#the elbow patches are kickass

[saskiavalentineapologist]

sketch time

you will sit down. you will look at my horrible little women. And You Will Appreciate Them

no this is NOT going under a cut you will see the blood sweat and tears i put into belialah's demon form and you will appreciate it, me, and saskia's off the charts world class monsterfucker status

we got saskia. we're familiar with saskia--or at least you should be. go look at the art by korppipoika and give them so many notes--this post will wait. and while you're out, look at the post about the matriarchs too. and if you're not up to date on saskia and belialah, here's another one for your list. i'll be here when you get back.

up to date? excited? horny? me too!!

so we got those two. in order for the images: saskia (recent), belialah (first draft, still happy with this and haven't been able to capture this vision since)

we got their dynamic:

saskia being a bitch and belialah being, despite everything, head over heels. still can't quite nail belialah's human face, but we're learning

...it took me a long time to nail down belialah's demon form. it went through a lot of drafts---many of which i am not sharing. this one is the oldest one i'm willing to share:

i believe this is draft 3? patch notes from earlier drafts: 4 fingers instead of three, took out "humanoid" eyes, added floaty halo bits. other than that, this is what it's mostly stayed true to. chase gave me an inspo and i remixed it and made it worse because i love body horror. so we have this! extra joint between the wrist and elbow, loads and loads of eyes, sharp teeth (yum!), wings, and a broken halo plus the big horn. love her. she has spider legs below her waist--she has "skirts" that are made from her skin that she usually wears (has?) over them.

made some eensy sketches for ideas:

i tinkered on size, proportion, posture, etc. it's vague, but not exact for either of them. i want a bigger height difference and this is for me first and foremost

i settled on this body type for saskia:

no nipples so she's not naked :) this is for anatomy reference, tumblr. ANATOMY. be so nice to me ;-;

ignore the stuff at the edges, this is part of a larger project idk if i'll finish where i look at all the matriarchs and their body types. saskia is the most...well, besides ethalind, the most hourglass shape. this is the most recent drawing of her i have besides the one at the very end, this is the one i would say is most canon. hence why it is included--the last one i have doesn't quite hit right for me. still working on consistency.

as i improved my art, i wanted to take another stab at belialah. which meant figuring out her lower half.

i did these ones reeaaally recently. i looked at so many things for inspo: crabs, spiders, human pelvises, centaur speculative biology, drider speculative biology, an introspective look at how much of a monsterfucker i am, etc. until i found something i was happy with. these are within the last few days. the lil sketches at the far bottom right of the first page are what i settled on. after that, i tinkered with how she looks with skirts vs no skirts---ignore the sword, it's no longer accurate to what it actually looks like, but that's endgame shit and no spoilers :)

i'm really happy with how she's turned out and i think she's kickass and awesome and i can't wait to beat her and saskia into the ground.

and then we have:

team gaslight gatekeep girlboss :)

i drew this last night!! really happy with how my art is coming along. i hesitated on whether to draw the skirts, because i think the spider legs are so fucking cool and i know logically the skirts are there but tbh its funner drawing the spider legs than the skirts :(

i want to make it very clear: belialah is submissive in the way a guard dog is submissive, to quote a post i once tagged as gilt and lost. belialah is loyal, devoted, willing to protect--but will wait for an order before acting

btw, to make something else clear: saskia? saw the demon form first. is more attracted to the demon form than the human form. is far more willing to smash with belialah in demon form. i love my weirdest little freak of a woman <3

ok that's all bye

[highfemmeorthehighway]

❦ Gale ❦

All of my other socials are dedicated to show announcements and butt pics, so this is my safe place to shitpost/be a human.

My name is Gale, and I'm 23. This is not a blog dedicated to NSFW stuff, but due to the nature of my work (I'm a burlesque dancer/fetish model and sometimes I talk about it) this is an 18+ only zone. I don't talk about sex a lot but when I do it's tagged #nsft :)

👠This page is pro-SW and pro-decrim. All workers deserve safe conditions. If I ramble about SW, stripping, or burlesque, it's tagged #workposting

❤️An old-school stone Femme that's terribly in love with her Butch :)

💍I'm married and I talk about my handsome wife a lot (#wife posting) she goes by she/her pronouns and is sometimes referred to here as "professor elbow patches". We're monogamous, please don't hit on me, I'll cry.

🪡Professional seamstress and costumer- I tag all my garment work #sewing and if it's a costume on my body, I tag it #burlesque

Don't interact - men/minors, violent NSFT, ED/th*nspo blogs (in active recovery- sentiments like "skinny people are gross" / body shaming nonsense in general not tolerated. Period.)

Can't believe I have to say this in 2024 but if you're anti-trans kindly gtfo. Let people exist in peace.

Basically, "be kind or leave". I delete empty blogs. ✌️

"To each his own."

Stuff I like

• I ❤️ looking for dead things on the side of the road

• I'm big into vintage fashion, showbiz history, queer history, antique jewelry and furniture, etc. I just really like old stuff! And yes, I want your book recommendations.

• Hyperfeminine tomfoolery, girblogging, etc 💕

• I'm the house-spouse! I'll talk occasionally about homemaking and what it means to me as both a high femme and a submissive. My hobbies include infiltrating tradwife tags with my dykery. >:) (and making kickass loaves of bread)

• I adore birds, birdwatching, hanging out with my bird Salvador, and hanging out with flocks of local wild birds that I'm familiar with.

• I'm a Lions fan because my Butch said so. I may post about football during season, but it'll be incoherent because I still don't understand how the game is played. Yes she has explained it many times.

• I love baking and cooking and if you ever want the recipie to something I've made, send me a message! I can't promise the measurements won't be "sprinkle" and "handful" instead of teaspoons and cups and stuff, but I'm happy to share.

[robscloset]

[sameheart-sameblood]

Pillow Talk (for Nerds)

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: a relaxing evening in bed turns fiery when you and steve argue about star wars

words: 600

warnings: fluff, playful arguing, me projecting my desire for a bf that looks like steve who i can yell at about sw lol

a/n: while im still completely in love with eddie im rewatching s1 of stranger things and im reminded just how far steve has come. and now im soft for him again. ive also been attempting to write something where i dont ramble on for thousands of words so here we are!

“If you were a Jedi, what color would your lightsaber be?”

You pose the question to an amused Steve. He chuckles as he pulls you closer, his bare chest warm and comforting against your cheek. Steve couldn’t care less about Star Wars but he knows how obsessed you are with it, so he plays along. 

“I think I’d go red.”

You shoot up, propping yourself on your elbows as you stare at him in disbelief. “You can’t have red, though! That would put you on the dark side!”

Steve may not understand the space opera but he loves how fired up it gets you. He waggles his eyebrows and stares up at you mischievously. “Maybe that’s where I belong. Me and that mouth breather, Garth- “

“Darth! Darth Vader” you interject. 

Steve grins, reveling in your fieriness. “I’m just saying. Darth and I could make a kickass team. I am very bad, after all.”

That couldn’t be further from the truth. Steve had put himself in harms way countless times just to save you, Nancy, Jonathan and the gaggle of kids you were always hanging around with. He was selfless to a fault. And right now he looked like an angel splayed out underneath you, hair fanned out around his head and crooked grin on his stupidly pretty face. 

You smile down at him nonchalantly, refusing to give in to his cuteness. “That’s fine, then. I’ll just have to duel you with my purple lightsaber.”

It’s Steve’s turn to be outraged. “There’s no such thing! It’s either red, blue or green.”

You settle back down into his arms, your face turned up to his. “I never said it had to be one of those three, Steve. Use your imagination.”

Steve broods for a minute, scrunching his eyebrows together in thought. 

“The fact is, I wouldn’t be a Jedi.”

“Oh no?”

“Why be a space monk who can’t even get laid when I could be a bounty hunter or a pilot?”

Of course he sees himself as a dashing rogue making his way through the galaxy. He’s not wrong. You’re the Jedi type. Steve, on the other hand, is all daredevil with excess charm. 

“You fancy yourself a Han Solo type, Harrington?”

He blushes slightly but nods confidently. 

“If the shoe fits, baby. He’s handsome, he’s always saving the day and he’s great with the ladies.”

On that last note, Steve squeezes your ass playfully. You smack him on the chest, smiling in spite of yourself.

“Nah, I take you for more of a Wookie than anything else.” You run your fingers through the impressive patch of chest hair he’s grown in the past year. “You’ve got the hair to match.”

He feigns a hurt expression and pouts. Those puppy dog eyes of his are impossible to resist. You pull him in for a kiss as an apology. When you break away, you’re breathless and completely under his spell again. 

“All right, I give in. You’re definitely Han. A secretly soft bad boy with a heart of gold.”

Steve strokes your hair, looking at you with a love clouded gaze. “Then that makes you my Leia. A badass chick who’s sweet but tough and smart as all hell. Banging body, too”

You burrow into the crook of Steve’s neck, hiding your dopey grin as he laughs. “And yes,�� he adds “in this scenario Leia can have a purple lightsaber.”

Sounds perfect to you. The two of you lay in a comfortable silence for a few moments until Steve bashfully raises his voice. 

“Hey baby? Wookies are the scary little teddy bears, right?”

******

taglist: @padawansubscription

[taeken-my-heart]

Heshiiska

Summary: Best friends make a pact that could change things forever.

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Mild fluff, best friends au

Word Count: 1889

“Where are we going?” You whispered, hunching behind a bush as Jimin shushed you.

“Somewhere fun.” He grinned and you frowned.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” When Jimin didn’t respond and continued peering through the openings in the bush you swatted his back lightly and he glared over his shoulder.

“Stop!” He hissed, “you’re gonna get us caught.”

“Caught doing what?”

“Going to the reservoir!”

Your frown deepened. It was common knowledge that the reservoir was off limits at night. It was dark, dangerous, and it was someone else’s property. Frankly, you weren’t really interested in the police dropping you off at your parents door step. Again. It had only happened once before, but the humiliation of your parents having to come down in their bathrobes at 2 in the morning to be lectured by the police was embarrassment enough for one life time.

“Jimin, that’s trespassing! It’s illegal.”

“It’s only illegal if we get caught.”

“That’s not how it works.” You hissed.

Jimin turned back to smirk at you, reaching for your hand and pulling you after him. The reservoir was out of the city a little bit, far enough away that you’d had to drive in Jimin’s car to get there, but that meant relative privacy…unless of course the owners of the reservoir caught you.

It was a place you and your friends had filled with summer memories. Every May through October the Kurshaw’s would open their land to the public to come enjoy the corn maze, their small petting zoo, the tractor ride, a pumpkin patch, and of course the reservoir. But when the warm weather passed the family would close their land until the spring and people would find different winter activities to occupy themselves.

The both of you snuck quietly to the gate, Jimin never releasing his hold of your hand. The gate wasn’t exactly impressive, only waist level; it wasn’t Fort Knox after all. Then again, the Kurshaw’s probably assumed people wouldn’t be running down to the reservoir in the middle of January.

Jumping over the fence you made your way through the trees and down the path towards the water. The moon had risen high by that point and was casting a shimmering reflection on the cove. You could see the dock to your left and Jimin led you closer to it, pulling you towards the jetty that plunged further into the water’s surface.

Once you reached the edge the both of you sat down, backs hitting the wood beneath you as you stared up at the stars, legs swinging over the edge of the dock. “This is nice.” Jimin mumbled softly, puffs of air leaving his mouth in clouds of mist.

“It’s freezing, Chim.” You frowned and Jimin scooted closer to you, offering the warmth of one side of his body against your arm.

“Come on, Y/N, just enjoy the view.”

You sighed, wrapping your coat clad arms around yourself and shivering. It was a beautiful view. From way out in the country side the sky was clear and a million stars were blinking in your direction, unobstructed in their view of you.

But it was January. Why in the world had Jimin thought that coming to sit on the Kurshaw’s jetty in the middle of the winter was a good idea? The breeze that was shuddering off the water whipped through your coat and into the cracks of your woolen sweater, like ice in your veins.

“Where do you think we’ll be in 20 years?” Jimin asked softly.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes before plunging your hands into the pockets of your coat. “You’ve asked me that question before.”

“Just humor me!” He moped and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Fine. I suppose in 20 years I see myself with a good job, a family. White picket fence and all.”

“Be serious, Y/N!” Jimin whined.

“I am being serious!” You insisted. “I really do like the idea of a white picket fence. Driving my kids to all their games and sitting on the side lines in one of those folding camp chairs with a coffee and an insult ready to be hurled at the referee. PTA meetings, family nights, date nights, all that stuff. That really is where I see myself in 20 years.”

The air stilled once again as you were plunged into silence. Jimin seemed surprised by your answer but you weren’t really sure why. You’d talked about this sort of thing often enough that he should have known your answers by now. They were rather plain Jane, but you found that the simplicity gave you comfort.

“I just always pictured you as the nomad type.” He said softly, running his fingers through his hair and settling his hand behind the back of his head. “Going from country to country with just a backpack to your name.”

“I’m not nearly that badass.” You chuckled and Jimin smiled.

“Sure you are.” He grinned, “you’ve always been kickass.”

“Thanks.” You said, nudging him with your elbow. “What about you, Chim? Where do you see yourself in 20 years?”

Jimin took a steady breath in. He was so calm you almost thought he hadn’t heard you. “I want a family too.” He finally said. “I always kind of saw myself living in the country side one day, you know, when I have kids. For now the city is good but someday I think it would be cool to have a place like this where you can lay out and look at the stars and run through fields and just have some peace.”

“Wow, that’s rather romantic of you, Jimin.” You teased and Jimin huffed at you.

“I don’t mind being a romantic,” he continued, “it’s not the worst quality I could have.”

Things settled again and you trained your vision back on the stars. The sound of the shore licking at the pebbles along the beach began to lull you and, if possible, the evening grew even colder. Just as you were about to complain Jimin spoke again.

“Have you ever thought about what would happen if you didn’t get married?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” you frowned, “I suppose that would be that, I just wouldn’t get married.”

He sighed, turning his face towards yours and you looked at him as his dark eyebrows knit together. “I’m being serious right now, why can’t you?”

“I am being serious!” You insisted, “What is there to even say?”

“Would you travel the world, would you date around and keep trying to find someone, would you become a bitter old cat lady? What?”

You laughed, shaking your head and looking back up to the stars. “I really don’t know, Jiminie. I suppose I’d date a little just to keep myself satisfied in the sex department, you know?” Jimin blushed and you continued, “Maybe I’d mix all three. Travel the world, sleeping with a man in each place I went and then settle in my old age with a couple cats. I wouldn’t be bitter, though. You know I’m a cat person.” You teased. “Besides, is it really the worst fate to be single? Sure, it would be lonely sometimes but I’d always have you.”

You looked back at Jimin as he smiled softly, taking your frozen fingers from your pocket and squeezing gently. “You know, there is a way we could avoid loneliness.” He says timidly. You raise your eyebrows in question.

“Oh?” You ask.

“Yeah.” he murmurs. He seems to rethink himself for a moment before staring back at you confidently and ploughing on. “We should make a pact. We can date and mess around and do whatever, try to find our soulmates or some shit until we’re 30. If we haven’t found anyone by 30, we’ll marry each other.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, starting deep in the pit of your belly and erupting through your lungs and out of your mouth. You tried to stifle your giggles with your other hand, the one not still being held by Jimin, and as your laughter subsided you looked to find your friend looking very stoic. “Oh, wait…you’re serious?” You asked in surprise. “But Jimin, we’re best friends.”

“Yeah, and what could be better than marrying your best friend?” He grumbled. His grip loosened on your fingers and you realized that you’d hurt his feelings. Mentally slapping yourself in the face you grabbed his hand again, pulling it up to your chest and placing it just under your chin, squeezing his fingers with your own and entreating him to look at you again.

“I’m sorry Jimin, I really did think you were just kidding. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. It’s not that I think marrying you is a bad idea or anything, I was just surprised. You’re always the one that insisted I had gross cooties and burped too much to be classified a real girl.”

Jimin spluttered hotly, “cut me some slack, I was like 10 when I said that!” You grinned and he continued softly. “I don’t think you have cooties anymore and when you burp it’s somewhat endearing now.”

You scoffed, smacking his shoulder as he laughed. “Come on, Y/N, what do you think? We can be each other’s plan B.”

“How romantic,” you sneered, “Come on Jimin, be serious here. Am I really the person you’d want to end up with? You could practically have your pick of anyone, why would you want to risk that all on me?”

“Because you’re my best friend and there’s no one I’d rather have as my plan B. You’re a catch, Y/N, and if no one else is smart enough to snatch you up as their plan A, I’d be happy to make you mine.” He smiled serenely.

Honestly, anyone would be lucky to end up with Jimin. He was handsome, sweet, and funny; a complete knock out. You were sure he wouldn’t last until 30 and a part of you felt a little sad at the idea. You were both at the prime of your lives, 16 and with the world at your feet. He’d been your best friend since you could remember and the idea of not having him around didn’t sit well with you.

For now you could enjoy his company and his friendship and someday when he did find a girl you would support him with your whole heart because you were his best friend and you didn’t want him to waste his potential on you.

“OK,” you smiled softly, “sure. If we both make it to 30 and we’re still single, we’ll marry each other.”

Jimin smiled so brightly you thought he might light up the entire sky and you laughed, shaking your head and turning your eyes back to the sky. “It really is beautiful.” You said.

“Yeah.” Jimin murmured from beside you. Suddenly a flash of light from behind you caught your eye and Jimin sat up, turning around and grimacing.

“Whoops.” He muttered.

You sat up too and turned around just as the cop car came to a stop at the end of the jetty and Officer Williams stepped from the vehicle, leaning against the door and motioning the two of you over. You both stood and Jimin smirked down at you as you glowered.

You were gonna kill him.

Happy Valentines my loves! I’ve been trying to come up with a drabble idea for my beloved Jiminie since his chaptered series won’t be out for a long time :( It took me a while to think of something that I felt inspired by and that I felt fit our cherub cutie. I really hope you enjoy this little drabble <3

Read the sequel here

Copyright © 2018  by taeken-my-heart (Nora.) All rights reserved.

[pendragonfics]

Badass Like That

Paring: Natasha Romanov/Reader

Tags: female reader, f/f relationship, spies and secret agents, girls with guns, girls in love, reader loves food, fluff. 

Summary: The one thing worse than being alone with your own thoughts, is not being alone with your own thoughts. Reader is roped into a mission beside Nat Romanov, and despite disliking art galleries and loving food more than perhaps life itself, there's someone who likes her that much too.

Word Count: 1,506

Current Date: 2017-09-19

The one thing worse than being alone with your own thoughts, is not being alone with your own thoughts. It had been a long, stressful month, and while you were supposed to be reclining on your favourite chair, lazily watching reruns of Dancing with The Stars, and exfoliating your cares and the last thirty days of undercover work in the Shushan district, you were not. On the last thirty minutes of your extraction plane back to base you had been roped into working alongside the Widow herself, her usual partner in crime having come down with a nasty case of morning sickness.

So, instead of being asleep in front of the television in your day clothes like a heathen, you were silently standing in an art gallery beside the kickass Natasha Romanov. Maybe it was awkward, because since you two got into your undercover outfits and entered the gallery, you’d barely spoken. Or because all you were thinking about were the Pop-Tarts you hoped would greet you once returning to base, and not the mission at hand.

“Darling,” Natasha rolled her eyes at something she could only see, and tucking the tickets into her jacket pocket, went on, "I can't see why you're upset about coming here."

You’re silent as she looked around, eyes touching softly over the room, as if she owned it. With her history, you would not be surprised if she did own the lot. You follow her gaze to where a statue of a naked woman without arms stands on a rock, isolated, eyes wide, hollow. Mouth agape, aghast.

Your partner looks back to you, and adds, "You like art."

Itching under the wig you’re wearing, (“It’s a precaution, Agent R.” Nick Fury had told you over a grainy video chat as you put the long black head of hair on) you scoff. “I resent that. I like motel art. Cheap posters in tube rolls…weird graffiti in dive bars." You retort, and stifling a yawn into a fist, you gesture to the frame before you. "Not...DiCaprio."

Nat laughs. “Da Vinci, darling.”

A guard by the exit milled idly, tiredly. Nat’s eyes trained on his sneakers, yours following the camera in the corner of the room as it scanned the near-empty cavern full of priceless pieces of naked people or religious overtones. You itched your elbow. Nat smacked her lips, and with a compact mirror, added a coat of blood-red to her paper-cut straight hair.

Into her mirror, she muttered, “You want to stop being so infantile?”

You shrugged a shrug that showed more than you thought at the time, but did anyway. Maybe it was just because you were going on coffee and adrenaline now, or that you wished that her old partner was here instead of you.

“I want chilli cheese fries.” You retort, whining loud enough for the nearest people to hear. “…and a shake.”

A kid nearby tugged on his parents’ shirts and requested the same thing from them. Seeing this, Nat gave you a glare, but relented. “We’re here to see the new instalment, honey, not eat stuff you can get on the street.”

You begin to moan, dragging your feet past a Picasso-mimicry. Nat’s glare hardens, and with her hand around yours, she takes you to the restaurant on the side. Before she can take her wallet out to pay for the order you’re placing, you tap your phone onto the EFTPOS machine and collect a table number with the number twelve inscribed on it.

“What is your problem?” Nat huffs, and this time, you can tell she’s not being her undercover self, but the irritable lady who just a month ago kicked your ass on the wrestling mat. You take a seat at a window table. “You’re screwing up our – day.” She says day instead of mission because unlike you, she can think straight.

You huff. “It’s still going to be a good day, I’m just hungry.” A waiter walks by, the smell of chicken parmigiana tantalising your inner animal. Another one comes, and delivers you your dish of fries, and the drink. “Want a chip?”

Nat ignores you.

You all but stuff your food in your mouth, but with cheeks full à la chipmunk, you notice someone sitting alone in the centre of the room, someone whose appearance looks so very mundane, but not to you. This is the face you saw on the brief that was shoved into your line of vision on the return from China. This is the face of the suspect who has committed treason, release of top-secret documentation, evasion of arrest, and assault. This is what you’re here for, and despite the hunger screaming inside you, you’re magnetised to the criminal before you.

“My twelve o’clock. Behind you.” You mutter, swallowing. Nat frowns. “Darling. I think I can see a mutual friend of ours here, do you want to say hello?” You say a little louder, pushing your chair back to stand. Catching on, Nat follows your lead, adjusting her sunglasses from her blouse to above her nose, snagging a fry from your plate before flanking your side. Her fingers gravitate toward her hidden pistol, yours to the strap of your bag, full of enough gear to immobilise the fugitive until backup enters later. She went first, and even with the suspect starting to discretely get away, you both had him secured and packed away within the next hour with help from S.H.I.E.L.D. “I didn’t get to eat my fries…” you moan, head in hands.

Nat huffed, boarding the quinjet. “After all that trouble…”

You smacked her arm with a manila folder Coulson had handed you at some point that probably needed a million signatures and filing in the next twenty-four hours. “Hey! If it weren’t for my fries, we would have spent more time looking at loads of pompous dead guy’s art.”

---

By the time you’d submitted all the paperwork, had a full eight hours of sleep, caught up on your stuffed-full DVR, you realised that you hadn’t seen much of Natasha since the arrest was made. Really, you hadn’t seen any of the other Avengers, which was odd, since you all lived together in the facility in Upstate New York like domestic cats with no parents. It was great. But since on a regular day you’d see at least two sweating super soldiers in different stages of undress, Wanda and Vision making out in different broom closets and Tony wearing his own Iron Man merchandise, it was odd.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., where I can I find Nat?” You ask the empty kitchen, mouth half-full of cornflakes.

The Irish-lilted interface replied, “Miss Romanov can be found sparring in the weapons room.”

“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” you tell the open air, rolling your eyes at her location, because where else would Nat be?

Placing your empty bowl in the washer, you go to seek the red-head you’re having troubles thinking that is pointedly avoiding you. By the time you make your way there, your thoughts are thick, arguments wavy. When you actually see Natasha, all words disappear. Unlike when she’s all slicked back, make-up done, killer smile and smooth as a lace-trimmed gown on granite floors, when she trains with James Barnes, she’s undone, openly human. Hair falling out of the half-up bun. Sweat patches under her arms, flush of red over her cheeks.

Bucky sees you in the doorway before she does, and steps away from the sparring session, pointing you out to the Widow, and excusing himself to wash off in the showers. He says no words to you, but that is normal. The Sargent is a private man, and after all he’s been through, you don’t blame him for selecting those he can trust.

“You here for me to sign off on some of your paperwork?” She asks, working to undo the strapping over her wrists. “Earth to ________, don’t tell me you’re spacing out again.”

You shake your head. “Not here for signatures,” you mutter, eyeing the mat that’s coated in a layer of sweat. It’s been a month since you were last here, when just before your mission in Asia she beat you like an egg for omelettes. “I – damn.”

Nat smirks, rolling the strapping up quickly, the smell of sweat overwhelming your senses. “I – it was good being partners together, you – we do good together.” She manages to tell you, her eyes searching yours.

Over the P.A., Steve Roger’s voice booms, “Please stop making us all uncomfortable and tell each other you like each other already!” he demands.

But while your face blushes, because, yes, indeed you do have a thing for Nat, and have been stewing on the way she looked above you when pinning you down to the wrestling mat a month ago, she chortles at the century-old super-soldier playing matchmaker, and goes in for a kiss. Because she’s Natasha freakin’ Romanov, and she’s badass like that.

[olivay-official]

A Date with a World Class Creep

So here is a drabble from something I am working on with some of my OC’s.

Before you read: The premise of the story is a girl by the name of Jay in college gets the copycat ability where she can mimic anything she sees. She uses this superpower to become a kickass fighter and behind a leather mask and work out clothes becomes the town vigilante. An anonymous presence who she knows as Napster occasionally helps her out. He is the tech guy but she has never seen him nor heard him speak but she knows he’s there. He hacks computer systems and cameras to help her be a superhero. This drabble is early on in her crime fighting days.

I jumped to the next rooftop before pausing to listen to the sounds of traffic below and then piercing the air I could hear it, the muffled sounds of a girl’s scream. I stood on the lookout searching the streets below for any sign of a struggle.

“Napster if you’re listening now would be a really good time to put your tech skills to good use. There’s a girl, I heard her scream. Find her for me,” I said out loud feeling just a little bit crazy talking to an invisible force. I waited a few minutes feeling incredibly stupid when silence was all that greeted me. Then I realized what was happening. The traffic lights weren’t changing at all. Cars started honking but the lights refused to change. I grinned. “I hope that’s you.” I ran across rooftop to rooftop until I made it to the lone green traffic light. The light switched to red. I looked around in all directions. To the left a traffic light had turned green. I changed directions following the course of the green lights. I followed them to the next block and in an instant the lights turned to normal. Traffic resumed and the cars stopped honking. I was in the right place according to my secret tech boy but I still didn’t know what I was looking for then I heard it- another muffled cry. My head swiveled in the direction of a dark alley. Looking over the rooftop I saw it. A man with his arm wrapped around a girl’s neck from behind muffling her cries with his hand. She struggled against him but he held firmly onto the poor girl. I sneered down at the scene before deciding it was time to intervene. I jumped down onto the fire escape making my way down the stairs quickly. Neither seemed to notice my presence until I was just above them.

“You know when a girl struggles like that it means she doesn’t like you,” I said casually sizing the man up. It looked like he had something in his pocket probably a knife but it was hard to tell.

“Stay out of this bitch,” The man snarled back at me. He was older, maybe late 40’s. He had dark hair that was graying along the sides and the beginnings of scruffy beard that had patches of white in it. He looked up at me with cold unforgiving blue eyes. I had seen that man’s face somewhere before…

“How about we do a trade? You let her go and you can have me instead well that is if you can fight me or are you too scared?” I taunted.

“I ain’t scared to fight a girl!” He spit.

“Then why don’t you fight me?” I smirked.

“Fine by me. I’ll bring two trophies home tonight.” His smile was disturbed and unsettled me in a way I can’t quite described. If I had spidey senses they would be tingling all over because of this guy. Cars started honking again drowning out all other noise. I glanced up. Every traffic light nearby was red and had been for a while. Napster. But I didn’t have time to dwell on what he was trying to tell me because right then I had a girl’s life to save. I glanced back at the man who now had a rag in his hand. He pressed it firmly to the girl’s nose. The blonde’s eyes began to flutter. Without a second to lose I jumped down from the fire escape and ripped the man off of her. The girl fell to her knees just barely conscious. The rag abandoned on the ground.

“Let me guess, mommy issues?” I asked as I pulled the man back by his shoulders. The man swung his fist at me. I ducked underneath it. I sidestepped behind him. Punched him in the back just about where his kidneys would be. The man folded over. He spun around arm out. I jumped back too late. Pain ripped through my midsection. He was holding a knife. My stomach stung but the wound couldn’t have been very deep.

“You carry a knife around? Talk about being insecure with your masculinity,” I chuckled. The man charged grabbing my neck and throwing me up against the wall. His thumb and finger squeezed my neck hard. He put the point of the knife to my cheek. He had a demented smiled on his face as if he were enjoying every second of this.

“You know what I love about the female body?” He asked voiced quiet. His eyes were trained on the tip of his knife as it barely trailed along my skin not quite piercing it but with enough pressure to draw blood at any moment if he wanted. His face was calm, his smile slightly excited. “I love it’s softness. Women now are much too thin. They used to be plump, round, it was beautiful. Now they are much too thin. But you see there is a certain amount of plumpness that no one achieves today. They are either too thin or too fat. There is no plump women anymore so I have to do the work myself. Feeding them, starving them, whatever it takes for them to be that nice state of plump. I love the way the skin flows over the curves of the body like milk. And then the feel of my knife,” He pushed his knife farther into my skin now drawing blood from my chest just underneath the collarbone, “digging into their flesh, the red of their blood against the ivory of their skin, it’s absolutely beautiful.” He looked down at his knife admiring the blood on the blade. Suddenly it seemed to click for me. His face I had seen it before because he was wanted in several states including this one for murder. The man before me was a serial killer. Well fuck. While the creep admired my blood on his knife I tensed my body preparing to strike. I kneed him in the groin. Simultaneously I spun my arm out making contact with his and twisting until he released the knife. The knife clattered to the ground. His hand left my throat to throw a punch at me. I ducked beneath it.

I punched him in the nose. Then I swung my forearm back down on his head in a single motion. He had a cut on his face now and his nose was bleeding. I kicked him in the side. I threw another punch his way. He dodged throwing me off balance. He grabbed the back of my head swinging me around until he could shove my face into the brick wall behind me. My face hit the wall hard. The impact reverberated throughout my head my jaw taking the brunt of the impact suddenly felt numb. I reached back with my hands grabbing the elbow of the arm holding me to the wall. I swung his arm the wrong way over my head. He released me. Now freed I spun on my heel to face him. He swung at me. I ducked.  He swung again. I caught his arm this time twisting it painfully. His body contorted around until his back was to me. I kept one arm on his. With my other hand I sharply jabbed a pressure point in his neck. The man collapsed at me feet unconscious. I breathed a sigh of relief, head throbbing.

“You sir are one sick son of a bitch,” I muttered as I dragged his limp body to a nearby drain pipe. I pulled the zip ties from my pocket securing the man’s hands to the pipe. I quickly patted him down finding another knife in his possession and a small vile of what I assumed to be chloroform. In the dumpster nearby I found a plastic shopping bag where I stuck his weapons including the knife he used to cut me (which I cleaned off) and the rag he had abandoned on the ground. The girl now more or less recovered from the incident was finally able to pull herself shakily to her feet. She looked over at me gratefully. Police sirens sounded in the distance.

“Thank you,” She whispered to me.

“No problem but do me a favor and give this to the police when they arrive?” I asked handing her the plastic bag. She took it and nodded at me. I smiled at her before dashing off down the street.