#tempting tempest

[royboyfanpage]

Okay I've seen a lot of these polls for Dick and, I mean, Dickkory winning is pretty obvious, but I couldn't think of one absolute winning ship for Roy. So-

[existential-labrador]

Oh my god I want tickets to both so bad 😍😱

[trickywish]

day 4; favorite npc I love rolan

[blupengu]

[wingodex]

trying to read op is so annoying sometimes. honestly i prefer to read the coloured version because i find that in black and white the action is sometimes not very legible, and i love seeing the hand drawn sound effects in japanese, but there is no official english release of the coloured version so everything is fan edited. so sometimes there's the official translations (which, in early op especially, can already be kind of annoying with certain names and silly pirate talk) and then sometimes there will randomly be fan translations which are even worse because they will just straight up not translate a bunch of stuff. you can't win!!

[howlofhades]

1. if you could hit any character without repercussions, who would it be?

I need to know who I’m decking for you

1. if you could hit any character without repercussions, who would it be?

This is difficult, like I genuinely don't know. Well, I do but would I hit them?

[thegempage]

doing important research (staring at the poll for initiative youtube channel trying to decide when would be the most poetic time for cassandra to transition from "i love lys" to "i'm in love with lys")

[ayasuki]

4th Bakugou x Reader Fanfic recs

note: if i put none/no title, the writer has not given the work a title :P

> • 𝑹𝒆𝒄𝒔 𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕

all fics are smut

" tempting tempest " by lord-explosion-baku

shark!bakugou X mer!reader

warnings: mentions of noncon/dubious themes, slight violence, sexual themes

" he's lost " by xoxo-teddybear

bakugou x fem!reader

series 4 parts

warnings: angst, physical harm, cursing, accused cheating, katsuki’s insecurities, eventual smut

summary: y/n is so busy around valentine’s, her lack of attention towards her Pomeranian is causing him to freak out and do the worst of the worst.

" i warned you " by melticss

dom!bakugou x sub!fem!reader

warning: dirty talk, slut shaming, play fighting, oral (fem receiving) (male receving) sex, embarrassment

" on your knees " by luvrkay

bakugou x gn!reader

short

warning: blowjob

" drunk fuck " by lighterfluid1

two versions: bakugou x fem!reader | bakugou x m!reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol, they/them pronouns, drunk sex, lots of degration, aggressive sex, creampie, fingering, overstimulation, some dirty talk, edging, oral sex (both char. receiving), half clothed sex, anal (for m!reader)

bakugou x fem!reader pt 2 | bakugou x m!reader

warnings: they/them pronouns, masturbation, violence, mentions of blood, near death experience, anesthesia/medical drugs, top!receiving, creampie, dacryphilia, degradation, belly bulge, overstim, anal (for m!reader)

" dumb bitch " by dovkss

mean!dom! katsuki x bimbo!fem!reader

summary: after you pine after him for so long with no luck, Katsuki finally decides to take you as his; thanks to his best friend.

warning: dirty talk, oral (m receiving), rough sex, spitting, choking, breath play, degradation, hair pulling, manipulation, dacryphilia, edging, size kink, misogyny, yandere tendencies, kinda ooc, kinda dubcon-ish?, reader is drunk for the most part, katsuki is an ass; poor eijiro won’t take no for an answer and ends up getting fucked over bc of it; katsuki and ei are basically frenemies

part 2

warning: manhandling, blowjob (m receiving), degradation, slapping, public sex, possessive & controlling katsuki; choking & gagging, yandere themes, poor eijiro once again :((

" no title " by thatgirlgames

farm owner!bakugo x chubby cow hybrid!reader

warning: heavy lactation kink, tit sucking, cream pies, cow hybrids, moterboating.

" no title " by salimanderwrites

pro-hero!bakugo x bimbo secretary!reader

warning: boss x employee, reader is both a bimbo and a bit of a perv, bakugo is soft for reader and a soft dom, f and m masturbation, imagined freeuse scenario, imagined exhibition, phone sex, exchanging fantasies (office sex, possessiveness, blowjob, eating reader out), actual sex, praise, oral f!receiving, unprotected sex, brief pain from sex

" no title " by mhathotfic

neko!bakugou x fem!reader

warning: creampie

" bakugou wants to try anal " by 1-800-cybersaint

bakugou x fem!reader

warning: creampie

[1800titz]

SPANKO!HARRY x NEIGHBOR PART 1 — NOW UP ON PATREON

The one where Y/N and Harry are neighbors in an apartment complex, he's got a bunny called Snuggles, he makes softcore porn spanking people (it's a REALLY LOUD HOBBY), and Y/N has definitely called the police for a domestic disturbance next door. 

preview

“Frankly, I think it’s wrong to put your hands on a woman.” 

Harry’s face doesn’t immediately crease. It’s a slow progression (he blinks, then again, and a thunderbolt of white-hot shock clouds his features and shapes them bewildered). He ducks his chin. Sounds almost furtive— 

(Which is worse).

“Sorry?” 

“Sorry,” Y/N snips, “It’s absolutely disgusting to put your hands on a woman.” 

The flinty prehnite in his sockets wanders, left to right (a discomfited side sweep, probably at her volume— he should feel ashamed!). He steps in. There’s seedlings of a storm in his gaze.

(The pacific eye of a hurricane before it migrates and the tempest swallows her whole).

Harry tells her, even, and low, and careful, ”I don’t put my hands on anybody that doesn’t consent to it first.” 

Her face crinkles. 

“I think— maybe there’s been a misunderstanding—“

“I’m not misunderstanding,” Y/N maintains— the piece of her mind he’d beckoned for with open palms outstretched floods in vitriolic disdain, “I’ve heard a woman yelling no, and stop, and please from your apartment— I have ears, you know, and— and it’s gross that men like you think that it’s okay—“

He blinks, stunned, swallows, and then says, in a tone that’s soft-spoken and (impressively) imperturbable, “You’re the one that called in for a domestic disturbance?”

“Any sane woman would call the police when she heard another woman being abused.”

“Abused—“

She blusters, scorn in the molten lavascape of her gaze, “Yes! Abused! And— and— honestly—“

He rearranges, shifting the fleecy animal onto the bolster of one forearm, and culls his phone, brows pinched—

“—I don’t know what form of assault would be worse, but when someone says no, it means no!”

There’s epinephrine spuming, and the byproduct of venting the pent discontent— floodgates shattered—

“Excuse me,” she snaps, stifling when his thumb scrolls, “I’m talking to you. And also, while we’re at it, you’re unbearably loud, and an unmannerly neighbor—“

Harry turns the phone. She’s nearly tempted to tell him to piss off with… whatever this is, but her eyes roam, vexation worn in the kink of her eyebrows, and then—

An almost archaic website, like a kitsch relic— repository archives of a porn blog from the early 2000s. Spankinggram. A profile; Rings&Paddles. The squared avatar bifurcates the garishly burnt amber logo of the site’s logo. Her eyes sweep over the vista; a man, sitting, thighs splayed, palm curled over a …hairbrush.

The image sunders at the neck. It’s a faceless silhouette, but the miscellany of sketches cascading across a forearm and the distinctly chunky medley of rings are… enough—

“I do, like, a… softcore porn-type thing,” Harry admits, and the chiaroscuro of his sudden embarrassment to her venom makes her chest tight. She feels sort of sick. 

He tacks on, like he needs to, “Consensually. No one is being abused.”

[definegodliness]

Sentimental

Within bedlam the sunlight trickles down liquid and delayed as if fat drops of rain, racing across a speeding car's window.

Inside the storm sleep feels ever distant, as wind cradles fragility and we search for shelter under juniper trees.

We brave the tempest, strands of hair stuck to our faces, wiped away for a brash openness and a smile that is the invigoration of temporarily being invulnerably human.

We wake touching ground with dirt caked under nails and grass between toes. We gaze up, jealous of birds in a perfect sky, damning our fear of heights.

Then, the sun caresses the horizon, and our visions rest as we collide, tempted into the star-strewn night.

--- Sentimental is a collaborative piece between @madworlddiary and @definegodliness. We hope you enjoy it! I've very much liked writing and being challenged by Kelly. Thank you so much!

[ghouldtime]

Alone. Truly Alone. Chapter Three.

Johnny didn't want someone who asked questions - to him, anyways. That didn't mean you wouldn't try to get your own answers

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Johnny (he insisted you call him that after you very reluctantly agreed to his deal, stating that "John" was too formal) didn’t need someone who asked questions. Asking questions meant thinking and thinking meant trouble. He didn’t need someone asking anything about the man framed in the only picture he had, nor did he need to be questioned on why there was an uncanny frakensteined monster that bore that very person's resemblance living in an abandoned military facility. 

Of course, you’d still think of those questions. Anyone with a single braincell and any scrap of common sense would. You’d think about them until your brain melted and oozed out your ears as they ceaselessly tore at your mind, lingering on the edges of every other thought you had.

Asking him at this point though wouldn't get you anywhere, aside from maybe in a hospital bed. Pushing the already probably mentally unstable man further when he clearly had a whole storm brewing behind those distant blue eyes was a flat out stupid idea. When someone carried such a beastly burden day in and out, adding even a feather to the weight they carried could cause them to snap. If you wanted answers, you’d have to play it smart and ride the sands of time until the tempest faded into a mild breeze, taking the pressure that ceaselessly weighed him down with it.

Besides, you didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth and do anything to cost you your newfound side job that rolled into your lap when you needed it most. You needed it and the money almost as much as Johnny needed you.

Aside from a wonderful therapist, what Johnny needed was someone to run some errands for him.  The way he phrased it could’ve made it seem almost normal. Almost. He just needed you to sometimes pick things up and drop things off for him - things he said he didn't have time to do.

Before you could even begin to regret agreeing or start gathering the courage to start verbalizing anything, another $100 was shoved in your awaiting hands the second he summoned you to his house once more not even two days later, effectively tying your tongue in a knot and forcing you to swallow anything that threatened to rise up back into the pit of your stomach where it belonged.

"You're certainly a wonderful sight for sore eyes" Johnny said as he held the door open for you, the lopsided grin that stretched slightly too far for comfort donning his face.

Underneath your fingertips, the crinkle of the crisp bill he'd shoved in your hands offered an ounce of comfort and familiarity as you stepped into the haphazard blend of the contrasting house. Once again, the overpowering stench of bleach reached your nose, causing it to wrinkle as your eyes watered. The soapy, pungent basic scent of unnaturally clean stood as far too much, like he had just scrubbed every single nearby surface with it twice.

Holding your breath just enough to make it through the hallway without burning your lungs, the shaky exhale that escaped you when you reached the kitchen was anything but certain, unlike the man who lead the way with a spring in his step.

"How 'bout a cuppa?" He offered as he gestured for you to sit in one of the uncomfortable, cheap, ugly modern chairs that lined the matching too sleek table.

Though the thought of something to drink was a nice gesture and tempted your slightly parched throat, it wasn't one you could accept. Drinking something from his house, even if he made it in front of you, had you on hesitate as uncertainty made itself known in the way your stomach twisted. Sure, it might give you something to sip on and take away from your nerves - but you didn't know what he'd consider normal or what he could put in it.

"Thanks, but no thank you. I'm good." You declined, your brows knitting together the smallest bit as your hands locked together, a closed-lipped smile donned your features as a polite peace offering.

Johnny simply tipped his head and shrugged in a 'suit yourself' gesture as he turned his back to you and took ahold of the kettle. "Maybe one day you'll come 'round to it. The Brits are wrong on many things but tea isn't one of them." He noted while he filled the blue metal device to the brim before setting it unceremoniously on the stove.

Humming in a truly neutral agreement that could be taken either way, you chose not to say anything in addition. A steady, rhythmic clicking broke through the silence before the gentle whoosh of the flames igniting quieted the air once more.

Johnny busied himself around the countertop and the island, whistling an off-tune song you couldn't quite recognize. While you weren't sure what song it was, there was no denying that his tone was off. Whether that was on purpose or not, you had no idea, but it made your skin crawl. A grimace crossed your features when the continual bad intonation didn't get any better. Why couldn't he have at least picked something to be on pitch with?

Thankfully the half-cringe that passed upon your face went unnoticed as he began searching through the orange toned cabinets and drawers at his own leisurely pace.

Naturally, your eyes were drawn to the man as he worked in his element. Your own natural curiosity tugged on the little part of your brain that egged you on to watch and try to figure out what he was doing. The weight of the world might have rested on his shoulders, judging by the slight tension he always held in his muscles and the lines carved deep into his face after many sleepless nights, but he didn't show it elsewhere.

He moved about as if the burden he carried were nothing more than a backpack, an annoyance that could eventually be shed. If you were able to look at his face closer, you're sure the shadows of dark bags would line underneath his eyes, darkening his features as if trying to externally express the gloom he felt.

To see that meant you'd have to look him in the eyes, though. You're not sure you were ready to meet the intensity of his head-on gaze again, or have to explain why you were staring. Blinking out of your stupor, you snapped your gaze to the tiled floor, trying to find something else to draw your attention.

The too stark, too barren kitchen loomed around you at all angles and provided no relief or point of interest. Looking anywhere else did little to help your nerves and thoughts alike when the clashing gaudiness of the wallpaper and the modern furniture greeted you no matter where you turned your eyes.

No matter what, you most certainly didn't want to look at the one picture on the wall - the one that reminded you of the thing you'd seen.

Though the man in the picture wasn't nearly as monstrous and had all the correct, human proportions (in the right number too, mind you), taking a single glance made your stomach churn. Sheer, primal dread and horror weren't an easy feeling to shake, especially when you caught glimpses of it every time you so much as turned your head to the side.

When he finally started talking again, a silent breath of relief escaped you as you relaxed marginally, thanking all heavens above he gave focus on other than the solitary portrait that hung on the empty wall.

"You don't know how... how happy I am."

Metallic clattering rang out as he shut yet another drawer before the one beside it was squeaked open from the rattling force. Though he spoke aloud, you weren't sure if he was more talking to himself or to you.

You didn't dare to breathe a word when he seemed to have paused for a moment, muttering something under his breath before he shut that drawer too and opened a cabinet below. "... to finally have someone to help me." He added as an afterthought as he popped back up, a small, rusted metal box in his hand.

Clunking against the counter as he gingerly placed it down, the rusty hinges squeaked in protest as he popped the lid, inspecting the mysterious contents with scrutinizing, unblinking eyes before he nodded to himself, clamping the lid shut once more before you had a chance to see what was in it.

"Things have been..." He trailed off with a small, dismissive circle of his hand as he turned his back to you again, upper cabinets flying open as he dug through the few items precariously perched in there once more.

He didn't continue his sentence, shaking his head to himself, the words he refused to speak evaporating into thin air. The grip you had on your own hands tightened as you bit your tongue - you weren't going to pry. No questions, you reminded yourself, as your mind filled in the blanks with many words that it raced to think of to finish his sentence for him.

Difficult? Terrible? Agonizing? Stressful? You're sure you could place them all on a Bingo card and score instantly.

No matter how much you wanted to ask, wanted to figure out what was going on, you weren't going to ask. You couldn't. The fragile balance that hung in the silence of the air depended on it.

Johnny seemed to like talking to himself anyhow, even if it was filled with beats and pauses and half finished sentences to match. It's like he either expected interjection or didn't know how to talk after having spent so much time alone.

"Ever since the exp- accident," He corrected himself in such a rush you didn't catch what he almost said, "Haven't been able to do nearly all of what I wanted."

Johnny didn't give you a chance to think about it as he huffed, his shoulders sagging, “Cannot drive anymore.” He spoke in a rougher grit, nodding to his missing left arm.

Frustration wrote itself all over his face in the unmistakable narrowing of his eyes and the tension held in his shoulders increasing tenfold as a scowl crossed his features. But like everything else with him, it hardly lasted a few noticeable seconds before the grin that was all too theatric made its appearance once more. “Unless you want to see the gas station version of Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift, I wouldn't let me get behind a wheel.” 

His warm, mirth filled chuckle and toothy smile could almost be mistaken as genuine if he weren't staring right through you with a certainty that made your hackles raise. "That's where you come in. Real life saver, you are." He noted as he finally found what he was searching for, depositing it in a drawstring bag alongside the metal container.

Just in time, the kettle whistled a shrill pitchy noise. Steam billowed out of the small opening. Like a dog drawn to the beck and call of its owner, he trotted right on over to it, pouring it into a metal thermos he already had set aside in his impromptu kitchen rearranging spree.

Screwing the top on, he settled it in the bag before drawing it tight. Fabric cinched underneath the motion and, testing it to be sure nothing would spill, he finally picked it up and promptly deposited it on your lap.

"Well, best be off with it then." He said as he clapped a hand on your shoulders, guiding you to your feet. You swallowed, already knowing where he was going to ask you to go. "If you're fast enough, the water will still be warm when you get back if you change your mind on having a proper cuppa."

Going there in the evening light proved to be significantly less unnerving than visiting in the pitch blackness of the night. Considering you at least could see a hair better and knew what to expect as far as the layout go, it eased your nerves but the constant unsettled feeling remained on your shoulders as an unseen weight all the same.

On one hand, you now knew what was lurking in the dark. On the other hand, you now knew what was lurking. With six arms, three heads, and enough eyes to see into the past, present, and future at the same time, jumping to meet it again wasn't on the top of your to-do list.

Unlike the first time, though, it was a quick in and out. That was the mantra you repeated to yourself as you exited your car, crawling back in the small opening in the rusted, chain link fence. In and out. You'd be done before you knew it.

The steady thump of your heart against your ribs echoed far louder than any noise in the run-down facility as you trekked through the halls with careful steps. Every so often, you'd freeze and listen, looking for any clues of the thing - the very thing you were here to deliver a bag to.

You don't know why exactly Johnny wanted you to do this so bad or what he included in the very item you carried close to your chest. If he was trying to feed you to the monster, he was doing a piss poor job at it. And if it were something elicit, then why on earth would it involve a thermos of hot water?

Those questions were shoved to the back of your mind as you heard a small clink down one of the halls - a noise that sounded like metal on metal.

Goosebumps prickled your arms as your body froze. Placing the bag down next to the wall on a drop spot you, for once, listened to your heart and bolted.

You didn't wait around to see if the thing was lurking around the corners, watching your every move. You didn't want to see if it felt friendly today. In and out. You're just here to do your job - not here to be eaten.

True to his word, the water was still warm by the time you returned to collect your payment. Not that you were going to have any of the tea he offered, but it meant the job was done and you now had enough money to soothe your erratically beating heart as you justified your (probable) bad decisions.

Johnny was all smiles as he thanked you earnestly, ignorant to your internal plight. His earnest words that paired with his glee of, "Have an evening as lovely as yourself," lingered on in the air, going unanswered as you took your money and hurried off back to your dwelling.

Not wanting to deal with any more questions or thoughts regarding it or anything around it for the night, the TV went on the moment you got home. White noise filled the space as its distant chatter reverberated, the familiar flashing lights of the flickering screen soothing you as it wrapped around your senses like a warm blanket on a cold day.

Scarfing down your dinner, you settled on the couch for the night, letting the noise of the television lull you to sleep instead of your own mind.

Sleep held you as long as it could in its embrace as you dozed away, but it could only do so much to keep you down when an all too loud text pinged on your phone. Cursing yourself for not having put it on Do Not Disturb, you blearily blinked at the illuminated screen.

Blocky letters shone 5:15 am on the lock screen, yet another groan escaping you. It's too early for this. Setting it down for another moment as you squinted, you rubbed your eyes with the heel of your palm as you slowly came to your senses.

Focusing on the name would be fruitless when you already mentally calculated who would have the audacity and the lack of common sense to text you this early.

"Morning bonnie :), up for another task?"

No wonder he seemed so exhausted all the time, you mentally groused as you reluctantly went through your morning routine at none too fast of a pace. Anyone who woke up at the ass crack of dawn had the right to be. There's plenty of other things weighing him down but right now, all you could think of was how it was too damn early for this.

Even though it was too early, far too early for your taste to be doing anything, Johnny was all smiles as you pulled up, as if he'd already been up for hours and was almost happy about it.

This time, he wasn't fumbling through anything or assembling things together. Sitting on the old, creaky rocking chair on the porch, he already had a bag beside him. The worn canvas rucksack was considerably larger than the drawstring he'd had you take the day prior.

"Good morning." He greeted from the small landing as you sauntered out of your car, the usually present smile that put the pink lights of dawn to shame held itself upon his fine features once more. "Know I already said morning, but wasn't good til I saw you."

The warm, blush colors of the sunrise matched your cheeks perfectly as the familiar heat of a flush rose upon you in a matching warmth of the early morning's rays. It's too early for this....

Handing the bag off to you, his eyes followed your every movement once more as you took it from him into your grasp. "Same place as last time." He instructed without another word more.

The thermos settled on the side of the bag radiated warmth as it settled against your skin as you balanced the luggage out in your arms. How you wished you could feel the same warmth all over as you lay buried in your bed, dozing underneath your fluffy blankets as you should've been at this time.

Nodding, you offered a strained smile, ignoring how his fingers drummed in rapid succession on the armrest of the chair. "Got it." Was all you said before you turned on your heels before you could second guess what you were doing.

The third time through the building proved to somehow be even easier. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation or irritation that ebbed away the nerves that normally had you hesitating, but you carried on through the same path you'd trekked twice prior.

Exactly as Soap instructed, you went to set the bag down right where you had prior. Except when you got there, you froze.

There on the ground lay the same thermos you saw him fill and the deflated, compacted form of the drawstring bag. Folded with precision, the bag lay pinned by the thermos, as if it had been placed with delicate intent in mind.

Swallowing back the sudden dryness of your mouth, the small steps you took towards it now took longer than ever before. As if it may burn you, your hands shook as you held your breath when you reached out to grasp them. The light weight of the metal bottle shouldn't have caught you off guard, but it did. Whatever did this - no, whoever, clearly had great control of themselves.

It couldn't have been that thing, right? That was a monster, a beast. Maybe it was someone else - someone else here who he was helping.

You didn't want to think about it too hard or the implications of it. Taking a deep breath, you choked down your nerves and snatched up the bag and empty bottle before depositing the rucksack.

Looking back wasn't even a thought that crossed your mind as you hightailed it out of there, your mind racing faster than your feet.

By the time you returned to Johnny's house and rang the bell, he'd already taken a shower. The fresh scent of his cologne clung to his skin as he opened the door, the overgrown shag of his mohawk curled on the very fringes with dampness.

"Back so soon?" He asked, arching an inquisitive brow, his attention focused on the lines of your face the second you appeared.

Though you tried to hide the small tremors and the paleness of your features as your mind and heart raced despite the contrast of your feet rooted in place.

"Christ alive, everything alright? You look like you've seen a ghost." He asked as he tilted his head.

Alright? Alright?? How could it be alright when now for sure you knew that something, something possibly intelligent, was there. The thing you've brought something too held life, conscious thought, and yet weathered away every day in that building.

Seeing the bag folded so neatly opened a pandora's box of questions that you don't think you could ignore for any longer, but you weren't going to spill that to him.

Hurrying out a nod, you forced a smile and cleared your throat, trying to get yourself to appear normal. "Y-yeah! Fine, I'm fine. Just uh... a bit tired! Not used to being up this early." You said, trying your damndest to play it off with an awkward chuckle.

Pleasebelieveitpleasebelieveitplease-

His eyes studied you, a frown pursing his lips as he once again searched right though your soul with those intense, blue eyes. For those few, tense moments, you swore he dug right into your mind, trying to find reasons to call you a liar as he sunk his claws in and tore.

Yet his gaze softened as he scratched the back of his neck, the smile turning sheepish. "Sorry - forgot not everyone is used to waking up before the sun. Old habits die hard." As if trying to make up for his 'mistake', he didn't wait a second as he fished out the $200 from his pocket - no envelope this time.

The bills made their way into your pocket as you snatched them up. "Thanks." You rushed out as you took a step back. Johnny arched a single brow as he just kept staring, as if expecting something.

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his acute gaze as he simply kept staring the same, scrutinizing look pinning you down from afar. Averting your eyes, your offered a half-there nod as you took another step back, "Anyways I uh, have a long day ahead."

Your mind wasn't really in putting together neat sentences as it kept circling back to seeing the bag and thermos set so nicely, so purposefully, as if awaiting someone to return to them.

Shit, right. The things. Shaking your head, you stiffened at your realization. "O-oh! Right, almost forgot." Pulling your own utilitarian bag off of your back, the sound of a zipper broke the hush of the early morning air. Revealing the still-folded bag and his bottle, you held it out for him to take.

Surprised wasn't the exact word you'd say described Johnny. Though his brows arched and his grin faltered for a split second into something much bigger, he held his position. The slight shake in his fingers as he plucked the items from your hands was palpable as was the breath he held as he turned them over, the pads of his fingers tracing them as his attention dragged downwards into the paltry weight of the objects themselves.

For a few reverent moments, his whole attention focused right on those items his gaze piercing through it. While you were thankful that attention was no longer on you, it didn't help the unease that always seemed to follow, remaining slung around your shoulders like an old, uncomfortable pal who made their appearance at the worst times. When you shifted from foot to foot, his eyes snapped right back up as he blinked out of his entranced daze.

"Right, I won't hold you any longer. Thank you again." He said, as he steadied himself with a deep breath, "I'll see you tomorrow."

You didn't have a chance to protest before he closed the door, leaving you standing right there on the now empty front porch.

Turns out, Johnny preferably needed you to go every day of the week to that place. You weren't sure how to feel after discovering the fact that the thing was probably intelligent and was indeed capable of such delicate tasks - but the money talked far louder than your hesitancy. It's a wonder he didn't run out of cash but hey, you weren't complaining. Sure, it wasn't ideal to go there and to keep questioning your sanity, but money talked. And what it was saying was "Keep doing what you're doing".

Though unease lingered in every one of your hairs that stood on end and the goosebumps that prickled your flesh every time you visited, it became significantly easier as you fell into a routine. Nothing would stop the way you always found yourself glancing down the dark hallways with wary shifts to the balls of your feet, ready to bolt at a moments notice, but you no longer had to look over your shoulder or halt in your movements every time you heard a small noise.

Johnny would either have you come by early morning or late evening, and would hand off a bag. Sometimes you'd talk to him a bit or more accurately, he'd talk and you'd listen as he packed the bag. You'd then take it, go right back into the abandoned fort, and trade it out with the bag always placed with such neat intent and now-empty thermos.

Now, anyone sane would've suspected something extremely suspicious, if not illegal. After all, who would pay vast amounts of money to drop off a full bag and pick the empty up if it weren't dealing with illegal substances?

Johnny. That's who.

Much to your surprise, everything was normal in every bag you brought - it always was. He'd pack them in front of you or if they were ready to go, they held the same, ordinary objects. Not to mention, you'd always double checked them just to be sure you weren't playing an unwitting part in some smuggling operation. You didn't always make the best decisions but you weren't stupid. Yet they were never abnormal.

No matter what, there'd always be a thermos of hot water and a sealed, labelless letter. Otherwise, it was a mixed bag, quite literally. Sometimes he'd thrown in a fleece or woolen blanket, other times some personal hygiene items, or board games or decks of cards, or even photographs and books. It didn't take long for you to realize that they were care packages meant for what- no, whoever was in there.

You weren't dealing with an it or a what or a that or a thing, it was a who. Someone who he clearly cared about and someone who you sincerely suspected was the man in the portrait or had been at some point in time.

The more days that you found yourself delivering yet another package, the more curious you found yourself - and the less fearful. After all, this was clearly a being who clung to some part of their humanity - someone capable of considerate actions and thoughts alike.

Frankly, it he never went after you in the first place. You'd realized that as you spent yet another night pondering in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. By all means, he could have attacked and killed you. He could have done that the moment it saw you for the first time and taken you by surprise in the Tartarean void that he called his home amidst the decaying walls.

He could've chased after you and snapped your neck before you had a chance to run for it. Hell, he could easily ambush you as you dropped off the daily supplies. And he could probably do it all without flinching or missing a single beat, as if he were completing a task as simple as fetching the morning paper.

But he didn't. He never even came closer. You hadn't seen him since the first night. Instead, the only trace you ever saw that he was by was the neatly placed bags and the empty thermos, always properly set up.

No monster would do that. No true monster would have those manners or such a capability, unless it was playing the long haul to gain your trust before it feasted. But that would've been long, long ago.

You didn't know what to make of it. And you knew Johnny would be no help, as many thoughts as he had. Not once had he ever brought the beast up - nor did you. Talk around him was something you both danced around, never quite getting to it.

That didn't stop you from doing your job as kept on delivering all the same. You knew better than to ask who this being was to him beyond someone he'd very likely known - and known well. He wouldn't be ready to admit that. No matter how many times you caught him staring at the sole portrait that hung on the kitchen wall or smoothing his thumb over the silver cross that dangled around his neck, he never dare breathed a name.

Asking Johnny wouldn't help, so you figured you might as well bypass the middle man. Living in the dark was something you couldn't do anymore - and you're sure he (the temporarily nameless being that he was) would like to finally have some light shone on him for once. It was time to talk to the creature you'd tried to desperately avoid in the first place.

Finding him was out of the question. You most certainly weren't going to walk through the dingy, damp halls once more to throw yourself at him. You doubted he would want that either. Considering he hadn't been around, he likely valued some semblance of privacy.

He could read - you figured he could read. After all, Johnny had sent him many letters. If they remained unopened, you didn't know, but it didn't stop Johnny from writing them all the same. Before you could get ahead of yourself, though, you decided to try a simple trick.

Clinging to a whiteboard with one hand, bag in the other, you crawled through the dark halls you'd come to know like the back of your hand. You didn't need the headlamp anymore but it certainly helped when your eyes hadn't adjusted.

Setting the bag down in the usual drop-zone, you balanced the whiteboard on your thighs and uncapped an expo marker. The squeak of the black pen filled the air as you inhaled a slow breath, trying to calm the anxious, anticipatory beating of your heart.

"Hi! :) I'm -" You hesitated. Writing your name was a bad idea, especially when it was a place you weren't supposed to be. The last thing you needed was for anyone else to find it and track you down, as unlikely as that may be.

Settling on "A friend of your friend." You continued to write, " The one who has been bringing the bags. What's your name?"

Setting the board down and capping the marker once more, placing it just below, you took a step back. You didn't know for sure if he could write or read, but it was worth a shot and was better than nothing. The question wasn't revolutionary but if answered, you'd finally have an inkling of who you were dealing with and more importantly, a proper name to call him.

As you headed back to the exit once more, you glanced back for the first time. For some reason feeling a pang of disappointment you saw nothing lying in wait in the shadows and heard nothing to match. Shaking your head, you dismissed the ridiculous thought as you scampered off, taking the empty bag and thermos that had been left to hold up your usual part of the routine.

You'd never been particularly excited to go back, really just following through for the money (and maybe a scrap of pity for Johnny), but today your legs couldn't carry you fast enough through the halls as you came back. Pitter pattering in your chest, your heart hammered away on your ribs as the familiar burn of exertion tugged at your muscles but you refused to let it slow you down. If anything, it only fueled the burning desire to get there fast.

The moment the whiteboard entered your line of sight, you somehow picked up speed further before leaning into a sliding stop in front of it. A thump echoed as the bag fell from your hands, your breath catching as you stared at the sight that awaited you. Your eyes widened at the smudged ink and the one, half-shaky word scrawled underneath. A name.

Simon.

Rolling the name over and over in your mind until you surely wouldn't be able to ever forget it, you snapped a picture of the whiteboard so you'd have a piece of it forever. To finally know the name of the being you had delivered countless things to marked a huge step forwards. There were many, many things you wanted to ask but for now you knew one, very important thing.

His name was Simon.

You itched to write more, to ask him fifty million questions now that you knew he was human enough to answer, but you couldn't get ahead of yourself. Your hands trembled as you uncapped the marker, tracing each letter of his name with your finger as you erased it, the feel of the letters forever etching into your soul.

"Its nice to meet you Simon." You kept it simple to start as you pursed your lips, racking your brain for the proper route to go here.

How long had he been here? Did he know what day it was? Who was he to Johnny? Why was he here? How did he get like that? What does he eat? How does he eat? Why doesn't he -

No.

You weren't going to do that. No matter how much there was to learn, you couldn't force your thirst for knowledge onto him or overwhelm him with questions. Trust for those answers had to be earned, not given, if he was anything like most.

Considering that he likely hadn't had direct human contact and interaction in how long, being compassionate would do you well. Maybe you could earn his trust more by helping him out further and listening, even if you had yet to physically say a single word to one another.

"I'm sorry for running from you. I didn't expect anyone to be there." You continued, figuring an apology of any kind was overdue but a late one was better than none, "Is there anything I can get or bring for you to make you more comfortable?"

The apology wasn't the best or hell, even that great. Limited space on the small whiteboard, however, was quite a curse. And if he had any bit of humanity - the kind you had, he'd understand very well why you ran. Anyone would in your shoes. It wasn't anything personal but now knowing he had conscious thoughts, guilt gnawed at you.

Likely, you still would've run anyways, but when facing with the unknown and something as threatening appearing as him, it's better safe than sorry. He'd understand, right? You were just a human in the end. A human who had very human reactions in the face of danger.

Once more, you set the marker down and read over your words, double checking to make sure your spelling still held up and the words were big enough to discern. They weren't perfect, eloquent, or fantastic but they were a starting point and they were yours. That was good enough for now. Resisting the urge to linger in the hall, you capped the pen and made your way out of the building once more, following the same path you'd always taken, already yearning to turn back.

Thankfully, the night passed in the blink of an eye and lady luck decided to roll the ball in your court the next day as Johnny picked an early time. Your heart raced at the same rate as your body as you sprinted through the halls, all caution thrown to the wind that whipped over your head with the motions. Reminding yourself to at least set the bag down instead of throwing it, you glanced at the board, your eyes widening.

Scrawled in a much neater, larger handwriting that took up the board, your breath halted in your chest. The beating of your heart faded into a background hum as your blood ran cold, a pit growing and sinking in your stomach so fast its as if you swallowed lead.

There wasn't an item or thing requested. Underneath, just like the day before, there was a name. But it was a different one, one you had at the top of your contact lists.

Johnny.

જ⁀➴

His many clouded eyes had stared at the simple, innocent question written on the white board. They stared and stared, until even in his constantly unfeeling state, they ached with soreness around the edges.

Anything.

Such a word was the most dangerous thing you could've offered to a desperate man who had long since drowned in the rivers of despair. To you, it was probably nothing more than a simple considerate thought. To him, it was a lifeline being thrown out in a tsunami, offering a thin rope to pull him out of the impossibly huge wave that kept him down. Attempting to grab it and crawl out may be fruitless but without any options left, the slimmest chance of improbable survival was always better than none at all.

So he took the rope you threw him and clung until his nails dug in and all six of his hands were burned and his skin chaffed. He held it close, grappling it with every ounce of strength he had left, tying it in knots to cling on further to the chance that was being offered - to have the anything, the only thing, he needed more than the second chance at life he had been granted.

He knew deep down that it might be an impossible request to pull him out, to get him what he needed beyond anything else in this world, to fulfill the visceral yearning that scorched his soul and burnt him with red hot pokers every day in an otherwise numb existence.

But when he had nothing left, nothing at all aside from his miserable existence in this liminal purgatory, playing the only Hail Mary he clung onto now that he was given a chance was his own way of accepting the line which you threw him and pulling back as he desperately tried to grapple out.

After all, a dead man had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

His everything that now stood just on the horizon, so close he could almost see those beautiful blue eyes again and trace over the silver of a scar that split his brows once more.

[beebopboom]

Acrostic ✨Clues ✨

So a neat little thing Good Omens did for the promo for s2 was create some character playlist.

Very quickly though it was discovered that each and every one of them contained a hidden clue word. By taking the first letter of the first word of the song a word related to the character would emerge. For the two examples below the words were “Ineffable” and “Tempting”.

Now this technique is called Acrostic,

Acrostic - a composition usually in verse in which sets of letters (such as the initial or final letters of the lines) taken in order form a word or phrase or a regular sequence of letters of the alphabet

it’s a technique mostly seen in poems to contain hidden words, often the authors name.

but I wouldn’t be bringing this back up if it wasn’t for nothing and that’s because we see this technique in the show as well.

When Jim is really embodying his role as Assistant Bookseller he takes it upon himself to reorganize the books by the first letter of the first word of the first sentence - sounds familiar.

Except he’s doing alphabetically not to contain a hidden word you say? 

Well hold on to that real quick while I point out another clue Jimbriel says,

“There will come a tempest, and darkness, and great storms. And the dead will leave their graves and walk the earth once more. And there will be great lamentations."

Well now that I brought that quote back to your attention we are just going to focus on one particular word, Lamentations.

because what if I told you that the first four poems in the Book of Lamentations are written in an acrostic style.

Not just any style either but where each poetic verse begins with a letter of the Hebrew Alphabet. 

Now the Book of Lamentations is separated into five poems from different pov’s about the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 B.C. by the Babylonians.

The organization and rigid structure to the first four poems was really meant to contrast from the grief and disorder the people were going through. Structure that the last poem loses. Hm Interesting.

(we are not going to be looking into what this book is about I am just pointing out structure similarities here)

Expect this not the only way this structure can be used.

Acrostic structure’s are also often used as a mnemonic device. This is a learning technique that helps with memory retrieval or retention by associating things with something easier to remember, like say trigger words.

So then is it really a surprise that Jim, our Amnesiac Archangel, keeps using this structure subconsciously?

[bonefall]

Windstar's kits in BB are Dust Muzzle and Morning Whisker. With the former being renamed Dustiest Muzzle to fit naming conventions. But whats Morning Whisker's new name? Esp since you said that they will probably be the leader after Windstar passes and theres already Morningstar of ThunderClan (my beloved).

TO RECAP FOR THOSE COMING IN;

There's three groups in BB!DOTC now; Park Cats, Mountain Cats, and Forest Cats. Forest cats are the oldest cultural group and have lived around the White Hart for decades. Park cats arrived a few generations ago following their king away from the destruction of their home down south. Mountain cats recently followed Gray Wing the Wise down from the north at the beck of prophecy.

Forest cats are given a simple, natural name, and then their talent earns them a suffix from a small pool of traditional meanings. Bee, a strong fighter, might earn -sting, -slash, or -stone.

Mountain cats inherit the last names of their parents, and are usually given first names that work with them. Tempest Sky and Quiet Wing's children are Gray Wing and Clear Sky. Quiet Wing then had another litter with Stone Peak, and they were named Fluttering Wing and Jagged Peak.

Park cats are born nameless. They're given simple descriptions about their physical traits, traditionally until they're given a mentor. They spend their adolescence as (Mentor)'s Paw, until they make an achievement that is worthy of their leader giving them a title of three words or less.

Normally the leader is the King, but the Wind Coalition broke off from the River Kingdom many years ago. The Wind Runner sees herself as being much better than a King, HER kingdom is self-made, battle-tested, unprotected by the powerful river or the secretive forest.

Moth Flight isn't her child anymore, but I do know I want The Wind Runner to keep three total. At birth, the kittens were "named" Littlest One, Middle One, and Biggest One.

(It's tradition that the first real name of a Park cat is their apprentice name, but Windy is BURSTING with hubrice and LOVES breaking traditions. So it's possible the three of them did something different.)

SO currently I'm thinking their new names are;

Emberkit: Littlest One -> Embers Under Rain

Morning Whisker: Middle One -> Prayers at Dawn

Dustiest Muzzle: Biggest One -> Dustiest Muzzle

Embers might still die rather young, but at the very least she gets to apprenticeship. I'm not entirely sure on what I'm doing with her yet. If her name is a title, she managed to light a fire during a rainstorm (probably using flint)

Dustiest Muzzle gets his title from being an early tunneler and both bold and curious enough to stick his nose in every burrow. It actually reads as kind of unearned though, you could put it in English as "works harder than everyone else" which he probably just got because he's the son of The Wind Runner.

(Not that he isn't hardworking, just that Windstar doesn't even pretend she isn't biased.)

And Prayers at Dawn is interesting, because praying to future Clan cats looks like tilting your head upwards, and feeling the wind stir your whiskers. In Ancient Parkmew, her name meant something more like "Rousing Whiskers at Sunrise." I like the idea that she's quite religious for some reason, possibly also a friend of Moth Flight when it comes time.

The Parkmew word for "whiskering" eventually becomes the Clanmew word for the physical position of making prayers.

So Prayerstar would be a perfectly good name to avoid the conflict of Morningstar down the line later, BUT I'm also tempted to make the name MOURNINGstar and maybe have her take Mourning Whiskers as a title during her life.

Maybe even as a self-given title of great sorrow. I could have her become very close to Moth Flight and make her heart break when Moth and her children agree to split themselves up across the five Clans in Moth Flight's Vow.

Hmmm... perhaps Windstar's last life withered away pretty slowly, and Mourning Whisker knew she was going to inherit the Wind Coalition on the brink of war with SkyClan already attacking. Moth and her kits knew that WindCo would defend them all with their lives, and that's exactly why they knew they couldn't stay.

[ddarker-dreams]

Yan Genshin Boys / Favorite Place To Kiss You.

Expanding on this post some because I cannot stop thinking about it 😌

Your Lips

Scaramouche: You can anticipate clanking teeth, aggressive tongue work, and his all-encompassing need to dominate you. He is painfully inexperienced and is working overtime to hide the fact, to mixed results. You always find yourself pressed against something when he is kissing you, whether it be a wall or a bed. The leverage serves him well and makes him feel more in control. For a few minutes, he can pretend he holds more influence over you than you do him. He parts from your lips only to mutter a few degrading statements that seem more like a way to ground himself against the mad tempest of obsession you stir within him. If he can't control it, he might as well throw caution to the wind, and take all that he can.

Kaeya: Kaeya kisses you in such a way that throughout its duration, you almost love him back. It's sensual, the way Prince Charming was depicted in the fairytales sitting around your childhood bedroom. Should you dare to open your eyes, you'll see his staring through you. Gauging. Calculating. Making constant little tweaks and adjustments so that he might fit your concept of an ideal man. He never strives to meet this paragon any other time, it is only when he holds you within his hands that he wishes for your struggling to cease. Kaeya knows what you like before you even do. Just this once, he'll match your preference, if it means he gets to taste you a little while longer. 

Your Cheek 

Kazuha: Kazuha is a romantic, a man whose head is in the clouds in all matters concerning you. He takes into account your... hesitance to accept his full affections, which he promises that he's okay with! If it's for you, he can wait. However, that doesn't mean he wants to deny himself every carnal pleasure, oh no, that'd be cruel. You wouldn't deny a man dying of thirst water, would you? For that reason, he sees no issue with stealing a peck on your cheek every now and then. How your skin blooms with warmth beneath his lips, whether it be from frustration or embarrassment, makes his life worth living. He's very content with himself for the hours that follow.

Your neck

Childe: Your pulse tells him what your lips refuse to divulge. He lives alongside secrets, and you are his favorite, ever-changing and evolving. You may turn your nose up at him and stubbornly keep your mouth shut, if you so please. Childe has his workarounds. The thrum of your pulse conveys everything left unsaid: whether it be fear, guilt, or excitement. Unraveling the mystery is part of the game for him. He almost loses himself in the sensation of lavishing your neck with his overflowing affection, it births new depravity within him. You're so soft, so pliable beneath his touch, entirely at his mercy and care. He delights himself in this knowledge, openly using it for his benefit. 

Xiao: How he can be both animalistic and painfully constrained, you have no idea. He fears harming you yet simultaneously fears missing out on you. If you only knew the degree you tempted him, you might find further revulsion for him still. Xiao just can't help himself as he presses his nose to your skin and inhales deeply. Your scent, your warmth, the little noises you make that urge him on. It doesn't matter how many hellacious battles he's survived, he'll always lose when it comes to you. His self-restraint has its limits. Still, he is easily sated, as he expects so little. A few minutes of helping himself to your neck satisfies a voracious appetite he never knew existed.

Your inner wrist

Zhongli: Within his veins flows gold, yet what flows within yours is of far more importance to him. The tips of his fangs graze against the sensitive area, never breaking skin, for he'd rather revere than desecrate you. Zhongli fights against the primal urge to leave marks in the wake of his kisses. He'll start at your forearm and work his way down, lavishing you with affection that teeters on worship. For once, his mouth is too occupied for him to lavish you with his baritone voice. If you're wearing long sleeves that obscure your wrist, it's all the better; he'll purposefully choose outfits that fit this description. The quiet intimacy of staring you in the eye as he rolls the fabric up, baring your skin to him... it's a delicacy rarely matched. 

Albedo: Your biology is a marvel to him that soon extends past innocent scientific intrigue. Is it not only natural that he would seek to better understand what he knows so little about? Well made as Albedo might be, your composition differs from his, and for him to solve the riddle left behind by his creator, he must close this gap in knowledge. The meaning of this world... surely how he's able to exercise such mastery over your heart has something to do with it? He knows what to do and say for your pulse to quicken, the tiniest tells never escape his watchful eye. There are instruments for measuring these readings, but oh well, his lips should suffice. He far prefers this method, anyway. 

Atop your hand

Diluc: A gentleman must practice restraint, and Mondstadt’s wine tycoon is nothing if not a gentleman. Or so he tells himself. Diluc is far above the immorality of the common reprobate. He constantly worries and frets over you, receiving no sweet compensation in return for his efforts. That is okay, he reassures himself. He didn't appoint himself as your protector for reimbursement. His lips lingering over the softness of your hand is not him seeking payment, it's him expressing the depths of his feelings that'd go otherwise unnoticed. He must draw attention to his love for you on the occasion, he reasons. How else will you come to view him as more than a prison warden? Yes, this little display is entirely for your benefit. He swears it.

[trashogram]

Toon Patrol/Fem!Reader

Rated G for gun violence.

————————

You stood at the very back of the studio, trying not to let restlessness get the better of you. You contented yourself by looking at the set that had been vacated of its cast before your return — a beautiful matte painting of an open field with a frame of oak trees. 

     It was so eye-catching and lovely contrasted with the clutter of camera equipment and occasional crewmembers. A veritable oasis in the middle of a desert. 

You sighed wistfully. 

     Your mentor Cliff had gone long ago, off to help pull together another reel of film post-edit. It was tempting to pout over the injustice of not being invited, since your whole purpose was to observe and learn that very thing. Instead you’d been left to the wolves as a glorified PA, running around town to get whatever was needed by this person or that — all of them higher on the totem pole than yourself. So, you had no chance of refusing, not that you hadn’t tried. 

     You’d been working here for almost two weeks and people still treated you like you were invisible, or a nuisance. First day on the job and your most important lesson was: if you’re not talent or the director, you’re not worth a second glance. 

     With a scrunch of your nose in distaste, you waved away the thought. You’d already browbeaten yourself enough for being so meek. There was nothing for it now but to do better next time.  

-*-

    Cliff pushed a box of random props into your arms. “Here girl. Take these out to the lot and throw ‘em away.” 

You stared down your nose at the contents, spying at least two oversized rolling pins, a ‘toon bomb with a singed fuse, a slide whistle, a white flag and a dozen or so bent cartoon nails. 

“Wh—?” 

“They’re defective! No need for ‘em anymore.” Your mentor continued. “When you come back I’ll bring you to the RCA system, watch ‘em match up the audio.” 

“Oh! Really?!” You brightened. “That’s - I - Really, Cliff?! Will I really get to — ?” 

Cliff cut you off, perpetually watering eyes narrowed as he frowned. 

“Yeah, yeah, now go! Don’t dawdle! We don’t need anymore junk clutterin’ this place up.” Cliff ‘hmphed’ around his stogie. “Got enough clowns runnin’ rampant as it is.” 

Your lips pressed together firmly as you tried to reel in the tempest of emotions in your chest. As exciting as the reward sounded, you failed to see how taking out the trash was part of your job description. 

“Yes, sir.” You muttered finally. 

With another world-weary sigh, you trudged off and headed toward the back door that led outside.

-*- 

The walk over to the dumpsters was particularly painful with not only the distance to account for, but the many stairs as well. You could feel blisters forming on your heels and where pressure pinched at your toes. 

    One would hope that breaking in sensible pumps wouldn’t take long, but then you were constantly on your feet these days. There was little to no time for sitting and healing as you were jerked around from one end of the set to the next at everyone’s beck and call. 

    A siren was going off in the distance, intermingling with the sound of the trolley ding’ing at its next stop. You could faintly hear the clacking of dress shoes and a shout from someone unknown just beyond the gate that separated the studio and the outside world of L.A. 

    The air turned from pleasantly fresh to sour, dragging you back to the task at hand. The dumpsters sat waiting. 

You groaned at the realization that you had to set your box of miscellaneous down to open the dumpster lid. It was the little things in life that piled up and blocked you from a simple, joyous life. 

     Two women costumed to look like Little Bo Peep rounded the corner as you maneuvered the lid open. They didn’t appear to see you, let alone lend a hand as they hurried off. And the same could be said of a man swerving past you, his dress shirt half-soaked in sweat. 

Typical. 

“Did this… box get… heavier?” You groused, lugging it up from the pavement. 

You had to use the dumpster to wedge the box between it and yourself, hoisting it toward the lip. It was merely a coincidence that you decided to take a last look inside before throwing it away. 

The ‘toon frog inside croaked at you. 

     Your scream set him off like a springtrap, and you were knocked back onto the heated road with a hiss. It hurt — your elbow smacked into the ground and the trapped heat from the sun stung your legs through the nylon barrier as you landed on your behind. 

Teeth clenched, you tried to distract yourself from the pain. Above you the frog stood, stretched out to his full height — which was sizable given how he’s squished himself into a standard cardboard box. His attire stood out like something a bandmate would march in during a parade procession. 

The frog trembled from head-to-toe, eyes darting all around. 

“I’m so sorry! So sorry! So sorry! I didn’t mean to knock you over, Miss! I was just looking for somewhere to-to-to-to—!” 

     You got back onto your feet awkwardly, wincing as you brushed dust and dirt from your backside. “To scare me?” 

“—To hide!” He shrieked, fumbling over his own webbed feet. 

You frowned, mouth opening just as the distant siren drowned everything else out. The gate into the studio burst open simultaneously, sending your heart plummeting as a patrol vehicle raced forward. 

     The frog screamed with you this time as he leapt into the air and dove into your arms. His long arms wrapped ‘round your neck and squeezed.

Vision starting to swim, hearing beginning to ring, you could do nothing but stumble back with arms full of terrified amphibian as the car screeched to a halt. 

“Awlright Gills!” A nasal voice called out. “End ‘a the line!” 

The driver’s side door of the van opened, and out popped a ‘toon weasel bedecked in a pink suit jacket and matching fedora. 

    And as if on cue, more weasels filed out from all sides of the car, hurrying to follow the first one’s lead. 

“Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Please!” The frog stuttered in your ear. “I didn’t hear anything! I didn’t see anything! Please believe me!” 

    It did not block out the sound of guns being cocked. You went ramrod straight at the sound, and stared like a deer in headlights as the group of weasels crowded in. 

    You whimpered, overwhelmed and afraid at the sudden turn of events. The guns pointed at you looked real. 

“Look-it dis, boys.” The weasel in pink snarked. “Froggy says he ain’t guilty, but he’s hidin’ behind a dame! Sure looks like a ‘red-bellied’ snitch ta me!”

    The weasel’s fellow ‘toons all laughed, and you gagged as the frog’s arms constricted around you again. The lack of oxygen was making you dizzy, preventing you from staying still through the stand-off. 

“She don’t look so good, eh boss?” Another weasel asked, eyes trained on you moreso than the frog. 

You began to sway back and forth, a high heel catching in a divot. You pitched forward unexpectedly. 

“No! No! No!” The frog wailed. 

“Uh-oh!” A high-pitched voice exclaimed, followed by a stream of cackles. The spots in your vision and the ringing in your ears prevented you from caring, however. 

Even the sound of a gunshot, and the subsequent cry of the frog as he finally let go of your neck and jumped off of you, took its time catching up to your sluggish thoughts. 

     You gasped, air filling your lungs in short bursts until you coughed. Above and around you, the sounds of a cartoon scuffle filled the lot as the frog attempted another escape.

    He had sprung from you after being startled by the gunshot before you could hit the ground and hit the dumpster, feet landing on a rolling pin and tripping him up. It left him flailing for just long enough to get ambushed by the Toon Patrol, who rushed him.  

The frog bounded over Smartass’s head, ripping the fedora off his head, and leaving the leader to clutch at nothing but air, to slam it over Stupid’s eyes. Psycho took the opportunity to grip the perp’s feet and pull him down harder than gravity could as Wheezy snatched up the cartoon bat that had been dropped in the fray and hit the frog right between his bulbous eyes. 

It sent the poor thing flying back into the dust, legs sticking up in the air as he moaned, stars circling his head. 

-*-

A small crowd of humans and ‘toons alike had gathered yards away from you, but you paid it no mind as the frog was hauled away by the seat of his pants. The amphibian remained unconscious as he was swung back and forth rather merrily by two of the weasels before being thrown into the back of their car. 

The sound of him hitting the interior made you flinch, but you also instinctively grabbed for your neck, and shuddered at the phantom feeling of being choked. 

     You inhaled slowly, willing yourself to calm down. Thankfully, a distraction emerged when you saw the Toon Patrol (per what it said on the side of the cab) leader dithering near you still. His beady eyes roved around the area, combing it for something — something —

“Thank you...” You said when he was within earshot. 

    His ears perked up before that glare was pointed in your direction. You swallowed down your apprehension. 

“… For, uh, for helping me from being strangled.” You continued, gently. 

It felt true enough, even if you felt a little bad about how the situation was handled. From what you could tell, neither you nor the frog had been shot. It must’ve been a tactic meant to scare only. 

You hoped so at least. 

“Wasn’ nothing, doll.” He snapped, claws still feeling for his hat as if it would magically appear. 

You frowned, pushing down the feeling of reproach at his gruff tone. It would seem that even ‘toon law enforcement would rather wave you off than speak to you. 

     Eyes trailing down, you spotted the fedora a few feet away and you quickly scooped it up, intent on remedying your hurt feelings with people-pleasing.

“Well, thank you anyway.” You said sincerely before you bent down and planted a kiss right between the weasel’s little ears. 

     It was funny. You noticed before you could place the hat back on the weasel’s head how his eyes bulged in their sockets. For a split second the ‘toon looked well and truly gobsmacked by your little token of gratitude. 

      The rest of his posse stilled their endless shuffling, fidgeting and slinking about to mirror the bewilderment of their boss. 

     Their leader eventually shook himself free of the shock to whirl about. The permanent scowl on his face deepened as he glared at you. His hat was snatched out of your hands, with the weasel hissing between yellow incisors. 

“Why you—!” 

“Aye!” Your head snapped up, and you blinked rapidly at the weasel in green. “Whattabout me?!”

His narrowed eyes had blown out wide, zeroed in on you while his jaw hung open. The weasel hurriedly clamped it shut when he caught your attention, trying and failing to contain the mix of awe, indignation and desperation on his face. You noticed, idly, how he was the most well-dressed out of his counterparts as he stalked toward you. 

     You were taken aback when he elbowed the weasel next to you out of the way and grabbed your hand before you could back off. 

     The green-clad ‘toon took his hat in his other hand, revealing a shock of slicked-back black hair. It distracted you from his hungry gaze roaming up and down your form. 

“It was an honor to be your hero, bella dama.” His voice was as oily as his hair. “I would happily accept your kiss as ‘thank you’.”

“Oh.” You responded dumbly. “Um, I-I suppose…” 

A squeak left you as the ‘toon kissed your hand, his grip tightening without warning so that he could pull you closer. Suddenly, he was kissing his way up your arm, heedless to your bewilderment at his wildly inappropriate actions. 

     The kisses grew more and more amorous as he continued, openly slavering over you as if your bare skin was an addictive substance he couldn’t get enough of. And every single one was punctuated with a loud ‘MUAH’.

     Blood rushed to your ears as you saw the weasel’s tongue slide across your forearm— 

“Quit messin’ around!” Your sleazy counterpart was ripped away from you with a yelp. 

His entire body snapped back like a rubber band, neck stretching comically as he tried to continue kissing you until the very last second. 

“We got no time for these ‘shenagrains’! We still gotta frog to flay!” The leader spat, smacking Green over the head for good measure. 

   A chorus of laughter followed the strike as the other three weasels pointed and laughed at their cohorts’ melodramatic abuse. 

      The touchy one bared his yellow teeth, spouting what you could only imagine were curses, though they were yelled in what you believed was Spanish. He dove for his leader, and immediately they began to tussle in the dusty roadway. 

You stood up again, grimacing at the scene and wondering if you should intervene or not. Until you jumped out of your skin as the hem of your dress was tugged. 

“Heeheeheeheh…” Swirling eyes met your own, so shiny that they reflected your stunned expression back at you. 

      “You want a kiss?” You asked.  

The only response was more high-pitched giggling from the scrawny thing. You felt nervousness creep up your spine as you took in the overlong sleeves of what you just now realized was a straightjacket wrapped around this one. And there was a straight razor clenched between his teeth, glinting in the early noon sun. 

      Panic crawled up your throat, but you forced yourself to take a big, albeit silent, breath. Toons were made to entertain, not cause harm. At least, not to humans. 

You softened up with a smile, brushing back the weasel’s wildly unkempt hair and pressing your lips to his hairline. 

     “Heehee…” The giggling went on under his breath.

A wet nose pressed against the column of your throat briefly, sniffing over your skin. Hot puffs of air blew back your hair before you heard him inhale deeply. 

     You pulled back to see the loony ‘toon rocking from side to side, his sleeves crossed over his lanky body in a self-hug. Those eyes swirled twice as fast, a manic grin stretching over his long face.

“I li~ike that.” He sing-songed between giggles. “Kissies feel go~od! Eheeheeheehee!”

The laughing, as freaky as it was, was infectious. Laughter bubbled out of you as well, shaking your shoulders and forcing you to press your lips together. 

     You couldn’t stifle it so much when the largest weasel of the whole gang bumped into your side. How he managed to sneak up on you with all his bulk was a mystery. 

“Duhh we did good?” He asked you. 

“Very good!” You laughed, your frame vibrating with the forcefulness of it. “Thank you very much!”

This weasel’s eyes didn’t swirl, but they shapeshifted into hearts once you kissed his furry cheek. You nearly snorted over how he sank into a bashful pose, and at the way the propeller on his hat spun without even a light breeze to push it. 

    “D’awww…” His tongue hung out like a lazy dog’s as he looked up at you through would-be fluttering lashes. “Boss! Did you see that? Da lady gave me a kiss!” 

“Ese idiota got a kiss!” You heard from behind. “You all got a kiss but me! ¡Sois ratas! ¡Estás todos contra mí!” 

Well now, not all of them had. You couldn’t stop laughing, but you managed to find the only other patroller you had not made any contact with. 

     The one that was shades more blue than his fellow ‘toons hung back. He made no move to come toward you; just stood in the haze of his own smoke cloud. 

     You didn’t want to push. Instead, still on that jittery buzz of good humor, you blew him a kiss to compromise. You imagined that if you were a ‘toon yourself, your kiss would’ve literally flown right to him. 

   Blue’s pinkened eyes seemed to widen, reminiscent of his boss’s reaction, before narrowing again to scrutinize you. The many cigarettes in his maw billowed smoke on double time, reminding you of the phrase ‘smoke coming outta your ears’. 

    Perhaps it was just their natural theatrics — admittedly, you’d not been working amongst ‘toons for very long, let alone visited Toontown as you planned to do… at some point. But you had to wonder if these poor creatures had ever been shown affection in their lives. 

Wiping a tear from your eye, you tried to curb your giggles and turn toward that overly — affectionate — weasel. You knew full well that it was a terrible idea but his whining made you feel bad, and you intended to humor him (as long as his boss held him back from the unwanted smooching). 

Intention cut short when you jolted in place at the sight of a man in all black standing behind you. 

“Oh!” You gasped. 

     You felt a chill the longer you stared at him. An imposing man in all black, staring at you from behind opaque spectacles beneath the sharp brim of his own hat. He stood unnaturally still, like a stone pillar, and you got the distinct impression that he’d meant to frighten you. 

Then he smiled, baring uncannily perfect white teeth in your direction. 

[statisticallymorelikely]

00Q edit for @ironpe: demon!Q kidnapped

James gets the call at six in the morning, just a couple hours since he dragged himself out of the proverbial fire and back into the frying pan, the frying pan being the hotel room Q had secured for him for his post-mission wind down. Tanner's voice is haggard and grave on the other end of the line but James is not surprised. In fact, he'd been expecting something like this.

It had been years since he'd felt exposed, Q's power had been a reassuring companion in that time, but as he was escaping away on his motorcycle earlier that evening, an unease crawled up his back. He felt unprotected, a figurative shield sliding like water off his back. It was one thing to not have Q in his ear, but to not feel his presence at all was a different kind of vulnerability altogether. It was unnerving.

And so, he had been waiting for this call.

Tanner's voice washes over him as he relays details of Q's abduction, how they did it, who the assailants were and what they want in exchange. James listens idly, cleaning his guns almost on auto-pilot until he catches the only piece of information that matters to him: Q's estimated location. Finally given the scent, James goes on the hunt.

---

Q had been to church only once in his long and weary existence. It had been to tempt a priest. Having just been recently deployed to Earth, he was a trainee still. His supervisor had given him a list to accomplish: a tour of the classics, and what could be more stereotypical than convincing a priest that a few coins in his pocket was well-deserved. (After all, he took care of his flock so the flock should take care of his needs.)

What his supervisor failed to mention though was that temptations like those were best served via whispers in the wind at night while Q himself stayed right outside the window, because stepping onto consecrated land was excruciating. No, Q learned that lesson the hard way, and that pain is seared onto his memory forever, second only to Falling.

It's that same pain that's now coursing through his being, rendering him helpless on the floor of the abandoned church this terrorist group has chosen to hole up in. An outside observer would attribute his current state to the admittedly harsh beating he's been taking at the hands of their interrogator. But honestly, the blood and bruises are misleading. Endless punches and low level electrocution are nothing compared to the thrum of heaven in his bones, trying and failing to purify his wretched soul over and over again.

Finding a moment to think seems impossible and yet his mind eventually fights through the haze of pain and crawls its way toward James. He wonders how his little investment is doing. With Q incapacitated like this, his protective wards over James will surely be down. Q had inconveniently left him vulnerable during a crucial part of his mission, not that he had much choice. He hopes the madman hasn't gotten himself prematurely blown up, though it would be hilarious if he did. Maybe they can laugh about it together back in hell.

It's a little funny how much that thought comforts him.

---

James finds them in an abandoned church in a small town just outside Paris. Operatives like him are often referred to as ghosts. Terrifying yet unseen, taking enemies out quickly and quietly and then disappearing just as silently. Not this time though. This time, James is a demon. A furious tempest sent to rain down fiery judgment against those who have sinned.

He moves from room to room, searching, killing, no words, no hesitation. No need to interrogate anyone, he'll find Q when they're all dead. It doesn't take long, not with a vengeful double-oh on mission.

James opens the last door, down to the small catacombs, shoots the last two men and finally sets eyes on Q, sitting limp and lifeless in a corner.

"Q!"

He crouches down next to him, one hand coming up to check for a pulse on instinct. There isn't one. Q didn't need one, but James knows he likes to keep up appearances.

When he carries Q out of the church, there's a lump in James' throat as he looks down at the frail, bloody creature in his arms. Q may have damned him all those years ago, but they've also spent those years together, building a strange kind of trust amidst all the danger and death and bickering. He always wondered why Q didn't just let him die the moment he signed his contract, but also protected him, shared his power with him, and allowed him to do good. Now, he fears he may never get the chance to ask.

Numb, he trudges past the all the blood and the bodies, as he makes his way into the surrounding forest where he'd stashed his car. He walks past the fence, each step crushing overgrown grass underfoot getting heavier and heavier until James concedes and kneels down on the ground.

"Am I supposed to pray?" He bites out a bitter laugh, looking heavenward. "Is that what you want?!"

"No, you dolt," comes the hoarse whisper. "Just get me away from this place and I'll recover."

James gasps in relief, eyes watery as he holds Q tighter against his chest. "You prick, I thought you'd died."

"Oh, James," Q wheezes out. "I never knew you cared."

"You know what? Neither did I."