu's cock twitched and shot rope after rope of his hot cum deep inside her womb.

As Stu got off of her, she had no time to react, and she watched as he disappeared into the darkness, leaving her there to her own thoughts and fears. As she got up to walk to the bathroom and wash herself off, she found a note laying in the hallway.

"if you're good... I may come back one day, and give you a good fuckin'"

She blushed as she tossed the note into the small trash can, and looked herself over in the mirror. Y/N wouldn't be making any reports anytime soon....

[theladyheroine]

The Bad Batch ATLA AU 🪨🔥🌊🍃

❥ Headcanons #1

❥ Hello there! 👋🏽 I’m back with the Bad Batch posts! And I wanted to try elaborating on a previous headcanon I made. There’s some things I might change from the original concept though, but I hope you all enjoy!

Starting off, as a way to try & connect with both the Clone Wars & Bad Batch concepts, let’s just say it’s during the 100 Year War. I think the major clones from the series would be soldiers fighting the Fire Nation. Or as an alternative, it could take place during a different Avatar period. And maybe they’re framed individuals on the run? Kind of like in Season 1-2 of the series. 😅

Either way, I really want Omega to be the Avatar! But so far for each member, they would be from a specific region or place. Rather than being everyone being related, they don’t exactly resemble each other anyways lol. 😅

Also shoutout to my Bad Batch Discord Server! Who helped me flesh out this AU! 🙏💕💕

Hunter would definitely be a firebender, at first I wanted him to be Earth instead but Fire seems more his style. While he’d still be the tracker of the group, he might also play role as a scout when they enter a new territory. For a professional occupation, maybe he’d be some kind of a survivalist? Just a guy out in the wilderness, I’m not too sure what else to do for him though? 😅 If anyone has any ideas I’d appreciate it!

Wrecker is an obvious earthbender, but I don’t want him to be only a skilled fighter because of his strength. I feel like that’s a common trope for tough characters, but also because Wrecker is known to be pretty smart with his demolitions skills. He could prove to be a good engineer or inventor much like Sokka, with the help of Tech of course. Even a metal bender!

Tech would for sure be an airbender, at first I wanted Water but air bending is about avoiding your opponent then knocking them off balance. Which is totally Tech’s thing! However, I feel as though Tech would have a bit of wanderlust in Avatar? He’d want to see the world & learn about the other nations, so maybe he’d already be an Airbending teacher! Or a researcher! But with some engineering skills he’s picked up since he, Echo, & Wrecker spend alot of time fixing the ship too.

Echo was definitely a toughie for me, but I decided to go with Waterbending instead! While I’m sure it’d be a little bit tougher considering his prosthetics, I feel he’d be very a real strong bender once he gets going. His teaching skill is very kind though with Omega. Also! As his occupation I feel being a normal solider fighting the Fire Nation would work well with him.

Crosshair would be a nonbender from the Fire Nation! He’s definitely a hothead but since he can’t bend I feel he’d try to teach Omega how to use weapons if she can’t bend in a situation. But instead of a gun or something like that he’d be the archer of the group! Maybe he’d have Hunter make flaming arrows for him if they need it, but he strongly advises against it. 😅

And Omega is *drumroll* the Avatar!! 🥳 I really really wanted her to be the Avatar, and water is probably the best fit for her! I originally picked Air but I changed my mind because I didn’t want her to be a copy of Aang, it didn’t seem fair. And I did get an idea from my Bad Batch discord saying Batcher would be a Polar Bear Dog! This was sooooo cute! But continuing, Omega would be thrilled to travel with the Bad Batch! Storywise, I feel maybe she left the North Pole part of the world to either learn on her own or she had to leave for safety reasons? But also because those who were originally training her thought it’d be too dangerous for her to leave the Pole.

I also want to include Gonky because he’s the Bad Batch mascot! Gonky would be a little injured turtleduck Omega found while traveling near the Earth Kingdom. And he likes to hitch rides in their bags or maybe Wrecker likes to hold him since he’s so cute & wittle! 🥰😊 Batcher likes to play with him too but he gets scared sometimes. 😅

The Maurauder is also Tech’s Flying Bison! I did discuss with the discord about his name being Maurauder or Havoc? I went with Maurauder, but both can work well!

❥ And that’s it for now! I do wanna expand on this at some point in the future, but I hope you all had fun! 🙌 Thank you for your time!

[yeenybeanies]

This is sort of a two-parter

Was part of why Price was so sad to see that Soap had hybridized himself because he knew it effectively halved his life expectancy? (Just saw your new tweet about hybrids rarely living past 50) and did Soap know it would do that?

Additionally would Gaz be any sort of exception because his species is so long lived? Or would it be burning the candle on both ends because he never stops growing, hence taxing his body faster

And then pt 2.

You said Ghost is effectively blind, how does that affect him with using firearms and how did the task force find out about that? I imagine he doesn't go about advertising it

aaaa i'm LIVING for these questions aaa thank youuuu!!!

putting under a cut bc it's a lil lengthy.

SO yes! that is definitely part of why price was sad! i haven't worked out a full timeline yet of events but price has been a hybrid for most of his military career (underwent the change when he was 19; he is currently 37, but him reuniting with soap was probably a couple of years ago). price was pretty well-informed on what hybridization would/could do to him, & how it would, among other things, shorten his lifespan.

when he was mentoring soap early on, working to get him into the SAS, soap had expressed a passing interest in undergoing hybridization, but price strongly advised against it. said he didn't need it. truly no one needed it. never went into much detail, though. soap didn't bring it up much after, so price figured it was settled. moved on.

so, when price does reunite with soap after soap's hybridization––which he did without telling price (he wasn't obligated to, & hadn't talked to him in a while)––price feels more than anything a sense of guilt. regret. like it's his fault for not doing more to talk soap out of essentially ruining his life.

made worse still because soap wasn't fully informed on what hybridization does. not for a lack of trying to find out so much as he was more or less lied to about it. he was fed the perks, while the downsides were downplayed or omitted.

gaz would not be an exception partially for your reasoning, yes. the continuous growing, even if it's slow, does tax the body significantly. & crocodilian longevity, it doesn't counteract the other strain that's put on the body as a result of the hybridization. the fact of the matter is that human bodies are not meant to be spliced together with these animals, & hybridization is not done with the recipient's health in mind. hybrids are created to be tools & weapons. so long as they can do what they were made to do, that's good enough.

so ghost is largely blind, yes. pretty much entirely blind in his left eye, & his vision is still pretty bad in his right eye. he can detect light (which he is still very sensitive to, despite the poor vision) & shapes, but not much else. he does wear contacts/corrective lenses, though. not a whole lot can be done for his left eye, but it's salvageable in his right, which is the eye that he shoots with anyway. it gives him decent enough distance vision that, with a scope, he can snipe just fine. (reading things up close, however, is a bit more of a challenge, as the contacts make him far-sighted.)

for closer situations, he doesn't really rely on sight at all. he instead uses his sense of smell, hearing, & echolocation. & he's damn good with it too. most people don't know that he's almost blind, because he moves & behaves like anyone with decent vision would. he tracks movement with his eyes, makes eye contact, & he can fight/shoot perfectly at close/medium range. hell, he can shoot better than most because he can work in pitch black with ease, & he doesn't need to be facing a target to know it's there.

price does pick up on the blindness almost immediately, since he's known ghost the longest & was there to help him adjust to his forced hybridization. & also because he's price. ghost knows gaz the next-longest, & probably just ends up telling him eventually. gaz suspected something was up (bc ghost is always wearing sunglasses, even at night), but never asked, & certainly didn't think that ghost's vision was as bad as it actually is. that surprised him, considering how ghost can still snipe. soap likely figures it out on his own after a while. just because of how his relationship is/grows with ghost & how close they end up becoming. soap is observant. notices how ghost squints sometimes, how he occasionally asks someone to read or summarize something to him, & other small things. & he might not ask about it either, but he'll start doing things to try & accommodate. writing/drawing things bigger. offering to read stuff for ghost (or just doing it unprompted). sharing audiobooks & music he thinks ghost would like. & when ghost does admit that he's mostly blind, soap's just like. oh. i know, but i'm glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me 🥰

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Confusing Cruising - Chapter 1

Astarion's pissed - seething with rage, really - since his abusive ex-boyfriend/boss/most influential lawyer in Baldur's Gate had taken everything from him. So, naturally, he self-medicates by drowning himself in work and running on the treadmill. While at the gym, he sees a cute guy and decides to have some fun. Nothing serious, of course... And Astarion's fucked.

Trigger warning (18+): Alternative Universe - Modern Setting, No Magic, No Vampire, No Wizard, Graphic Description of Sex, Smut, Anal Sex, Anilingus, Fingering, Rimming, Switching, Cum Eating, Past Abuse, PTSD, Unhealthy Anger Management, Food Aversion, Gale's Low Self-Esteem, Exercise instead of Therapy (don't try this at home, kids), (Failed) Cruising, Car Sex (Author strongly advises against this irl) Hand Creme as Lube (don't try this at home kids), Lawyer!Astarion, Professor!Gale

Astarion was running on the treadmill as if chased by a pack of hellhounds. His heart was pounding painfully against his chest, lungs screaming for more air, sweat was drenching his tanktop (he could feel it trickling down his back), pale face beet red from exertion, but he kept running nonetheless. Because he was angry, so very angry. At the world. At his fate. At himself.

Black Sabbath was screaming into his ears louder than it's considered healthy.

"Misty morning, clouds in the sky.

Without warning, the wizard walks by."

Fuck this shit. Fuck his work. And especially fuck fucking Cazador!

"He turns tears into joy.

Everyone's happy when the wizard walks by."

His right knee buckled, he stumbled, almost falling flat onto his face. Smooth. With an angry huff, Astarion stopped the treadmill, jumped off, turned around - and his mouth went dry. Or better said, it started to water. There was a cute guy in the ugliest workout clothing Astarion had ever seen, holding purple dumbbells, doing some kind of old-fashion Aerobics-Jane Fonda-exercises. His tanned skin glistened with sweat, long, luscious hair up in a messy bun, dark eyes determined, beard unruly. Gods, Astarion wanted him. He was hard. Wait... he was hard! Shocked, he kept staring at the other man.

Since leaving his abusive partner five years ago, Astarion tried to get control over his own life again, including sex life. But whenever he'd picked someone up, he either hadn't been able to get it up, or his fight and flight instinct had kicked in. Other than before, nowadays the 'flight' part got activated. Before, he'd gone rigid, letting his ex or anyone else have their way with him while he'd lain there like a corpse. Now, he always ran. Half-naked, with his things in one hand and the other one holding up his unzipped trousers. Astarion was angry about it, no, seething with rage, that Cazador had taking this from him too. That bastard had taken everything!

But now, Astarion was hard and wanting because of an average-looking guy in an ugly outfit doing silly workout moves. Fuck. He tried to subtly press against his dick to will it down, but it did jack shit. Fantastic. He was fucked.

"Never talking,

just keeps walking,

spreading his magic."

The song was over and Astarion pulled the headphones off to run a hand through his mussed hair. With another huff, he stomped towards the changing rooms. After a rushed shower, he opened the stall, and promptly collided with none other than the cute guy in ugly purple gym shorts. Both of them were wet from their showers and half naked. Astarion almost couldn't keep his hands off that soft, hairy chest.

"I'm so sorry, are you okay?" the cute guy asked, his eyes big and warm, and his voice just as warm and inviting. Fuck, Astarion was fucked.

"Fret not, darling. I'm the one who should apologise," replied Astarion, smoothly. Or at least he hoped he sounded smooth. "Although..." He let his fingers wander over the other man's biceps teasingly. "Maybe you could help me out with something?"

"Of course, how can I help?" asked the other man innocently. God, he was adorable. Astarion licked his lips, suppressing a groan.

"Right in here, darling."

Astarion pulled at the cute guy's t-shirt, wrestling him into the shower stall, and the latter went willingly. The knowledge that he was allowed to manhandle his target, made Astarion's knees a little weak. Speaking of the incubus, the cute guy looked confused.

"Why - Does the shower give you trouble, or - oh!"

He blushed cutely - of course he did. Everything about that man was cute - and Astarion wrapped his arms around the guy's shoulders, purring: "Yes, darling, let's."

And they were kissing. Sloppily, wonderfully. The brunet tasted of coffee and cinnamon, his tongue soft and hot. God, he smelled so fucking good too, like lavender, sandalwood, and cedar. Astarion moaned into that hot mouth, rock-hard.

He had to fuck this guy now, needed to see the dick that was poking him in the abdomen right the fuck now. He could find another gym later, no biggie. There was no need to come back here and potentially run into his hookup again, making things awkward. No need for that at all. This was casual after all.

"You're wonderful," Astarion panted, delighted when the cute guy whimpered softly. He got down onto his knees, pulling down the brunet's hideous short's, and was blessed with the sight of a girthy, tan dick that made his mouth water. Astarion groaned, digging his fingers into those thick thighs.

"Such a beautiful cock. Let me taste you, darling."

Just as he was about to swallow that lovely dick down, the cute guy held him back.

"W-wait, wait! I - uhm - We don't know each other. I'm clean, but I don't know about you, no offence, and you shouldn't be trusting my words either. We should be more careful. I - I usually don't do this."

The guy's stammering and blushing was adorable.

"How considerable, darling. You're such a sweetheart," purred Astarion as he got up, though reluctantly. "If you're so concerned, let's do something else, hm?"

"I'd like that," nodded the brunet, and Astarion almost laughed. Oh, that sweet summer child. He kissed the other man again, freeing his own erection, and took them both in his hand. The cute guy whined into his mouth, trembling like a leaf.

"Okay?" Astarion whispered and the brunet nodded hastily.

"Yes. I just - It's been so long and I've never -"

"Sh, sh, it's alright, darling," murmured Astarion, shutting the man up with another kiss. The latter moaned lowly, gently stroking the base of Astarion's skull with one hand and his lower back with the other. It didn't even make Astarion flinch. For the first time, someone touched his back and he didn't flinch. Astarion's eyes rolled back in his head as he came, guttural moan spilling from his lips, fingers digging into the other man's shoulders. Fuck, that was the best orgasm in years. Panting, Astarion leaned his head against the cute guy's chest, willing his legs to stop trembling. He felt good. Finally, sex felt good again. To his utter horror and disgust, tears welled up in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" asked the other man, tenderly caressing Astarion's hair and forcing him to look up with a finger under his chin.

"Never better," Astarion got out, forcing a smile onto his face. Apparently, it was the wrong answer. The cute guy's eyebrows furrowed as he kept looking at him - looking right through him, Astarion feared - and replied: "Why do you look so sad then?"

The addressed immediately bristled.

"I don't, I'm fine! Peachy even."

"If you say so," muttered the brunet, clearly not willing to let the subject go. It was time to run before he could ask more stupid, invasive questions. Astarion slicked his wet hair back, stepping away quickly.

"This was fun, darling," he drawled. "But I gotta go. See you around."

"W-wait!" The cute guy struggled off the wall, turning crimson when he almost slipped and fell on the wet tiles. "Can I - Can I get your number? Please?"

Astarion looked at him, gazing at that perfect man with his perfect body and perfect words who'd bestowed him the best orgasm in seven years.

"I'm afraid not, darling," he said sadly before turning around and fleeing the gym.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

[The use of police dogs as a novel technology, one adopted by rank and file police officers with enthusiasm, ostensibly to enhance 'crime-fighting' by tracking bank robbers and escaped prisoners, but one that consistently failed to deliver results due to poor training and poorer handling. A consistent theme of police dogs, whether bloodhounds or narcotics dogs, is their high rate of error and general inability to deliver consistent results.]

"To further ensure the CPR’s profits were not affected by American “desperados,” [General Superintendent, Canadian Pacific Railway Pacific Division, Richard] Marpole recommended that troops of Royal North West Mounted Police be stationed at critical points along the CPR’s main line and at a strategic point in the south Okanagan or Kootenays.

At the expense of the B.C. Provincial Police, his editorial described the Mounties as “a magnificent body of men” that Alberta and Saskatchewan were lucky to have to maintain law and order in those provinces. Marpole also was not averse to incorporating American law enforcement techniques into Canada. “I am strongly in favour of keeping bloodhounds at certain points in this province,” he wrote. He went on to praise the handlers of the dogs that had come up from Spokane as “men of experience as hunters of outlaws.”

....

Despite the spectacular lack of success experienced by the bloodhounds brought in to hunt down the Ducks robbers, [B.C. Police Superintendent F.S.] Hussey was getting pressure from some of his constables in the Kootenays to authorize the use of the hounds in their regular work. On 20 June 1906, Hussey wrote Attorney General Fulton on the topic. He noted that some Provincial Police members kept their own bloodhounds and wished to be able to use them at their discretion without checking with Victoria first. Constable Young in Nelson, who had such a pitiful lack of success with his dogs south of Ducks, owned six, and Constable Darraugh of Midway had one or more. Other officers had solicited him for permission to be able to own and use such animals.

Hussey advised the Attorney General [Fulton] that in his judgment the dogs were almost useless unless they had been highly and competently trained in man hunting and were in the hands of exceedingly skilled handlers. It is under only the most favourable circumstances that these animals could be successful and do useful work.

He noted also that there exists a strong feeling from the general public against such use of bloodhounds excepting perhaps in the most extreme cases. Hussey recommended to Fulton that under no conditions should the use of bloodhounds be authorized except under the direct permission of the Superintendent’s office in Victoria.

He requested instructions from Fulton so that he might advise the constables in the field, and Fulton agreed that they should not be used in B.C. unless under emergency conditions.

...

[B.C. Provincial Police] Chief Constable Campbell had been eagerly anticipating an emergency situation to make use of the services of a local bloodhound and its trainer, Bradford Nanton of Vancouver. Despite Hussey’s reluctance to utilize the animals, the rule was initiated that under special circumstances they might be employed. As soon as Campbell received the call from [Acting Warden] Bourke about the prison breakout, he assigned Constable Spain that evening to escort the hound and handler to the B.C. penitentiary.

When Campbell and Spain, the handler and his hound arrived at the prison, they were met by some prison guards. The guards escorted the party to the brickyard, where the hound was given Miner’s scent from the straw hat he had left behind. Immediately the hound picked up the scent in the brickyard, and after circling the compound a few times, it tracked the scent to the hole under the fence.

Moving into the outer yard, the hound picked up the scent again which led the party to the door in the perimeter wooden wall. Here it was determined by the dog’s actions that Miner had tried the latch on the door before leaning the ladder on the fence and clambering over. The hound sat down and whined at the base of the ladder that was still leaning against the wall. Outside the prison walls, the dog led them alongside the ravine that held Glen Stream and into the brush to the north. As it was too dark to be thrashing about in the thick underbrush and risking destroying the scent, the handler and his hound, Spain and the guards called off the search until daylight.

Daybreak at 5:30 A.M. found the previous night’s bloodhound party joined by two newspaper reporters. The guards included Keeper W.A. Patchell, Instructor Doyle and guards Devine and McLure. ... The handler led the hound to where they halted the search in the dark the previous night, and again presented the animal with Bill Miner’s scent. The trail was picked up once more, and the party was led through the brush about a mile and a half from the penitentiary wall. The dog was able to show the guards and the trackers that Miner had separated from the other convicts at a location close to Thorne Road and the city boundary. Here the dog inexplicably seemed to have a change of heart, and the newspaper reporter described the animal’s antics in a scathing paragraph.

The bloodhound chase was a total failure, the animal seemingly being out of whack, and its owner out of sorts. The animal, a highly bred English hound, seemed to be primed for work, but after a few whiffs of the damp alfalfa, he apparently lost courage, and could not pick up the scent. He ... sulked fearfully Friday morning.

Patchell also described the hound as “sulky,” and after the searchers had wandered through the brush for two hours, he reported that the seemingly moody and sensitive animal refused to work any more. The fruitless search with the dubious aid of the emotionally challenged canine and his handler was abruptly terminated.

Colin Campbell’s expectations that the hound would be able to enhance the search efforts proved groundless, and it was to be some time before the Chief Constable, later to inherit Superintendent Hussey’s mantle, would again cast his eyes towards a dog to aid in the apprehension of criminals."

- Peter Grauer, Interred With Their Bones: Bill Miner in Canada, 1903-1907. Kamloops: Tillicum, 2006. p. 291, 396-397, 440-442.

[adoracora-elizabeth]

The truth always comes out, chapter 5

"Mrs. Hughes? Do you have a minute?" Anna asked.

"Come in." Mrs. Hughes closed the door to her office behind her. "What is it?"

"I think we need to give Jane different things to do. More things downstairs or outside the house."

Mrs. Hughes raised her eyebrows. "What happened? Has this to do with the used bedroom?"

"I think so, yes. I am not sure how to tell you, but I think something happened between Jane and his lordship." Anna said timidly.

"I see." Mrs. Hughes knew enough. She was suspecting something had happened. Jane asked for too many upstairs jobs that involved being in the same room as his lordship. "Thank you for warning me, I will keep an eye on her."

+++

Her couch rattled in her chest. Cora tried to lift her upper body. She was still incredibly weak. Since Dr. Clarkson gave her the oxygen she felt better, but she still had a fever, and her lungs did not improve that much.

Two strong hands helped her sit more upright. Cora opened her eyes and looked into the eyes of Robert. Every morning, he sat at her bedside. She was grateful to have such a caring husband.

When the coughing stopped, she took Robert’s hand and softly squeezed it.

"Good morning. How are you feeling? Your cough doesn't sound as if it is improving." Robert put his other hand on her forehead. "You still have a fever."

Cora nodded; her eyes wanted to fall shut again. She forced them open. She wanted to look at Robert. His blue eyes were full of worries. On his forehead, there was a frown. "I will…… get better…." her coughing started again.

Robert held up a bowl. She was coughing so hard that she started to retch.

"Do you want to eat something? Or drink?" Robert asked, once she rested back into her pillow and adjusting the oxygen tube.

Cora was not sure. She knew she was throwing up from coughing and not because she was sick to her stomach, but only thinking about eating made her tired.

"Here, have some toast. You need to eat to regain your strength."

She let Robert help her sit, even more upright, and took the toast he offered her.

"I am glad seeing you eat." Dr Clarkson's voice sounded in the room. Together with Sybil, he stepped inside her bedroom.

Robert wanted to get up, but Cora did not let go of his hand. He bend down and kissed her cheek. "I am not going anywhere, but Dr. Clarkson needs to examine you."

Reluctantly she let go of his hand. She needed him close for her comfort, but she also felt incredibly guilty. She did not deserve this attention of him. She treated him badly the last weeks, even months. She neglected him.

"Take a deep breath." Dr. Clarkson said.

Cora tried to inhale as deep as she could, but she had to suppress her cough. "Your lungs are not improving, and I find it worrying that you still have a fever."

"Her ladyship is much more awake during the day, so I think she is improving, but not as fast as we would have hoped." Cora heard Sybil say.

"If she does not improve more by tomorrow, I am strongly advising to bring her to the hospital, there we can give her antibiotics via IV." Dr. Clarkson said. He picked up his bag and left.

"Papa, I will not be home this afternoon, but you can manage with Mary and Edith, right?" Sybil said to her father.

"Where are you going? Not to that boy I hope?" Robert said angrily.

"I am seeing Tom today, yes, and you cannot stop me." Sybil walked out; Robert wanted to follow.

"Robert?" Cora said softly. "Let her go."

Robert sat backdown next to her. "I do not understand you." He said. "He is not right for her, and you know that."

Cora shook her head. "Trust her." She tried lying down again but needed Robert's help. She could not keep her eyes open any longer. She felt Robert's fingers brushing her hair.

+++

Robert went outside with Isis, he needed to clear his head. Why was Cora not fighting against this relationship between his Sybil and Tom. Tom was not born in the same class as she was. As a chauffeur he would never have the finances to give Sybil the life she was used to. Cora had suggested that they could raise her allowance once she was married, but he did not want to do that. Her husband should be the one bringing in the money, not he as her dad. He did not like this Tom guy at all.

He walked on, why was everything so complicated at the moment, Sybil and Tom gave him a headache. Mary needed to find a man to marry, Matthew seemed like a perfect candidate, he did not know why nothing was going on between the two of them. The new business kept Cora incredibly busy, and he did not know how to deal with that. She normally was home for him to ask about his day, but more often she was busy in her office with phone calls and sending emails. His mother had always said that his wife should help with the hospital, because they were the biggest investor, but Cora and his mother were not the best match. Although that was not Cora's fault, his mother was to strict.

Robert sighed, he wished she would be busy with those phone calls right now. It scared him that she was not improving and the blood she was coughing up made him feel unease. What would he do without his Cora. From the day they met, Cora was his lifeline. She grounded him, made him look at things from a different angle.

In the distance he saw a familiar figure, it was Jane walking with a big bag towards the house. He knew he should be wiser, but he stepped up and got closer.

"Can I help you with that?"

He startled Jane, who dropped the bag and oranges rolled over the floor. They both got on their knees to grab them. When he looked up, he looked into her eyes. His hand moved to her cheek. Why was he attracted to her, he loved his wife. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but Jane put a spell on him.

"Milord." Jane said softly, putting her hand on his. "Are you sure?"

This shook Robert out of the dream and quickly he got up. "I am sorry, I should not have done that. Please forgive me." Quickly he walked back to the house, where Bates was waiting for him.

"Bates, good to see you, I need to talk to you." He knew he could always count on Bates wise words. He would not judge, he hoped.

[aesthetic-bastard]

Media Interaction 2022

Part 7: July

Dick Fight Island - I'm not too big into Yaoi, and even if there is fan-made content of my favorite gay pairings, I don't actively seek it out. I'm sure we have all taken a trip to our local Barnes & Nobles and walked passed that one book in the manga section proudly displayed out in the open that immediately caught our attention with its bright yellow bold letters spelling out "Dick Fight Island"

Yes, that is the tile of this manga that I have read through with my own eyes. This is one of the only times I have read anything classified as erotica because this manga is bizarrely explicit. Like the title suggests, every 4 years 8 men from 8 different islands compete in a battle royal suited in scantly clad armor and fight against each other using their armored genitals as blunt objects. Whichever contestant comes out on top is crowned the new king of all the islands but whoever cums first during each match loses. Dick Fight Island is a very short read considering it's only 2 volumes and I greatly enjoyed it. I think it's empowering that something so bizarre and erotic is written and illustrated by a woman. I liked that this manga didn't only just have a cast of conventionally attractive homosexual men each catered to a specific arc type but there were also lesbian characters present in the story. I loved that this manga hit all bases when creating a story involving LGBT characters and wasn't just another erotic manga tailored specifically to fujoshi's.

Golden Kamuy (anime) - After reading through the manga I immediately jumped into watching the anime adaptation of Golden Kamuy and wanted to quickly catch up since I knew my favorite character would be introduced in season 4 coming up in October. I didn't have extremely high expectations for the anime and I could certainly say it's not the greatest adaptation but it's not the worst either. I would strongly suggest reading Golden Kamuy over watching it because this adaptation just can't do the justice this manga deserves, I can not even begin to understand the existence of Golden Kamuy anime onlys. There are probably a few scenes I enjoyed seeing animated but that was about it. The pacing of the first season is very inadequate and some of the chapters are either not adapted at all or they have their own separate OVA which makes it difficult for me to recall when certain events happened in the manga. Things don't start to pick up in the anime until season 3 which I find unfortunate because that's at least 24 episodes that you have to invest in before it gets better. At that point, I would just strongly advise reading the manga because I greatly enjoyed the early chapters in Golden Kamuy when I began to start reading it vigorously every day.

Panty and Stocking - When I heard that Panty and Stocking would be receiving its long-awaited second season I felt a deep sense of dread fill my body, that being said I took it upon myself to sit down and actually make my way through this anime from start to finish. I don't think I have ever sat through anything that gave me such intense secondhand embarrassment. I knew what I was getting into when I decided to force myself to watch this anime but I don't believe in brushing things off without fully examining them at least once. After watching my way through PSG, I strongly feel like I am the only person who has watched the source material. I refuse to believe the cult following for this anime is comprised of individuals that actually watched it. It makes my heart sink so deeply when a lot of animated media is heavily praised solely for its art and animation but is actually extremely lacking in other aspects such as writing, and character development or is just straight-up questionable. I feel like PSG gets a free pass for its awful offensive sexual humor because "the art style is cool" and I feel that's all people talk about when discussing their infatuation with this anime. I will admit I do like the art style of PSG but I feel like the "PSG art style" is more diverse than people make it out to be because there are actually really cool-looking designs and characters outside of the main 2 protagonists. I think another show that easily suffers this same problem is the Power Puff Girls where there is an obvious cast of diverse character designs but the perception of the "PPG art style" outside of the 3 main protagonists is non-existent. If I was to give some credit to PSG where it's due is that there is slight character development, yay! I am not a fan of Panty at all and her character makes me very uncomfortable but I did find some enjoyment in watching her get character development during the last arc of the first season. Even though both Panty and Stocking are dumb and rotten as hell it's clear Stocking is slightly more mature and seeing each of the sisters go through a brief period where they split up leaving Panty to do a lot of self-reflection, it's actually good? I would like to also add that PSG has a very good English dub and is probably one of the top English dubs I have heard when watching anime without subtitles. I don't think I will continue PSG if the second season ever comes out and I am certainly not ready for the culture war that will spawn from the second half of this anime when it finally drops but I was willing to give PSG a try since it is wildly popular.

Catherine Full Body - I think after playing a few games developed by Atlus I wanted to give Catherine Full Body a try. Unlike the previous games I have played by Atlus, Cathrine is a puzzle game and not an RPG. Catherine also includes a lot of elements similar to dating sims but I think I knew right away this game was more profound than that. At first, I deeply regretted buying this game at 50% off on the Nintendo Switch e-shop. I could not believe the horrible choices the protagonist made during the first part of the story. I'm easily made uncomfortable by gendered expectations in heterosexual relationships and Cathrine deals with this a lot but not in a way I would have ever expected. My feelings for this game immediately did a 180 when the character Rin was introduced into the story. I ended up appreciating this game an awful lot and think Cathrine has some of the best character development I've witnessed in media. There are a total of 13 endings in this game and so far I have played through and achieved one, which is Rin's true ending. Out of the 3 "Cathrines" you can pursue I went out of my way to begin a relationship with Rin. Apparently choosing Rin requires some amount of effort compared to Kathrine or Cathrine and I had no idea how careful you have to be when selecting dialogue options in order to begin her route because Rin's route felt so natural and effortless to me in this aspect. I feel like I had this unique experience while playing because my personal attraction is regardless of gender and I would have never guessed the biggest moment in Cathrine Full Body is when Rin is revealed to be a transgender woman. I feel that this aspect of Rin's character is so important and makes her probably the most optimal choice when pursuing a relationship with any of the characters. Out of the 3 women in Vincent's life that he has tragically wrapped himself up with, Rin is the most accepting of Vincent. Rin's open-minded nature has such a positive impact on Vincent's character development and growth as a person. I feel like there is a lot to be said about how the most accepting woman in Vincent's life that sees him for who he is regardless of his flaws, is in fact a trans woman. Rin's true ending is so meaningful to me and I think Vincent truthfully lives a happy life with her because their relationship isn't shaped by heteronormative expectations. Cathrine Full Body is so much more than just "the sex game" and has a very honest depiction of intimate relationships, commitment, and making the right choice all while some supernatural elements are mixed in.

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 1 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

Last year

You had been ferreting snacks out of the Hero Awards when he found you.

In retrospect, the whole idea of attending the Hero Awards had been a bad one from the get go. You’d just been so thrilled by the image of it in your head--getting to see all your favorite pros gathered in one place, dressed to the nines, celebrating their rankings, their wins, their saves, their successes. You’d pictured yourself flitting between heroes, collecting autographs and taking selfies, sitting down at a table with big names like Uravity and Froppy, making fast friends over the complimentary champagne.

But then you’d seen what really went into preparing for and attending an event like this, and the shine had quickly rubbed off.

When your boss at the Commission had extended you the invite, she’d told you that you would be representing the organization, and had advised you to contract a makeup artist and find someone willing to dress you. Her tone had strongly implied that this was more of an order than a suggestion. So you’d done it, but nobody had told you exactly how many hours went into getting your makeup tested, getting fitted and refitted for a dress, and fielding questions on cut, colors, fabrics, and fit.

By the time the Awards rolled around, you’d lost upwards of forty excruciating hours of your life to preparations, and had developed some kind of anxiety-induced Pavlovian response to the modiste’s name on your phone screen, where you immediately wanted to leap into the nearest storage closet and hide. And none of this was even counting the five full hours you spent on the day of the awards getting primped and polished within an inch of your life, then stuffed into some ridiculous scrap of fabric that threatened to fall off of you if you so much as breathed wrong.

By the time the stylists and makeup artist had finished with you, you were starved, cranky, and nursing a small migraine from how enthusiastic the hairdresser had been with you. You’d thought, though, that you would finally be able to enjoy yourself now that the worst was over. All there was left was to attend the ceremony, and get to see all your favorite heroes.

And for an hour or two, the Hero Awards had been just as cool as expected. You lingered on the fringes of the red carpet, gawking as pros like Chargebolt and Pinky swanned their way down the walkway, looking even cooler in real life than they looked on TV. Everyone had clearly gone all out, and they looked unbelievably good, either inhumanly beautiful or inhumanly intimidating. You had been utterly transfixed, as evidenced by the inordinate amount of time you spent accidentally staring at Todoroki Shouto as he gave an interview to the side of the walkway, looking absolutely unreal as he leaned over to speak to the reporter.

When you’d finally managed to snap out of your trance, you’d remembered to cut a beeline for the snack table, and had set about stuffing as many snacks into your dress as you could manage. And that’s where the trouble really started.

The invite to the Awards had come with the option for a very fancy multi-course dinner that you could have chosen. Instead, you’d taken one look at the price and laughed yourself sick, before resolving to sneak a bunch of the free snacks into your dress to keep you occupied during the ceremony. The problem was, the scrap of fabric the modiste had insisted was a dress was so obnoxiously flimsy and could only hold so many snacks.

If your dress had been able to hold a reasonable number of snacks, you wouldn’t have needed to sneak back out to the snack table during the presentation, and he would have never had a chance to catch you on your own. But the dress was lacking snack utility, and so you had gone back out for more.

You kept low in the aisle as you crept out of the darkened theater, keeping a hand over your chest so you didn’t spill out of the thin fabric of your dress, and emerged into the reception hall, where you were almost blinded by the harsh light. You stood for a minute, blinking the spots out of your vision, and touched a hand to your eyes, careful not to smear any of your eyeliner.

And that’s when he struck.

Almost as soon as you raised your hand, a rough hand seized your wrist, wrenching your arm down. A heavy arm went around you quickly, trapping both your arms to your sides, and you barely had time to let out a squeak before a calloused hand clapped over your mouth. Your feet left the floor, and then you were being dragged through a side door into the stairwell.

You twisted wildly, kicking out, trying to catch the wall or the railing to push off of and throw your assailant off balance, but he was strong, and clearly well-versed in combat, as he kept you well away from anything you could use to your advantage. He hauled you out into the stairwell, but instead of heading down the stairs, he moved towards the corner. To your surprise, he tossed you unceremoniously against the wall, letting you go.

You caught yourself on the rough stone and whirled around, only to reel back in shock when you caught sight of your assailant.

Bakugou Katsuki, perhaps better known as pro hero Ground Zero, leaned over you, trapping you against the wall with an arm on either side of you. He, like all the other heroes you’d caught sight of today, looked almost unreal in person, but in stark contrast to all the others, his handsome face was twisted up in unmistakeable fury, blood-red eyes bright with violence and white teeth bared in a silent snarl. Even under the thick fabric of his suit, you could see the hard lines of his body were taught with aggression, and it was all you could do to not shrink back against the cold stone of the wall.

“So,” he snarled, leaning in to put his face close to yours, “you’re the fucking statistics nerd.”

You gaped at him, mouth falling open. Your professional title was data scientist, but statistics nerd was a close enough descriptor that you could tell he knew who you were. Your brows went up, wondering why in the world Ground Zero knew you.

“E-excuse me?” you managed. Your brain rapidly kicked into high gear, running through possible reasons why he would know you, what he could possibly want with you.

Bakugou snarled. “What the fuck is your problem with me?”

You stared at him. Problem with him? Other than the fact that he’d just seized you with no warning and dragged you into a stairwell, you had no problem with him. You’d never even met him--what the hell was he talking about?

“Uh, do you maybe have me confused with someone else?” you asked, trying to shift out from under his arm. Maybe there was another data scientist milling around in the crowds that he’d meant to get his hands on instead.

Bakugou’s red eyes narrowed, and he put a hand to your abdomen to press you firmly back to the wall. “Oh no. You’re not getting out of this, you little brat. Fucking fix it.”

You eyed him warily, checking him for signs of a head injury, wandering over his shock of blonde hair and noting the size of his pupils. Maybe Bakugou had been out on assignment just before the Awards, and hadn’t stopped to get his injuries checked out before coming here. A blow to the head would explain why he was behaving so strangely, and asking for weird stuff.

“Fix what?” you asked, frowning when you couldn’t spot the signs of a concussion on him. His gaze seemed all too focused, all too intent. It was nerve-wracking, actually. You’d heard of his reputation for intensity before, but it was one thing to hear it and another entirely to have all that intensity trained on you.

Bakugou bared his teeth and leaned closer. “Your fucking nerd-ass model. Fix it.”

You froze.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh, this was about the model. You knew his bone to pick with the model.

The entire reason you’d received an invite to the Hero Awards in the first place was because of your work on the model that calculated the hero rankings. The model had existed for years before you had come along, but this year it was different.

You’d been hired a couple months ago by the Public Safety Hero Commission after you’d contacted them with an idea on how to finally calculate the value of field assists. You’d had a rough prototype of a neural network that you’d trained on video of multi-hero operations, tracking the movements of all the heroes on screen, and had developed an algorithm capable of assigning point values to moves that contributed to but did not directly result in a win or a rescue.

The Commission couldn’t get their hands on your work fast enough, and after only a few months refining your neural net, it was hooked into the rankings model, and it had informed not only the choices for Rescue of the Year and Most Valuable Hero this year, but had entirely changed the hero rankings overall.

And Bakugou’s ranking had been very much affected.

Bakugou Katsuki was a hero very unlike the world had ever seen. Anyone could see from his stats alone that he was incredibly driven, supremely powerful, and almost unmatched by any other hero out there. A few years out from UA, he’d already entered the top ten and had been mere breaths away from the top three -- that is, until your model results had been released.

The thing about Bakugou was that he had a higher percentage of fight wins than any hero in recorded history. He came out on top of almost any situation he entered into, and had one of the highest villain capture stats and the highest villain kill stat as compared to any other hero at this point in their career. The problem was, the new model also now took into account assists, as well as applied slightly heavier weights to rescues, and as good as Bakugou was at winning fights, he was almost equally as terrible at helping others.

So when your model had been worked into the Hero Commission’s official ranking calculations, Bakugou had backslid to sit unhappily at rank number eight.

And apparently, he thought this meant you had a personal grudge.

“Okay, I understand you’re upset, but the results are the results,” you said, watching him carefully. “It’s got nothing to do with you personally.”

His expression darkened thunderously, and the hand on your abdomen grew notably hotter, a scent like gunpowder and burnt sugar rising in the stairwell. “Like hell it doesn’t. Fucking fix it.”

Your brow furrowed. How did regular people think models worked? “There’s no ‘fixing it’, Bakugou. That’s just how math works. If you have a problem with how assists and rescues are weighted then you can take it up with the Commission. I just trained the model with their recommendations, and the results are what they are.”

Bakugou apparently registered none of what you were saying. Rough fingers slid to your jaw, tipping your face up to him. “What is it that you wanted, you damn brat? Did you want to see me humiliated? Or maybe you wanted my attention?” His fingers dug into your jaw. “Well now you have it, you fucking harpy, so show me what you wanted with it.”

You gaped at him, unable to help the way your mouth hung open like a fish. Did he think you were blackmailing him? With a fucking statistical model? It was a matter of public record that Bakugou was smart--he was purportedly one of the brightest minds that had ever graced the profession of hero, with strategic skill and combat sense that was utterly unparalleled--so then why the hell was he being so dumb about this? Was he really so self-absorbed that he thought this whole thing was about him?

Your temper flared, rising like the slow heat that was building under his hands. “I know this might be news to you,” you said slowly, “but not everything is about you. The model I trained takes in video as its input, and calculates rankings based on recommended weighting criteria that the Hero Commission gave me themselves. There is no place for me to input my own biases or change the results, so if the output is something that you’re ashamed of, then maybe you should do better.”

Bakugou’s eyes brightened, narrowing on you with an intensity that made you want to curl into the wall. “Say that again, you little fuck.”

You held your ground, ignoring the dangerous way the scent of hot smoke sharpened, leaning forward to bare your own teeth. “Maybe you should do better, you self-centered asshole.”

You were close enough that you could see his pupils dilate with the challenge, like a predator catching sight of its prey. An unsettling grin made its way across his mouth. “I am going to make you wish you’d never even seen a calculator, you smug fucking nerd,” he said, leaning into you.

The scent of gunpowder burned in the back of your throat, and the hands on you flared alarmingly hot, before the door to the hall burst open, and a whirlwind of red and yellow tore into the stairwell.

“Heya Blasty,” a voice chirped, echoing on the stairs, “Found ya.”

The shock of golden yellow resolved itself into the lean figure of Kaminari Denki, aka pro hero Chargebolt. He quickly made his way to Bakugou’s side, seizing an elbow.

“I’m busy, fuckstick. Fuck off,” Bakugou growled.

A large hand reached over Bakugou’s other shoulder to pull him off you, a head of gelled red spikes materializing behind his back, and you blinked up at Kirishima Eijirou, also known as Red Riot.

“Sorry about him,” Kirishima smiled down at you warmly, in direct contrast to the way his fingers dug into Bakugou’s shoulder. His teeth looked incredibly sharp in person, but this fact somehow failed to detract from the warmth of his friendly expression. You blinked, stunned that you were being addressed by Red Riot.

“He’s been a little worked up since the results were released, but he’s harmless,” Kirishima explained, grunting a little as he jerked Bakugou away from you. Bakugou snarled and turned to his friend, a small volley of sparks lighting off of his palm.

“I said fuck off,” he growled.

You let out a choked laugh at the idea of Bakugou Katsuki being called harmless. Just this week he’d perfected a technique where he melted clean through concrete, and you’d seen the replay of him liquifying the side of a skyscraper on the news this morning as you’d been getting your makeup done.

“Harmless, right. Definitely felt that way,” you uttered as Kirishima struggled to get a grip on Bakugou.

“I’ll fucking show you harmless,” Bakugou spat, turning back to you, sparks crackling louder in his palm. Kirishima seized his chance quickly, getting a bulky arm around Bakugou’s chest and lifting him straight off the ground. Bakugou snarled and gripped Kirishima’s forearm, letting off an explosion that would have blown anyone else’s arm clean off, but Kirishima just laughed, ignoring that the sleeve of his suit had caught fire, and hauled Bakugou back through the door.

A litany of swears filtered back through the door before it swung shut again.

Kaminari turned to face you, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about that. We didn’t realize he was gonna come after you like that, though I don’t think he would have actually done anything. He’s pretty much all talk.”

You waved a hand, still stunned that Chargebolt was speaking to you.

“Uh, it’s okay,” you said. “I just...didn’t expect that kind of a reaction.”

Kaminari chuckled. “He’s usually a little more chill these days--I think he’s just pissed he’s losing to Midoriya now.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “I gotta say, though, he was even more worked up than I expected when we got here. What did you say to him?”

You grimaced, thinking back on the tense conversation. “That if he was ashamed of his ranking, he should do better.”

Kaminari choked. “Oh fuck, he must have been pissed,” he managed, before dissolving into peals of laughter. “Do better. No wonder he looked like he was gonna give himself a hernia. Mina’s gonna wet herself when I tell her.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “He thinks I altered the results to get his attention.”

Kaminari’s chuckles tapered off as he set a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Oh, he’s just saying that. He knows he’s shit at assists. He’s just salty he’s actually gotta do something about it if he wants to be number one.”

You thought back to the feeling of that hard body pressing you up against the wall, the disdain that had twisted his handsome face, the burning heat that had built up under his palms. A shiver went down your spine. It had seemed like he was a little more than salty, but if that’s how his friend wanted to put it, then fine.

“Well, thanks for the save anyway,” you said, giving Kaminari a little smile. “I’d definitely give you and Kirishima Rescue of the Year if I was pre-determining my results.”

Kaminari laughed, turning back to the door that Kirishima had dragged Bakugou through. As if on cue, a small boom sent the door swinging open a little. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back to make sure I don’t have to rescue the rescuer.”

He gave you a casual wave, then crossed to the door quickly. He hesitated at the threshold, then peeked back over his shoulder at you.

“By the way,” he said. “You might want to take a look at your dress. I, um, think Bakugou may have gotten a little carried away.”

He disappeared before you could ask what he meant, but a quick glance down clarified soon enough. Right on your abdomen, where Bakugou had pinned you against the wall, lay a scorched cut out, exactly in the shape of one large hand.

Your mouth dropped open in horror.

That fucking dick.

[spideymarvelws]

Pillow Fort

Fratboy!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Main Masterlist / Add Yourself To My Taglists

A/n : Got this idea from when i made a pillow fort in my room cause i was feeling lonely :’) Also this isnt really a part two to behind doors, just a branched off oneshot from further down in there relationship

Summary : Peter is tired from a rough night of patrolling and comes home to you sleeping in your very own pillow fort

Warnings : SMUT! (oral [fem rec], dirty talk, sub/dom dynamics) some nice floofy floof

Word Count : 3.7k

...

Peter had never felt so drained after patrol. 

Maybe it was because he stayed up all night studying for a Physics quiz or that classes throughout the day seemed to drag on because you weren’t there to entertain him with your silly pick up lines you came up with on the go. After his last class ended, he didn’t want to go out as spider-man. All he wanted was to swing by your apartment and cuddle for the rest of the day, but when he heard about a new gang terrorising the city on Mr. Delmer’s radio, he knew he had a responsibility to stop them. 

One gang and a drunk driver later, he found himself landing in front of your window, knocking lightly on the glass. After a few seconds of not getting a response, he assumed you were already asleep. Carefully, he slid open the window, stepping inside your bedroom. He locked the window before taking off his suit with a heavy sigh, leaving him in his boxers, ready to slide into bed with you.

However, as he sat on your bed and his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he noticed that it was stripped bare of any blankets or pillows. He stood straight up, looking around your room until his eyes fell on a deformed structure hidden in the corner.

It was a pillow fort. 

It was flimsy, a significant dip in the roof (he could only imagine how much it annoyed you throughout the process of making it) but it kept hold. The wooden chairs on either side were the only support for the fort, heavy books keeping the sheets secure. It was rickety, but a fort nonetheless.

Peter let out a small sigh, a soft smile forming on his lips as he walked up to the structure, trying to find the entrance in the mountain of blankets. Getting on his knees, he crawled through, his hands and legs ending up on either side of your sleeping form.

“Baby?” He whispered, placing his hand on your cheek, “Sweetheart? Love? Babygirl?” He littered your face with kisses, slowly waking you up.

You let out a loud groan, stretching your arms out and almost knocking the flimsy blanket ceiling. Peter raised himself slightly, trying his best to give you enough room to stretch in the small space

“Shit,” you mumbled, making Peter chucked at your sleepy state, “Oh... Hey Petey,”

“Hey, Y/n/n,” Peter mumbled back, letting out a breathy laugh, “Missed you,”

You raised your hand to push the loose curls falling down in front of his face behind his ear, giggling at the fact that it felt right back in his eye. He blew the strand with his mouth, his nose crunching up cutely when it went right back to tickling the side of his face.

“I need to cut it soon,” he said, lowering himself into your body, his head buried in the middle of your chest like a puzzle piece fitting perfectly in place.

“I strongly disagree,” your said, almost offended at his words as your passed your fingers through his soft, pillowy hair, “Cut it and I’m asking Tony for his blasters,”

“Are you sure he’s going to let you borrow it after last time,” Peter looked up at you, his left cheek squished against your shirt, his lips slightly parted.

“Who says I haven’t been practicing?” You smiled, scratching his scalp, enjoying the feeling of his body melting into yours.

“Oh really?” He mumbled, “I’m going to have to see those skills sometime babe,”

“I don’t know Peter...” you dragged, biting your lip and tugged on his hair gently, “I don’t want to steal your thunder,”

“That confident huh?”

“That I could beat you in a fight, one hundred percent,”

Peter shook his head, “I’m sure you can,”

You gasped at his sarcastic tone, “You have no faith in me!” 

“I never said that,” he pinched your side, raising back on his arms to hover over you.

You pouted angrily, crossing your arms over your chest, “It was implied,”

“Oh was it now?”

“Yes, yes it was,”

Peter rolled his eyes playfully.

“Maybe I just don’t want you to get hurt,”

“Then I’d tell you to go fuck yourself. I’m incapable of getting hurt and I don’t need your protection,” you replied smugly, sticking your tongue out.

“Is that so?”

You hummed in confirmation.

“Okay then,” he grinned, trailing the pads of his fingers up the side of your waist, “Protect yourself from this then!”

His hands pulled the bottom of your shirt up, revealing your stomach. Without hesitation he attacked the soft skin, wiggling his fingers in the places he knew would make you scream. 

“For fucks sake Peter!” your hand shot up to his chest, trying to push him away as the giggles took over your body, your chest bubbling with joy while your breath escaped your lungs.

“Stop! Peter! Oh. My. God. Stop!” you laughed, fists pounding at his hard chest. 

“Then tell me, you wont get those blasters Y/n!” he said, a sinister smirk on his face, “I’m not letting you go until you tell me!”

“I-” you heaved, “Peter! I-” you giggled, “Holu fuck!” god damn did your chest begin to hurt, “Okay! Okay! I won’t get them! Now stop!”

His hands suddenly left your body as he leaned back on his calves to admire the mess he made of you. Your chest raised up and down with desperate breaths to calm your rapid beating heat, your face blown out and your eyes closed in a silent thank you. You sighed, letting your stiff limbs fall back into the cushioning with a thud, relaxing fully. 

It reminded him of a very different scenario other than the aftermath of an innocent tickle fight.

“You know I was having a great time before you showed up,” you murmured after a while.

“I find that hard to believe,”

“Oh really?”

“Yes really, I’m amazing!”

“You’re a monster.”

“Your monster though,”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever makes you sleep at night,” you paused, opening one eye to look up at him, “You’re still not cutting your hair though,”

“You’re still on this!”

“It was the point of this whole conversation! Of course I’m still on this-”

“Oh, that's it.”

With your one eye still closed, you let out a surprised hum, circling your arms around Peter’s neck, as his lips met onto yours. You sighed into the kiss, his body relaxing into yours while his hands trailed the side of your body once more, lifting your left thigh against his waist. The kiss became hungrier, soon both your tongues became entangled with each other. You didn’t bother to fight for dominance, knowing Peter already took that role when his hand rested on your ass, squeezing tightly at the skin.

“I hate you,” he mumbled, pulling back and pressing his forehead on yours.

“Sure seems like it Petey,” you whispered, voice low and sultry.

With a low growl, he smashed his lips back on yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth. God you loved getting him riled up, as much as you loved your shy, little nerd, the other side of him you saw in bed turned you on more than you could think of as you slipped into sub space.

But you didn't want to do it in something as unstable as a pillow fort.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he whispered into your mouth, moving to your jaw and down your throat.

“Peter,” You groaned, pushing on his shoulders lightly, “Not here, baby.”

Sucking on your collar bone, Peter mumbled, “Why not?”

“I don’t- fuck,” you gasped as Peter pulled up your shirt and latched his lips onto your nipple, massaging the other with his hand, “I don’t think fucking in an unstable pillow fort is going to be really advisable,”

“Don’t knock it till you try it right?” He snickered, moving his lips to the other nipple.

“Were going to knock the fucking thing down,” you grunted, bitting down on your finger while the other grabbed the sheets underneath you.

“Well it’s either here or your bare mattress,” he whispered, raising his head back up near yours, tugging at the bottom of your shirt and pulling it over your head, leaving you in just your panties, “You decide.”

“You ride a tough bargain Peter,” you whispered back, biting your lip at the darkness in his eyes.

He continued down your body, his voice deep with lust, “You know me princess,” he placed a kiss on your stomach, moving down your hips before reaching the side of your thighs, taking them in his hands, “I like when you beg,”

You groaned at his words, throwing your head back as his lips hovered over your clothed core for a split second. But he avoided contact at all costs, focusing on biting and sucking on your thigh, moving between the left and right and getting closer to the place you wanted him the most.

“Peter,” you whined, running your hand through his hair, tugging at his locks once again.

“I thought you heard me earlier princess,” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling your heat closer to his face, “I want you to beg,”

You groaned, not wanting to give in. But the light kisses to your clit and his hands moving up and down your thighs, you didn’t know how long you could resist before you broke.

“Come on pretty girl,” he bit the inside of your thigh, sucking the skin to form a bruise, “Beg for it, beg for what you want so badly,”

You tucked your head into your shoulder, “Touch me peter,” you mumbled, yelping when he slapped your thigh.

“Louder pretty girl,”

“Oh god, touch me Peter! Touch my pussy, please,” you said audibly, your hands shooting to his hair, desperate for something to hold onto.

Without any further discussion, Peter teared off your underwear and buried his face between your thighs, lapping at the juices that started to escape your lips minutes before and continued flowing onto his tongue. If there was something he loved more than life itself, it was your taste. Nothing could match up to the sweet nectar that your body gave him. He loved giving you pleasure that nobody else could. He glanced up at you, head thrown back, thighs closing in around his face as your hands pushed him deeper into your core.

If there was a heaven, this is what he imagined it would be.

He shook his head, flicking his tongue deeper inside of you before moving up to suck your on your clit gently. One of his arms stayed securely on your waist, keeping you down so you didn’t destroy the structure around you while the other moved closer to your heat. He tested the waters by gliding his warm finger tip over your cunt and slipping it in, paying attention to your body’s reactions, jerking and tensing under him.

“More,” you whimpered, “More, please Peter,”

“What was that baby? Did my needy girl want more than what I’m giving her?” his laugh sent vibrations up your torso, “What did I say?”

“To- to beg,”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Peter, Peter please give me more, I want it faster, harder, anything! Just please!” you cried, jerking your hips off the ground but his strength held you down.

“Good girl,” he smirked, adding another finger while quickening his pace. His mouth stayed working around your sensitive bud, brushing his tongue along it like he was painting a precious artwork. 

His fingers however were ferocious, pumping in and out of you at an inhuman rate. Your juices began to soak the sheets beneath you, hips grinding back down like the desperate whore you were, pulling his digits deeper inside you.

“Peter, I’m- i’m gonna cum,” your legs began to shake, your voice rising higher and higher while you orgasm approached, “Please Peter! Can I cum? Can I cum?” 

“Go on baby, cum for me, cum in my mouth, cum all over my fingers,” his fingers moved impossibly faster, plunging in and out of your pussy, “Fall apart for me princess.”

You screamed when your high hit, your back arching out of his control. He slowed his movements, sailing you through it, prolonging it for as long as possible. When your body slumped back on the floor, he trailed his lips back up your stomach, staining your skin with your cum. He pushed his lips on yours, moaning as you devoured his mouth, drinking up every last drop.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “You ready for more princess?”

All you could muster was a nod, playing it off as exhaustion from your recent high. Even after a years of dating, you were still as closed off and shy from when he met you in bed, holding back your precious voice from him. He tried his best to keep you talking, to tell you that screaming like a banshee was all he ever wanted. But every time you came back from your euphoric state, you were always self conscious of doing something wrong or saying something out of line.

He was determined to make that your biggest confidence using the little things he picked up along the way.

“Come one princess,” he muttered groggily, moving to your neck and kissing your pulse point, nibbling and sucking on the skin, “I’m not going to do anything if you don’t speak up,”

You looked up at him with doe eyes, a completely different person from the one that was bickering with him earlier. One that was willing to do anything and everything he wanted. But he wanted tonight to be about you, he wanted to do what you wanted, to pleasure and worship you the way you deserve.

It was your pillow fort he was about to fuck you in after all.

“I- uh, you could do what you were… you know, going to do?”

“And what was that sweetheart?” 

Heat rose to your face, you hid your head in your shoulder in an attempt to avoid saying such vulgar words. Peter only squinted his eyes, the gears in his head turning as he thought of something to get you to speak up.

“Alright then,” he smirked, “Have it your way.”

You watched with curious eyes while he slipped out of boxers, taking his hard cock in his hand and guiding it to your puffy hole. He slowly unsheathed himself inside you, resisting the urge to pull back out and slam right back into you. You were always so tight around him, and your uncontrollable clenching just destroyed him even more. 

In one swift motion, he turned the both of you over, careful to keep his chest pressed against yours so you didn’t raise up and mess up the fort.

“There we go,” he sighed, letting you settle comfortably in the new position with your hands pressed against his shoulder and legs on either side of his waist, keeping his cock buried deep inside of you.

“Peter I-”

“Ah, ah, ah, my turn to speak now princess,” he cut you off, squeezing your hips when you moved around a bit too much for his liking, “Now, we’re going to work on our communication skills okay? Meaning, everything you’re feeling as I fuck you, I want you to tell me. And by everything, I mean every detail princess,” he lowered his voice, “I want to know how my cock feels inside of you, what goes through your mind while you fuck yourself sensless,” He rutted his hips up, smiling when you fell further against his chest, whimpering into his neck.

“I. Want. To. Hear. Every. Word,” he punctuated each word with the thrust of his hips, “Or else this ends, you got that princess,?”

You instinctively nodded but quickly caught yourself, “Yes Peter,”

“That’s my good little princess,” he took your cheek into his palm, bringing your head and to press his forehead against his, “Ready?”

“Yes Petey,” you nodded, letting out a shaky moan when he started bouncing you up and down his length, meeting you halfway.

“Go on princess,”

“It- it feels good,” you stuttered, closing your eyes to focus on the pleasure and not Peter’s lustful eyes staring back at you, “You’re… you’re really big Peter. Stretching… me out… so, so good,”

“Good girl,” he groaned, quickening his pace with every word, “Keep going.”

“I… I-” you slumped fully against his chest, “I can’t, all i feel is you Petey. I- I can’t think, all I… I could only feel-”

“Then tell me what you feel Y/n, tell me everything.”

“Amazing… so- so full and deep.” your fingers digged into his skin, “Could you go faster? Please Peter, I- I need more,”

“Anything for you princess,” he mumbled, planting his feet on the floor and ramming into you at the same pace he did with his fingers.

“Ah fuck!” you tightened your arms around his neck, “Peter! Oh god Peter! I- I-”

“Are you close princess? Gonna cum on my cock?”

You nodded into his neck, all you could manage was a whimper, “Yes… can- can i?”

“Go ahead princess, cum on my cock… you deserve it,”

You bit down on the skin of his neck, trying to keep your head from throwing itself back. Peter stilled his hips, filling you up with his seed while keeping you close, sighing as shot up into you. You sunk into his body, your breath hot against his skin while you regained your energy, snuggling closer for comfort.

In the silence that followed, Peter couldn't help but chuckle.

“Round two then?”

...

“Soo,” Peter whispered softly, crawling back into the sheets and lying besides you, “Why the pillow fort,”

You cuddled closer to his bare chest, letting out a soft breath once your cheek made contact with the warm skin. No matter how cold the air around him got, you could always count on your boyfriend to be your own personal heater.

“Was feelin’ lonely,” you mumbled, letting out a big yawn, “And I got bored,”

Peter chuckled, running his hand down your bare back sending shivers up your spine, “It’s nice, comfortable,”

“Yeah, I did a pretty good job didn’t I?” You smiled, curling your legs around his, “Took me three tries to get it right,”

“Three tries?”

“Well my college dorm doesn't really have much stuff to work with now does it,” you looked up at him with hooded eyes, blinking slowly while jabbing your finger into his left peck drowsily, “Would’ve been easier if my boyfriend came earlier though,”

“I thought you liked that I lasted long-”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“That’s not what you said a few minutes ago,” He laughed when you smacked his chest, placing a sweet peck to your forehead as an apology, “And I’m sorry for being late, got caught up with some bad guys and well… you know the drill,”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” You hid your face in his neck, snuggling in closer to his body, “Shouldn’t you be back at the house by now?”

He sighed. Harry had asked him to help out with cleaning up the house for your hopeful arrival in the next couple of days. Him and the rest of the boys planned out the week already, and today’s plan was to fix up the place and set new rules that kept it that way. But seeing you lying besides him, glowing like an angel by his side... words couldn't describe the emotions he felt in that moment. All he knew was that he couldn't wait, he felt like he waited long enough.

That this could be the perfect, special moment he hoped for.

“They could survive without me for one night,” His hand tightened around you, “I- uh, actually came here to ask you about something until we got... well, distracted,” he laughed lightly. 

You hummed, acknowledging his statement and urging him to continue.

“I was wondering if you would want to move in with me?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” you sat up on your elbow to look at him directly, “You’re saying you want me to- you want us to live together? With everyone?”

You felt Peter clam up under your palm, biting his lip as he avoided your gaze, “I mean, you’ve already met everyone and they all love you, probably way more than me. And I can’t you know, guarantee your safety here not to mention i have to disable all the cameras around the block if i want to swing into your window and, and-” he took a deep breath, taking your face in his hands, “That and I really love you, and I would love to take this step with you, only if you want to,”

You immediately engulfed up into a tight hug, awkwardly fitting yourself in his hold but you could hardly care about your uncomfortable position.

“Of course I would move in with you peter,” you smiled, pulling back to look at him, “Honestly, I’m growing tired of this small place anyways,”

“Good, that’s good,” he bit his lip, trying to suppress the urge to screech at the top of his lungs at the thought of your ever saying yes, “We- we’d sort all of this out in the morning,”

“Of course, of course,” you nudged your nose against his, “In the morning,”

Before he could lean in to kiss you, he heard something fall on the floor with a thud and without warning the sheets above you fell, slapping the both of you in the face.

“Maybe chairs with wheels wasn't the best choice for this,” you giggled, pushing up the sheets from your head.

“You think?” Peter joked along with you, helping to get rid of fabric blocking your eyesight.

He witnessed the blanket being pulled off of you, relieving your glowing skin and bright smile staring back at him. He knew he was taking the right step with you, he knew that you were the one for him because with a simple look or touch you made him a complete mess. He was wrapped around your finger just as much as you were around his.

And he couldn't be happier.

“To the bed?” he whispered.

“To the bed.” you responded, finally locking your lips on his, sealing in your love in the now fallen pillow fort.

...

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[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 3 - F#$k the Police

Bucky Barnes x (f)reader Series Rewrite (Civil War, Infinity War/Endgame, TFATWS)

Summary: What’s happening in Romania? For awhile you’ve had the best time with Bucky all to yourself, but now, it appears the world is not done with you two just yet.

Warning: tinge of fluff, violence, fighting, reader being a bad bitch, Bucky going through it, Steve metaphorically herding cats (Bucky, reader, T’Challa), some google translate (I hope its right)

Masterlist

Leaning against a telephone poll, you adjust your darkly tinted sunglasses before stuffing your hands back into your jacket pockets. Hood up and stance as casual as ever while you patiently await your dark haired lover, who at this moment happens to be purchasing some plump and juicy looking plums.

Doing his best to appear relatively unrecognizable, Bucky walks over to you in his usual faded ball-cap, layered jacket, and black gloves while you give him a nod of acknowledgment as he quickly approaches. Soon he’s by your side and the two you begin walking towards the street where you’ll be crossing.

“Y/N, you think these ones will taste good?” Wonders Bucky as he shifts his gaze to you for a wise answer, like you magically are able to tell if these random plums are sour or not.

You shrug, “Probably.”

He stares uncertainly down at the plums, “They were kind of sour last time.”

Throwing him a humored glance, you keep walking, “Did you tell her that? Maybe she would have given these ones to you for free.”

“Well.....no.”

Retrieving your dark tinted sunglasses from the bridge of your nose before shoving them in a pocket, you throw a glance back over at the plum cart, nudging Bucky, “I’ll steal some again and then we’ll compare what days they taste good and what days they taste bad. Maybe that will help out your plum dilemma.”

“You’ve stolen plums before?” Whispers Bucky in bewilderment like you just stabbed a guy in broad daylight, “Y/N.” He whines, “We can’t be stealing things! We’re trying to keep a low profile, remember?”

Rolling your amused eyes at his fearful concern over something so tiny, you playfully tug against his grey jacket, “Stealing some plums is the least unlawful thing I have ever done moya lyubov' now come on.” You muse with a reassuring grin.

Wanting to protest, he chooses against it when he hears you call him my love in Russian; that’s new, he think warmly, you’ve never said anything that deeply intimate before. He could certainly get used to it.

Coming to a halt, the two of you patiently wait for the roadway to clear up, but while you’re standing there in the open, you skillfully take notice of some man in his mid thirties with a half eaten lollipop positioned in his right hand. He leans against the counter from behind a newspaper stand, where two curious greyish blue eyes give yourself and then Bucky a wary look as he begins to squint suspiciously. Soon his gaze trails over you both again like he’s trying to solve a 1000 piece puzzle, but can’t quite tell just yet which piece goes next. How odd, you think.

“Nothing is ever odd, there is reason for everyone’s intricate behavior, always be on guard.” Speaks a whisper from your past days training with Hydra.

Glancing over to Bucky, you notice as he starts to appear rather uncomfortable since he’s realized the stranger is staring. What a nosy little weasel, why would he give a shit about us? Tugging on his sleeve, you begin taking the lead across the four-way, the weaselly looking mans eyes go wide in genuine fear as he turns and books it out of the booth like a bat out of hell. Racing past annoyed civilians as they go about their normal business.

Brows furrowed in confusion you hastily reach the newspaper stand and flip a paper around only to be greeted with greatly troubling words printed aggressively in big black letters reading...

 -WINTER SOLDIER CÂUTAT PENTRU BOMBARDMENTUL DIN VIENNA- 

...with a blurred security footage picture of Bucky’s shadowed face walking suspiciously by a white van in presumably a parking garage.

On further inspection lower down the page, you take notice of the alarming words below, translating to...

 -On international watchlist; Possible accomplice suggested at place of crime, Y/N Valerious is being investigated into for feasible involvement with one credited for bombing. Investigators advise great caution if seen and require a report immediately upon recognition.-

Paired with a blurred fuzzy head shot taken from CCT footage in 1997 after you sliced your way through a notorious drug cartel in Colombia.

Shit. And how the fuck did they find that picture?

Bucky quickly rips it out of your hands and stares frustratingly at the parchment, eyes focused on the concerning news as he flickers his attention back down at you, “Y/N?” He mutters uncertainly, face appearing increasingly distraught as he looks to you for an answer.

Glancing warily around the crowded area, you swallow nervously before finding his uneasy gaze once again, “I really need to stop speaking ahead of myself....fuck.....we need to leave.” You urge, tugging on his arm to move, you let go as the two of you head back to your shared apartment.

Eyes glancing warily around you the whole way there.

——

Walking quickly up the steps, you suddenly catch the scent of an unknown man leading right into the cracked door of your apartment, Bucky halts as you remain still as stone, nose crinkling as you test the air.

“Y/N?” He whispers unsurely as you shush him.

Sensing this stranger isn’t here to fight due to the lack of aggressor pheromones extruding from out of his system, you both cautiously walk into the room, on guard as you move more silently then an owl in flight, he doesn’t hear a thing. Quickly you visually analyze a tall man in dark blue with a helmet tightly fitted against his head, standing relatively still with his back turned to you two. A familiar shield held strongly from his left forearm as his head looks down at the journal positioned in his right hand. 

Bucky’s journal.

Standing defensively side by side with Bucky, the uniformed man suddenly turns around; his eyes are a dark ocean, yet soft and set; a faded white A sits just above his eyes and a dull white star appears in the center chest area of his stealth suit. This is without a failing doubt Captain America, but what does he want with you two? 

Breathing steadily he gives the two of you a once over before focusing on Bucky, “Do you know me?” He asks, voice calm and collected. Not an ounce of aggression.

Your eyes flicker cautiously from Bucky then back to the stranger as he takes a slow breath, “You’re Steve. I read about you in a museum.”

[They’ve set the perimeter] -speaks a disembodied voice from Steve’s earpiece, only yourself and Steve are able to pick it up.

What the fuck does that mean?

The American sets Bucky’s journal onto the kitchen table as he shifts in place, your fists instinctively clench in preparation for a possible clash as Steve’s perceptive gaze shifts warily from your hands up to your watchful glare; he must know about you, “I’m not here to fight.” Confirms Steve with a small nod before turning to Bucky, “I know you’re nervous, and you have plenty of reason to be. But you’re lying.”

“I wasn’t in Vienna, we both weren’t. I don’t do that anymore.” Mumbles Bucky truthfully, you’ve been with him for months now and neither of you have even left the city so how the hell did his blurry photo get printed onto the daily newspaper?

[They’re entering the building.] -speaks the voice.

Steve takes an urgent yet cautious step forward, clearly something terrible is about to go down for the three of you, if the guy on the ear piece wasn’t telling enough, “Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. For both of you. And they’re not planning on taking you alive.” Warns Steve sincerely, voice steady and true.

Bucky’s lips nervously purse together as he mutters unenthusiastically, “That’s smart. Good strategy.”

[They’re on the roof. I’m compromised.]- says the voice, more urgently this time.

Suddenly your ears pick up the sounds of heavy boots as they pound against the large spiraled staircase, squeezing your eyes shut in irritated anticipation, you open them to face the soldier, “Well this is fucking fantastic.” You seethe through clenched teeth, accent dripping strong as you shake your head in frustration.

Steve gives the two of you a pleading look, “This doesn’t have to end in a fight.” He urges as you both stand like a nervous predator, unsure if their prey is going to put up a deadly brawl to the death or not.

Giving him a hooded grimace, your eyes shift from the front door then back to him as you begrudgingly mutter, “It always ends in a fight.”

Looking away, he nods towards Bucky, “You pulled me from the river.” Starts Steve as Bucky hastily removes the black glove covering his metal arm, “Why?”

Bucky huffs, reluctant eyes dancing over to Steve’s, “I don’t know.”

[Three seconds!]- says the voice.

“Yes, you do.”

[Breach! Breach! Breach!]

Yells the voice frantically just as the left window shatters as some can sized metal bomb crashes onto the floor, the three of you immediately turn towards the harmful object right as Bucky kicks it, Steve coming to the rescue as he covers the bomb with his shield. Boom! It goes off, leaving everyone to live another day, or at least for the next minute.

A second later you hear insistent shouting in German just as Bucky grabs the mattress, he shields himself with it as his other hand pulls you to his chest protectively just as a destructively lesser bomb ignites against it from the now broken window.

Pulling out of his grasp, Bucky tosses it aside before kicking the small kitchen table where it lodges itself tightly against the front door. Turning towards the two windows positioned on your right, you’re immediately greeted with the breaking of glass as two heavily equipped combat police burst rudely into the room, heavily armored in tactical gear and ready to kill.

Well, shit.

At an inhuman speed you swiftly grab the first mans gun and point the steel barrel upwards just as he shoots, avoiding killing Bucky if you were a second late; your eyes turn angry as you swing your fist, knocking him unconscious from your blow to his helmet.

The second man shoots a line of bullets that scream angrily into the ceiling when Steve thrusts his gun away from you two, knocking him out in the process. Immediately another soldier breaks into the room from the bathroom door by Steve, gun at the ready as Steve shoves his weapon to the side where Bucky then harshly kicks him in the chest. Sending the intruding soldier into the bathroom, presumably with a hefty concussion.

But before Bucky is able to continue onward, Steve quickly grabs his arm, “Buck, stop!” Instantly he twists out of Steve’s grasp, giving his old friend a deadly glare, “You’re gonna kill someone. Both of you!” He snaps, stormy eyes shifting from you to Bucky just as your Winter Soldier shoves him to the ground by his collar before lunching his metal arm violently into the floorboards right next to his head.

Glaring at Steve, he growls, “I’m not gonna kill anyone.” Before pulling his arm out of the broken wood, travel backpack in hand; he stands and immediately throws it out the broken window about ten stories onto another rooftop below.

Standing in the middle of the ruined apartment as you face them, another soldier crashes through the broken window to your left, Bucky and Steve brace for the worst as the man pauses for a moment, gun facing the floor. Moving swiftly, you quickly unsheathe your razor sharp Adamantium claws out of your right fist before cleanly slicing his weapon into three consecutive pieces.

Shouldn’t have hesitated fucker.

The broken gun clashes to the floor as the soldiers eyes flash with fear before you roughly push him against the wall, grimacing in anger, right hook cocked back as you suddenly thrust a clawed fist directly into his shoulder. He lets out a pained gravelly scream as you pull away to face Bucky and a wide eyed Steve, the injured soldier sliding down the wall to the floor as he applies pressure on his newly bleeding wound.

A second later two more men come racing into the room as your victim slumps to the side once you kick him in the head, unconscious but still breathing as small drops of blood seep out of his affected shoulder. He’s someone else’s problem now.

Steve raises his shield as bullets deflect off the metal, soon Bucky throws his metal arm up; deflecting multiple bullets as Steve takes out a guy on the balcony. Bucky in the meantime has managed to knock the gunman out with a cement brick as you retract your claws back into your fist.

Boom! Boom! Boom! 

Pounds loudly against the locked front door as bullets crash into the hinges, soon Bucky races for the thin wood and thrusts his metal fist into the door without a second thought. Seconds later he breaks down the door, knocking out two guys in the process as you slip past him and into the long staircase hallway that only goes in two consecutive directions, up or down.

Shit, more are coming up the stairs!

A soldier promptly breaks through the overhead glass window from the roof and ascends on a thick black rope, shooting at Bucky who easily deflects his bullets before you kick the man into the wall, knocking him out instantly. Body limp and peaceful as he hangs suspended mid-air in the center of the rounded stairwell, you quickly look down to witness the tiny army of combat police hellbent on ruining your perfectly fine day. 

Well, not much of a fine day anymore.

Without time to process much, you watch as more soldiers charge up the stairs, guns ready to fire; suddenly Bucky jumps on the knocked out man hanging from the ceiling and falls to the next landing below as he uses the unconscious soldier for a sort of pully system, knocking out more police as they try and fight him off once he lands.

Blinking, you jump down without assistance but your own fearsome willpower before shoving a guy down the stairs, who conveniently trips up others in the process. But at least eight more are racing to finish their job, right on cue another soldier meets on your landing as Bucky fights off one from behind you.

Before he’s even able to pull the trigger, you’ve sliced his weapon in half, kicking him harshly into the wall, doing the same to his friend as you fight your way along the staircase, skillfully avoiding bullets and fists alike. 

Turning around to the sounds of Bucky grunting, your eyes trail up and watch as he throws a man over the edge of the railing. But before anything bloody happens, Steve swiftly catches his dark collar much to your disappointment. He then heroically throws the man elsewhere as the fighting starts up again.

Soon Bucky nearly gets his lights knocked out as an armored gloved mitt comes flying for the back of his head; your fist however, breaks the guys jaw with a loud crack as you save your lover from an unfortunate injury. Bucky then gives you a quick nod of silent appreciation before you look up the staircase to see a disappointed Steve. oh, fuck off.

Huffing in irritation, you nudge Bucky to make a swift exit out of here; heeding to your urgent request he knocks another guy out before jumping down a multitude flight of stairs, grabbing onto the closest railing and tearing it back with a pained cry as he uses it to maneuver himself onto the landing.

Alright, time to go.

Breaking a soldiers arm, you proceed to do the same; arriving roughly on the cement landing as you skillfully tuck and roll before jumping up into a standing position and taking a moment to watch as Bucky races down the hallway before jumping off the corridor balcony.

Taking a deep breath in preparation for the jump to come, you book it down the same hallway and soon are free falling while quickly headed for the rooftop below. The damn roof ledge comes faster then you’d anticipated; landing hard against the protruding edge, you grunt in pain before rolling across the roof a couple feet while Bucky picks up his backpack mid run.

With no time to dwell on the burning ache in your shoulder, you push yourself from the ground as you race to catch up with Bucky who’s a good ten feet from you by now. He listens as you grumble a string of incomprehensible swears in displeasured Russian, but keeps running forward as he knows you’ll be right behind him in an instant.

Boots smacking hard against the rooftop cement, you’re almost caught up with Bucky when without so much as a warning does a dark silent shadow appear in your line of sight from directly above you, a second later you’re forcibly thrown into one of the metal conditioning system units, eyes wide and head in a daze. Only to be greeted with a man dressed in a black catlike stealth suit of some strange armor, where he soon begins hand to hand combat with Bucky.

Fuck that hurt. Asshole, you growl miserably.

Bucky dodges and throws skilled yet desperate punches at the mystery individual, although neither of them appear to take any real damage, fortunately for Bucky’s dwindling safety, but not for this other guy. Shaking the fuzziness out of your head, and ignoring the small trickle of blood leaving a red stain from the side of your temple, you hastily jump to your feet and charge the armored bastard as he throws Bucky into another conditioner unit.

Making a clean dent in the thin metal, Bucky’s eyes widen in genuine fear as the angry panther brings his shimmering silver clawed hand into the air, ready to strike. Cornered, Bucky braces for the worst with his metal arm blocking his face just as you seize the panthers forearm.

He abruptly turns his armored head towards you, and is thus kindly greeted with a swift punch to the face that sends him rolling across the rooftop a couple feet away from you and Bucky. Tumbling for a moment, he instantly regains his footing while silver colored claws slash thin sparking lines of gold across the cement as he stops dead in a predatory crouched position.

Well, now he really looks unhappy.

Bucky watches as the panther slowly rises to his feet, looking rather angered by your violent intrusion; breathing heavily, you stare down the fucker before a slow ‘shling’ sounds from out of your clenched fists. The panthers head tilts curiously, closely resembling that of an actual feline as he witnesses a total of six razor sharp claws protruding dangerously in the sunlight.

“Alright. Now we’re even.” You growl darkly as the panther charges for an attack, within seconds yours claws clash violently against his armor as he swipes for an opening to cause some real damage.

Bucky rises to his feet as he watches you and the panther fight like old enemies, sparks fly like confetti as your claws slash against his strange suit while the two of you dance in a rhythmic warriors tango, strangely on the rooftop of some Romanian hotel while Steve remains elsewhere for the time being. 

Anticipating another blow from you, the panther blocks it and finally gets a clean shot of your face, soon you’re on the ground in a blurry daze before shaking your head while you rise to your hands and knees. Okay fuck this guy.

Drops of ruby red blood patter onto the cement as your face turns into a pissed off scowl, both the panther and Bucky watch in anticipation as you dramatically turn around to face them. Three clean slashes mark deep from your right hairline, across your cheek, where finally it relents at the base of your jaw.

You sneer in vexation as your skin fuses ripped muscle and blood vessels back together in a matter of seconds, then without warning does a helicopter appear from above where it rudely begins raining bullets onto the three of you.

Fuck this.

Luckily the artillery is deflected away from Bucky as it hits the panther first, unluckily for you, a couple strays vigorously drag themselves in and out of your shoulder and torso. A sharp white hot paint rips through your vessel causing your legs to buckle, falling to the ground, you instantly scream out in agony when the unpleasant sensation fully registers in your brain, as Bucky’s face turns to worry then anger.

Soon the bullets stop as the helicopter gets pushed off course by some man in a bird suit. Well today really couldn’t be any weirder, what’s next Ironman? You sarcastically think before reluctantly forcing yourself onto your feet only to be welcomed by the worried face of Bucky as he grabs your bleary attention, “Let’s go, we could make it to the underpass.” Affirms Bucky as your strength comes to you once again, muscles fusing back together, the pain fading swiftly.

“Yeah, fuck this.” You retort as he turns and swiftly jumps off the roof and onto another ledge below a you do the same, claws slashing down the buildings side as you do so. But all too soon are you greeted by the metal on metal screeching of the panthers claws as he slides down the side of the same apartment building, closer then you’d like. “Fuck.” You mutter, deeply irritated by this dickhead who won’t give either of you a break.

Not wanting to face the wrath of his shiny sharp claws, you quickly retract yours before you and Bucky instantly turn and jump the rest of the way down, landing skillfully onto the grey sidewalk below before booking it out of there as the panther aggressively chases onward. Steve not far behind, though you don’t care nor have the time to look.

Racing across the city road, bullets fly by the two of you as the opening to the cities subterranean underpass greets you with open arms. Shuffling past some small bushes, Bucky jumps down first, you right behind him as your world turns into a hasty blur. Soon everything comes to an abrupt halt once your boots smack hard against the surface of the roads blacktop.

The sounds of angry car horns blare loudly in your ears as a couple vehicles swerve to the side, just narrowly missing yourself and Bucky, “Come on!” You shout urgently before twisting around and booking it down the underpass with Bucky close behind.

Running at an inhuman speed, you pass cars and trucks alike as they swerve to avoid the two of you, about fifteen seconds later you’re greeted to the all to familiar whirring sounds noisily emitting from the local police cruisers as they hastily follow yourself, Bucky, Steve, and the panther across the highway tunnel.

“Ugh, move!” You snap in irritation before deciding to jump up and run across a green convertible, Bucky almost smiling as he races on the blacktop next to you, continuing onward as you land and race for safety or cover or anywhere away from this mess.

“Left!” Shouts Bucky as you both reach the area where the two huge lanes split from right to left, noticing the sirens coming down from the right lane, you don’t think twice as he practically pulls you in the opposite direction. Left lane it is.

This time traffic races towards you which makes maneuvering in this fucking tunnel even that much more difficult. Your boots clash against the hard ground as Bucky suddenly eyes up an approaching motorcycle, he is not.

As the motorbike comes into about five feet of him, Bucky grabs onto the handles, pushing the guy off while he does an impressive one-eighty before throwing a leg over to straddle the bike as he now points it in the direction of the traffic flow. Not wasting a precious second longer, do you swiftly jump on, throwing your arms around his strong waist for some bit of safety.

The bike instantly growls and groans in protest as Bucky focuses on getting the two of you the fuck out of there; cars fly by in a blur as the wind aggressively whips back your hair, only causing you to hold on tighter as Bucky races down the underpass’s road. Sirens and police speeding not far behind. The constant sound of their sirens just about driving you insane.

Without so much as a warning, your peaceful ride is rudely interrupted when the panther jumps off a car and makes a beeline for your body. Bucky’s flesh hand is around the panthers throat in a second as you lower yourself out of the way. In reply, the panther suddenly twists his body and runs a couple feet on the side of the tunnels wall and low cut ceiling before Bucky tries to throw him down by his throat.

Unfortunately this causes the motorcycle to shift left; dangerously close to the racing ground, he lets go of the panther and switches hands on the handles so he can avoid losing control completely. Metal fingers scrape across the cement creating glowing sparks of angry fiery flickers as the panther holds onto your jacket and the back of the motorcycle for dear life.

Not appreciating this in the slightest, you instinctively begin unsheathing your right claws that are positioned across your lap; you bend low, face pressed against Bucky before twisting the best you can and swiping the panther off of you and onto the harsh ground below. You don’t care to look back as Bucky pushes his metal hand off the ground, finally at last stabilizing the motorbike. Hitting the gas harder, it flies down the road as you swiftly retract your claws back into your knuckles.

“Y/N are you okay!” Shouts Bucky as you tighten your hold from behind, face pressed against his back as you listen to the sirens hastily approaching in the distance.

Gifting him a squeeze of reassurance, you give him a light kiss though he doesn’t feel it, “I could honestly be better!”

Bucky shows the ghost of a smile as he whirs the bike into submission, soon more wind swirls past your face as he pulls something out of his pocket and throw it against the roof of the tunnel where it sticks, blinking red.

Boom! Crash! Down goes a multitude of cement ceiling and destructively onto the freeway, effectively creating a blocker against the panther, Steve, and the Romanian police.

Smiling into his back, you mentally praise him for keeping some of the Hydra weaponry at hand. Until you’re roughly pulled from the bike by the fucking panther himself. Who even is this guy?

And how did he....

Yelping in surprise, you grasp onto Bucky’s backpack for all it’s worth, successfully managing to drag him down with you. The grey tiled street of the tunnel hits against your body harder then you’d like, but nonetheless you take the beating like a champ as you tumble harshly against the ground.

You and the ground are really getting to know each other today.

The panther doing the same from behind you while Bucky rolls awkwardly across the floor like an angry stiff log of dark flowing hair and concealed muscle. While trying to stop yourself from clashing around any further, you quickly regain your bearings in time to block Bucky from getting his throat cut out by the panther who’s on him in an instant.

With your claws bared and shimmering in the light of the protruding sun from the tunnels giant observatory opening, you’re quickly stopped by Steve as he races past you and tackles the panther to the ground by his waist.

Your little violet adventure coming to a messy end, when the panther stands defiantly a couple feet away from the three of you who by now have risen to your feet. Police lights flash from behind him as more surround the four of you instantaneously from on all sides, well shit, this doesn’t look good.

Your frantic eyes shift all around you as your world comes to a crashing halt, a helicopter flies over head, and in this moment you want nothing more then to slash your way out of this one. But you’re trapped.

You stand to Bucky’s immediate right as Steve stands to his left, hands out protectively as you glare at the officers in front of you, neither you nor Bucky speaking a word as you take in heavy breaths from your hefty sprinting session. Suddenly the notorious War Machine lands with a dramatically heavy thud onto the road in front of you, shoulder gun and hand blasters raised as he looks between the three of you.

Well at least it’s not actually Ironman. Right?

“Stand down, now.” Commands War Machine as you throw him a resistant look of pure daggers, hatred and fury flashing across your face as you clench your fists.

Obeying the authoritative command, Steve puts his shield away, latching it to his back as you begrudgingly retract your silver tinted claws back into your forearms with the usual shling sounding as you do so.

“Congratulations, Cap.” Verbally applauds War Machine, voice clearly sarcastic, “You’re a criminal.”

Moments later the Romanian police fully surround you all, guns at the ready; you’re harshly pushed to the ground by angry gloved hands that take captive of your arms and wrists as they pin your stomach to the earth.

“ot"yebis', tupyye pizdy!” You mumble angrily in Russian as the Romanian special task officers hold you like a wounded beast, your actual words translating to “fuck off, you stupid cunts” though they’re none the wiser to your heated threats.

Your chin scrapes against the cement tiles as your hands are pressed against your back, tied instantly as you strain your head to look up. The panther retracts his catlike claws before unclasping his helmet to reveal the troubled face of a dark skinned man; brows furrowing in confusion you suddenly realize who he is when War Machine says, “Your Highness.”

Grimacing in agitation, you can’t help but let out a string of curses aimed crudely at the Wakandian prince and many of the officers in question, half of your verbal abuse a mix of both English and your mother tongue. Soon an officer lightly kicks your side as you send him a deadly glare that causes him to take a cautious step back.

Though to relieve himself of his high authority once more, he gathers some of his men's attention by pointing down at you, “Muzzle this one.” He commands diligently as you squirm in protest, your face a mask of pure rage while Bucky keeps a steady frustrated gaze with the ground. His heart breaking for how they’re treating the two of you, but most importantly how they’re dealing with you.

If not for the current situation, you could have actually laughed; well now, aren’t you quite royally fucked.

-

Tagged: @minigranger​ @bibliophilewednesday​ @holyhumorliteraturelight​ @diegos-butt

[august-bleeds-red]

Texas Heat (Part Two)

Alpha!Tommy x omega!Reader (AFAB). When you find yourself trapped within the Hewitt family’s web of murder, violence and pain, the last thing you expect to do is fall in love.

Warnings: implied non-con, gore. NSFW in later chapters.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

~

Dinner that night is stew.

 You help Luda cut the vegetables, but the meat is already simmering in the pot by the time you come down. Thomas is nowhere to be seen, and when you ask where he is, as casually as possible, Luda answers with a sly grin.

 “Oh, he’s probably workin’ down in the basement. Often doesn’t eat ‘til later, ‘specially when we have guests. He’s awful shy, you see.”

 You don’t mention the way he’d stared at you upstairs – more domineering and intense than anyone else you’d have described as “shy”.

 “I hope you don’t mind me asking—” you begin to say, but she’s already nodding, clearly anticipating your next words.

 “His face?”

 You nod. Setting down the knife she’s using to slice the carrots, she adjusts her spectacles and glances towards the door you presume leads to the basement.

 “He’s awful sensitive about it. We don’t usually talk about it, but I don’t want you to be makin’ any nasty judgements ‘bout him.”

 “Of course not, I wouldn’t.”

 She pats your arm and continues chopping the carrots. “I found him when he was just born. Some cruel no-goods had left him to die in a trash can. Lord knows what filthy things he was exposed to in there before I took him home. He started gettin’ skin complaints when he was a boy. Real bad. The other kids used to tease him for it, call him ‘diseased’. Got too much for him so he took a knife and . . .” She presses the tips of her fingers to her mouth and shakes her head. “Sorry, still gets to me.”

 “I understand,” you say, your heart aching empathetically. “I’m sorry.”

 She pats your arm again and sighs, “You’re a good girl, Y/N.”

 For some reason, she says this with a note of sadness which makes you uneasy again. You don’t have long to dwell on it, though, before Hoyt enters the room.

 “How’s that stew comin’ on, Momma?” he asks jovially.

 You help set the table and bow your head respectfully while Hoyt says Grace, accepting your bowl of stew with a grateful smile. The meat is tender, with an unusual flavour you can’t quite place. You figure it must be some kind of game animal you’ve not tasted before, or herbs mixed in with the broth. It’s good, whatever it is. You help yourself to the cornbread Luda offers you and try not to be disconcerted by the way Monty is staring at you.

 He’s just a dirty old man, you try and convince yourself. Ignore him.

 Though it’s not that late by the time your plate is cleared, you claim tiredness and go upstairs to your tiny room. Closing the door behind you, you wish there was some kind of furniture you could prop against it; the chest of drawers is far too heavy for you to move inconspicuously. You don’t feel quite comfortable enough to change into the camisole you usually wear for sleeping, so decide to remain in your shorts and T-shirt. One night won’t hurt. You brush your teeth in the tiny sink, making a mental note to rinse your toothbrush with clean water before using it again, and curl up on top of the blanket. The air is thick and humid, and you’re soon wishing you could just sleep naked. Your own scent hangs heavy in the air and you curse your time of the month. Even with the precautions prescribed to you, your heat was always strong, but it never has this much of a toll on you. You remember your first – you were ten, an early bloomer, and it had hit you at summer camp. It was the height of August, and the counsellors had found you whimpering in a corner of the dorm, hugging a pillow and grinding frantically against it.

 That was the last time you went to camp.

 Could it be because of Thomas? Is that why your body is reacting so strongly?

 Growling in frustration, you reach for your bag and grope inside for your pills. The doctors only advise taking three pills in a single day under extreme circumstances, but being under the same roof as an alpha as intimidating as Thomas Hewitt strikes you as pretty damn extreme. It takes you almost three whole minutes to realise the awful truth – the pills aren’t there. You know you put them back in the inside pocket earlier, the same place you always do. They’re definitely gone.

 Your heart starts pounding and you feel that prickling sense of danger creep over you again. It would have been easy for Hoyt, Monty, or even Thomas to come in here and take the pills while you were downstairs helping Luda. Which means they know. Perhaps you were kidding yourself that you could lie to them.

 You decide not to take any chances. Even without your car, there was no way you could stay here. Your parents would understand. Perhaps you could even call the cops when you got to the next town and ask them to fetch it for you. Gathering your belongings as quietly as possible, you open the door just a crack and peer out down the darkened hallway. All is still. You manage to make no sound all the way to the top of the stairs, taking care not to step in the centre of each step as you tiptoe down.

 You’re almost at the door when you hear it – a low, keening moan.

 You turn glacially slowly to look at the basement door. You could kid yourself that it was a dog, but you know in your bones that’s not the case.

 “Please . . .” the voice calls plaintively. A girl. “Help me . . .”

 Fear washes over you like a bucket of ice water. You should go – you know you should go. The door is right in front of you.

 “Pleeeeease . . .” the voice sobs.

 Your parents’ faces swim before your eyes. You think of what they’d suffer were you to never come home. You brother, your sister, your friends . . .

 “Oh God, help me . . .”

 “God damn it,” you whisper through gritted teeth. With a quick glance upstairs, you tread as light as a spider down the corridor towards the basement. The girl’s voice gets louder – it’s definitely coming from down there. The door is unlocked when you twist the handle, pulling it towards you just enough to slip inside and down the rickety steps beyond. A large pool of water is gathered at the foot of the stairs, too large for you to avoid. You wince as the damp soaks through your sneakers and socks.

 Two large hunks of meat are hanging from hooks along the wall. You think they may have once been pigs, though the head and limbs are all hacked away. You find the girl – a petite blonde in a short blue dress – on a filthy mattress, roped to a pipe in one corner of the room. She looks as though she’s been there for days, weeks, even. Her skin is bruised, and you can tell by her frightened scent that she’s a beta. You can also smell Hoyt’s potent musk on her – in her hair, in the smears of congealed fluid between her legs.

 She smells you before she sees you, eyes searching disbelievingly in the half-dark. You quickly stifle her mouth with your hand before she cries out.

 “Keep quiet, okay?” you hiss. You pick at the tightly-knotted rope, breaking a fingernail in your attempt to untie it. “Fuck.”

 “Oh God,” she gasps.

 “Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna—”

 “NO!” she screams, her body falling into a fit of panicked flailing. Her eyes are big and brimming with fear, staring over your shoulder.

 The scent reaches you just before Thomas’s fingers do.

 You duck and back away from the captured girl, who continues screaming like she’s being sliced apart. Every nerve in your body is yelling at you to flee, to fight, to do anything besides what you are doing – which is staring like a deer in headlights up at Thomas approaching you. His scent is almost overpowering, and despite the terror seizing you, you feel a warm stream of slick trickling down the inside of your thigh.

 He gives a sharp intake of breath and rumbles deep in his chest. Your knees tremble, and you unconsciously breathe in the heady aroma surrounding the enormous man. Your breath shudders as it leaves you. Your instincts are commanding you to stay, to submit, to give yourself to this alpha; you can already feel your body leaning into him.

 The basement door slams open and Hoyt’s angry voice preceeds his heavy footsteps.

 “Nuff of this dang caterwauling, some of us’re tryin’ to sleep!”

 He stops dead at the wall of scent surrounding you, and a sly grin takes over his rugged features. “Well, lookee here.”

 Reaching inside his pocket, he pulls out a small foil strip that you recognise instantly.

 “Guess somebody’s not just a plain ole beta after all, huh?”

 “You asshole,” you spit, your disdain for Hoyt overriding your lust for just a moment.

 “That’s not very polite now, is it?” he says. He moves casually towards the whimpering blonde, who stares in terrified anticipation up at him. He reaches down and strokes her hair, and she cringes away from his touch. “Tommy, why don’t you teach this little bitch a lesson in manners?”

 Thomas takes two short strides towards you, but you dart out from under his grasp and sprint towards the stairs. The girl you’re abandoning screams after you, but all you can think of now is to escape, battling the nagging tug at the back of your mind that’s still desperately reaching out for Thomas.

 You somehow make it up the steps and through the door, your footsteps crashing on the boards as you fly down the hall. You throw your entire weight against the front door, splintering the wood surrounding the lock as you burst out into the night.

 You breathe in lungfuls of air as you sprint across the field, heading for the road. You’ve never been a fast runner, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins has you practically leaping like a gazelle. Your feet catch on stones and loose earth, threatening you with a fall, but you just manage to keep your balance. The sound of pounding footsteps behind you sends a sharp spike of fear into your gut, and if you weren’t running you may have vomited.

 You vaguely recognise another sound – a deep, mechanical roar – but you don’t want to risk glancing over your shoulder to see if it is what you think. He’s getting closer, you can smell him, you can hear his laboured breathing, you can feel his fingers grasping at your hair—

 He overshoots you by a good ten strides when you fall to the ground, scraping your hands and knees on hard soil. Turning to face your supine form, he brandishes the growling chainsaw clutched in his massive hands.

 You’re dead. You must be. How can you possibly expect any other outcome from this situation? Scrambling to your knees, you try to rise, but the metal teeth of the chainsaw brush too close; you can almost taste your own blood. Thomas’s eyes, black with rage, focus on you. His chest is heaving, his muscular arms flexing as he prepares to deal the killing blow—

 “Alpha!” you shriek, the word spilling from your tongue before you can recognise its meaning. “Alpha, please!”

 He freezes, arms aloft, staring down at you in surprise and disbelief.

 You crawl forwards, reaching out a shaking hand to touch his booted foot. “Please . . . p-please don’t kill me.”

 He glances up towards the house. You can tell he’s not used to making decisions without approval, but Hoyt isn’t here to spit poison in his ear.

 “I’ll . . . I’ll be yours.” You can’t believe the words you’re saying. “Please, alpha . . . you can have me. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t kill me.”

 He steps back and shakes his head angrily, but not in refusal – more like he’s trying to rid your honeyed words from his head as a bull might dislodge a persistent fly. Taking your life in your hands, you slowly rise to your feet and proffer your sweating hands towards him; the scent from your wrists glands is strong, unavoidable. The chainsaw powers down, and his arms slowly fall to waist-height. You take careful hold of one wrist and detach his fingers from the chainsaw handle. Keeping your gaze locked with his, you part your dry lips and press the flat of your tongue against his own wrist, licking a long, slow stripe. His skin is salty with sweat, the musk beneath deep and earthy, hitting the back of your throat like spice. You feel a shudder pass through his body and go one step further – baring your teeth just enough to nip the tender, swollen skin. The chainsaw falls heavily to the ground as he grabs you, one hand twisting the skin of your wrist, the other securing the back of your neck, fingers knotted in your hair. You stare up at him, heart dancing, skin tingling, fear and lust seeking dominance in your stomach. His teeth are bared behind the gap in his mask, his brow furrowed in bewildered rage and desire. You lift the hand still free from his grip and, as tenderly as though handling a baby sparrow, touch the gland at the nape of his neck. The skin is raised and warm, and his eyes close almost in reverence at the contact.

 “What in Lord’s name’re you doin’, boy?!” Hoyt’s furious voice startles you both. He’s hurrying up behind you, shotgun under one arm, glaring between you and Thomas.

 In a swift, one-handed movement, Thomas pulls you flush against his body, your nose filling with the metallic scent of blood imbedded in his apron – which, it occurs to you, is undoubtedly human blood.

 Hoyt stops in his tracks, assessing the situation before him. You, pliant and submissive in Thomas’s arms; Thomas, dominant and possessive, ready to protect you from the threat Hoyt poses. The older man sighs, chuckling softly.

 “Well, I’ll be damned.” Swinging the shotgun to rest on his shoulder, he shakes his grizzled head. “Y’sure, Tommy? She’d taste mighty sweet with Mama’s hot biscuits.”

 Thomas’s grip tightens and you whimper – he’s about to break your wrist. His fingers immediately loosen, and you see a flash of what could almost be called concern cross his face. Hoyt rolls his eyes and turns, heading back towards the farmhouse.

 “Come on, then.”

 Before you can protest, Thomas sweeps you up into a bridal embrace, pressing your body against his broad chest. Tears prick your eyes as you’re brought back to the place you fought so hard to escape from. As you’re carried over the threshold, Hoyt shoots you a nasty grin.

 “Welcome to the family, Little Miss Omega.”    

~

Comments are greatly appreciated because I’m a needy little trashbag.               

[thelemoncoffee]

i have an obsession with making Aus where Kokichi is seen by the public ad some great tyranical evil, but is really just a lonely boi- so here we go again

Medieval fantasy Au, they're all adults because it makes more sense;

In this world magic is a very common thing, something just about anyone can pick up with enough practice. Magic comes in many different types, ranging from healing to defensive, fire based to ice based, and just about everything in between, but one type is forbiddin; Dark magic. Just about everyone has been scared out of using dark magic by stories passed down generations, speaking of how dangerous it is, and how it corrupts it's users and such; but this did not deter one boy.

The rumors about him tell a tale of a young boy who was hard to change the mind of; when he wanted something done his way, he would stop at nothing to get it done, and that was his downfall. When he heard the stories about how dangerous Dark magic was, he wanted to prove the world wrong, and against his mentor and family's wishes, he began to study it; with each new spell he perfected he became more unstable, and deception became his best friend.

The king himself ordered his death after catching wind of the boy's horrid act, but was quick to find he had become much too powerful to try and kill. The boy was ordered to a hearing with the King, who told him he wasn't allowed to be in the kingdom so long as he practiced Dark magic, and was to be exiled.

Shokingly, the boy complied without much of a fight, rather, he was quite snarky about his exile; he used it to mock the kingdom as he paraded away, making a show for them to see as he cackled and cheered his freedom from a society that didn't accept something that was hated for no other reason than tradition. the Kingdom saw him as a once sweet boy turned madman, no older than 15 at the time, courrpted and taken over by a power he knew not the danger of

Now, years later, the name Kokichi Ouma rings through the Kingdom and many beyond it as grim reminder to those who even think about taking a small glimps at the art of Dark magic; a recent story to detur the usage. Many of the residence of the Kingdom believe that the king should have just pushed till he killed him; they fear in the nearly 10 years of his exile, he could have studied and mastered the dark art undetured, and could come back to take over if he hasn't lost his mind completly and gone feral or something from the mind altering affects yet

Backstory aside: the main plot for this Au is that Shuichi is a magic student from another kingdom who's heard the tale but doesn't quite believe it, and he was sent by his mentor to go to the very Kingdom the story originated from for a task. On his way, he got attacked by a group of Rogues and was almost beat out, but got saved by a small cloaked boy. Shuichi ended up passing out from a mix of overusing his mana trying to defend himself and blood loss, and woke up in a small cottage in the middle of a nowhere forest. the boy who saved him comes in to check on him and finds he's awake. Conversation happens and he finds out the boy is not a boy, but a 24 year old man that goes by Tiny, is the leader of a small band of people who have been exiled from various kingdoms for various crimes (all in which have thrown out their birth names in favor of various jester names), and helps out people who get lost or attacked out in the lawless bounds of the forest. Tiny tells Shuichi that he's going to help him get all healed up so he can go back to his task, and over the time it takes him to heal, they get closer to one another and form a bond neither had ever had before. Once Shuichi is well enough to leave, he promises to return once in awhile to check up on Tiny. Little did he know that Tiny was in fact the very same dark magic user from the stories he never quite believed.

Some extra lore about Dark magic:

The reason why dark magic is so hated is because it's like a magic speed run. It's a simplified form of magic but it's a lot more powerful, meaning you can become stronger quicker, you can do things a lot easier- it's basically more efficient. People of the past believed it was an easy way out of learning magic, so they started to spread rumors about it, giving people a negative mentality against it.

It's actually called dark magic is because uses energy from the Moon and Spirits, and other night related stuff. The reason why it's associated with corruption and people going insane is because there are some spells that can only be done with dark magic that have the ability to change your physical appearance, and those can actually permanently damage you both mentally and physically if you don't know how to perform them correctly. They're the most dangerous part of dark magic, and are strongly not advised for anyone but people who have been practicing safely for years.

[b0hemian]

"Mrs. Kostyk"

genya safin x david kostyk

fluff

warning(s):

[ author's note : ] I'm not done with Rule of Wolves yet, but I felt the need to write something between Genya and David because of what... some events brought. I'm still recovering but at least I got a moment with my favorite pirate-prince and dragon queen. Also! Before you read, it does have major spoilers from the King of Scars Duology, so I advise that you read those books first before you proceed. 🤍 ( not edited )

Genya Safin was a monster, and a beautiful monster she was.

Although it's been months now since the people of Ravka - her beloved Ravkans with their odd ways and nature, have accepted her scars, she still could see the judgement - the fear, and intimidation spread across the occasional face. Most were children and mothers, and some were men who had the tongues of vipers. Ready to pounce at every given moment to whisper a tale or two about the lady with one scarred eye.

Genya's learned to deal with such men, ignore the mumbles of mothers, and forgive the fear of younglings. Genya learned to ignore the fear, the pity, the horrible whispers told under palms. She learned to avert her focus sharply. She learned to stand her ground and pounce back with a bite of her own. After all, what was a fighter without its fight? But even so, even after what she's learned to ignore, what pained her so wasn't the insults directed to her scars or her features or even the given pity of her past, but the memories and the grief that came along with every reminder. Every flash of sadness and momentary smile of condolence given to Genya only reminded her of what she faced. She remembered the ache of her bones and the willingness to fall on her knees, to let herself buckle and dissolve on the soil with her very tears. Oh how many people Ravka's lost. How many children, mothers, fathers, siblings, aunts, uncles, grandparents, soldiers, and friends died to the fold's demolition. But most importantly, what Genya Safin herself lost before it, during it, and after.

"Love, your tea's getting cold."

David Kostyk. The man of pure science and ingenuity rather than faith. A man of silence and little appetite for talk. Little appetite for anything if it meant being able to tinker with his projects and create solutions from problems that stand solution-less. The man of her dream. A man worth her fight and the kingdom's combined. A love for him worth every lifetime and beyond.

Genya smiled with her chin rested against her palm. David, shaking his head to himself as he dropped his pen on his table. He picked up the teacup with shaky ink stained hands and drank heavily.

"Thank you."

"Please drink more often, love. I cannot stand you dehydrated." Genya, smiling beautifully as always, stood and sat herself at the arm of David's sear. Her arm rested against his shoulders as the other held his wrist. Her thumb soothing his exposed skin.

On the off times that he didn't wear his kefka, he wore clothes Genya made sure David was comfortable in, knowing his habits to stay up late at night. This time, he wore a sweater of royal blue. The sleeves tucked to his elbows.

Genya leaned down and kissed David's brow. The soft crackle of fire eminent in the silence.

"Perhaps.. I should rest. I understand the Darkling is set amok, but.."

"But you need the rest. You need it more than any of us David." You've worked harder than any soldier I've known. Both in your guilted heart and beautiful mind.

David sighed strongly and nodded. Genya knew how hard it was for him to stop. Not just because of his powerful interest in the science or the fact that all of Ravka was at the brink of possible collapse, but the guilt she knew that rang true in his heart. He created monstrous contraptions when he wanted to make wonders. He forged fear in the past in a way he was oblivious to with the Darkling as his advisor, and now that he had the chance to forge hope, he was willing to take that chance in a single heartbeat.

But even those who stayed behind the lines working, forging the keys of triumph needed the rest of those who fought in blood and bone.

"Would a little nap be fine with you?" David, with his shy voice, asked.

Genya kissed his brow again. "We could sleep for a million years and I would never mind a second if it means to rest alongside you."

David winced. He knew she meant well but any mention of a long rest wasn't truly ideal at a time like this, no? When war raged among their boarders and innocent people died, a long rest was the last thing a man would want. But even so, if Genya was the one who said such beautiful words as those, it gave him at least that sense of home. No matter where she is, in whatever bed we lay in at the end, I'll be there to lie next to her.

David stood and wrapped his hands upon Genya's. "Lets go then, Mrs. Kostyk?"

Genya beamed. Oh how much she loved the flattery. This time, David didn't need a nudge to compliment her. Saints, it wasn't even a compliment. It was a name. A name reserved for her from him.

"Remind me to give you a thousand kisses once we reached out room."

"And how will you like that reminder, love?"

Genya beamed brighter somehow and loved this playful difference. It was subtle and his voice was still factual and well.. David-like, but it was perfect. Enough. He didn't have to even act this was for Genya to love every syllable that left his beautiful lips.

As Genya giggled after her response, David pulled her in for a kiss. And for a moment, not even Grisha powers or the small science or facts and evidence could explain the way both their hearts soared from their bodies. Binding together in a beautiful whole marvel.

Geyna lost many people the day the fold had fallen. She had even lost a part of herself she can never get back. But what came from it was something she knew she would fight the fold and its creator for over and over again just to have.

Genya Safin has her friends. She had her home and damn well she was gonna fight for it. But lost importantly right now, in the greed of her heart during war, was that she had David Kostyk.