#the only thing that lead me to google it was thinking he sounds a big like Cullen from Dragon Age | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

six-eyed-samurai · 3 months ago

Note

Hi I was wondering if you could do a amajiki x reader where reader is on her period and has really bad cramps and mood swings and amajiki has to ask mirio and nejire for advice

SUMMARY: Very apologetically Tamaki has no idea how to handle your shark week, so Mirio and Nejire are here to help him out! A/N: Very apologetically I too am not sure if things were accurate I'M SORRY I DON'T EXPERIENCE THIS so I'm literally trying to remember what my ex gf was like FORGIVE ME ALSO FOR BEING SO LATE I HAD TO STOP HALFWAY BECAUSE OF EXAMS WARNINGS: Fem!Reader, period, maybe inaccuracies (refer to above)

🌸Let’s set the scene.

🌸Please pity him. It was in the middle of a cafe date that suddenly you stopped slurping your drink, freezing with a funny expression and your waffle piece halfway to your mouth. Obviously Tamaki’s voice peters out and away as he sinks into his jacket��.oh crap, did he say something wrong? Maybe his breath smells bad?

🌸Then you ask to borrow his jacket. He gives it over, relieved, thinking you must’ve just been cold or something - wait, why are you tying it around your waist and heading to the toilet?

🌸When you finally come back out you awkwardly ask to cut the date short with much apologies, but you really wanted to head back and change….why? Oh right, your period kind of….leaked.

🌸”….”

🌸”Sure, sure! All’s to worry, not to fine!” Tamaki’s just happy it isn’t because of him - it’s your third date after a year of hopelessly pining and finally using up all the courage he had in this lifetime to confess and ask you out.

🌸Then it actually hits him.

🌸Silly boy’s even more panicked than you are, and YOU’RE The one on your period. It’s mostly because he wants to help you cover up and not have the date ruined but he has no idea how, not having much experience in this - come to think of it, Nejire never brought up her period with him and Mirio, so honestly he had no idea what he was doing.

🌸Hell, he’s suddenly forgotten how the menstruation cycle works - where did all those science lessons go??? Help???

🌸You have to assure him it’s not a big deal, his jacket is enough, could he help get a doggy bag for the waffles and get the drinks though?

🌸After he drops you off by your dorm Tamaki is immediately whipping out his phone and googling about periods, but it’s only explaining to him why and how it happens…wait, you’ll get mood swings, headaches, loss of appetite, lethargy and cramps? And girls go through this every month?

🌸That sounds worse than a villain attack; Tamaki’s respect for you probably broke the meter.

🌸He’s gonna be the supportive boyfriend! This is his chance to show you you didn’t make any mistake in choosing the quiet weirdo to be your partner! Tamaki nods, trying to hype himself up.

🌸Problem is…what is he supposed to do…

🌸Nejire and Mirio are more than happy to play wingmen once more, of course!

🌸All his plans collapse when you didn’t show up in class the next day however. Not only that, you’re pretty dry when he texts you and you’re - you’re ending the conversation first?!

🌸*>>sry im not feeling my best rn and dont wanna take it out on you*

🌸*>>ill talk to you ltr?*

🌸Tamaki ends up overthinking as usual, picking away at his lunch so obviously, leading to Mirio and Nejire’s interrogation and him spilling his guts. He wants to go check on you to see if you’re fine, but do YOU want him to go check on you?

🌸Nejire scoffs and tells him of course you’d want him to check on you! Girls could get clingy on their periods, of course you’d appreciate it if he came over…hey, you both could always do a stay at home date, nothing fancy! You’d surely be up for movies to cheer you up - Nejire would gladly lend Tamaki her account, no payment required.

🌸What’s he supposed to do? Nejire’s winking not so subtly as she slyly suggests cuddling under blankets with - oops, he looks like he’s about to faint now. No surprise, Tamaki nearly had a heart attack when you both first brushed fingers.

🌸Tamaki’s social anxiety having him debating between being the object everyone in the corridor must surely be gawking at or running somewhere far far away? No worries either, Mirio’s there to stop him from getting a concussion slamming his head against the wall.

🌸Mirio helpfully knocks very loudly on your door, calling out Tamaki’s name when your groggy voice drifts out. He gives his stunned, dark-haired friend a thumbs up and shoves a box of chocolates into his arms, mouthing “give this to her!” before taking off.

🌸Regrettably Tamaki’s first words to you were not…er…

🌸”You look terrible.”

🌸Immediately Tamaki backtracked, yelping about how it was probably the dim lighting that made him see things wonky, he’s SORRY, he didn’t mean it he was just surprised, please FORGIVE him, uh, uh, please have this box of chocolates as apology! 🌸Oh dear, he’s just too cutely flustered to be mad at, so you accept the box (thrown at you accidentally) with a hoarse laugh, self-consciously trying to smooth down your mussed hair and wrinkled sleeping clothes, asking what brought him here.

🌸Tamaki didn’t miss the way your arm was wrapped around your abdomen, or the way your eyes were a little screwed up from the pain and sleepiness, but he decided to go ahead and ask anyway if you were okay and why you didn’t show up to class today.

🌸Awkwardly you explain your cramps were really bad and after going to Recovery Girl she decided you were better off resting than doing anything physical for the day, admitting you probably shouldn’t have succumbed to the temptations of cold boba the other day.

🌸”Can….can I…can I stay with you? I brought a movie and uh, chocolate and I can bring blankets we could make a fort if you’re not too mad at me-”

🌸”Mad at you?” You tilted your head, surprised and confused. “Why would I be…oh. Is it about our earlier texts?”

🌸He nods, and you reach out to take his hand comfortingly. “Dummy, I know it’s probably a lot for you, but no matter how bad my mood swings are, I’d never get mad at you, alright?”

🌸Tamaki must have some real good karma from his past life to deserve an angel like you.

🌸”So…about that movie date?”

🌸The next day Mirio and Nejire eagerly await news of what had transpired; Tamaki hides his face when you grin brightly and say “I wouldn’t mind having cramps that bad again if he’ll come and cuddle me like that.”

#Sunny's Works #tamaki amajiki x reader #tamaki amajiki x you #tamaki amajiki x y/n #mha x reader

84 notes · View notes

jesterafterdark · 3 months ago

Text

Feedist Kinktober 2024 - Day 2

"Masquerade Ball 💃🏻"

(prompts via @fatguarddog)

"You are cordially invited..." You read aloud, skimming the handwritten note that had been delivered to your door. A ball? A masquerade ball? That was a new one. You'd never been to anything like that in your life, and suddenly you were being invited out of the blue? It all seemed surreal. The letter was signed "Ms. Jester," punctuated with a pink lipstick stain. The note listed the date, time and venue, a large gothic manor that often hosted these kinds of events. Attached to the envelope was a small package, wrapped in brown paper with a pink bow. Inside was two things, a venetian style mask resembling a pig, and a piece of card that simply read "you'll need this to get in 💕"

You looked at your reflection. You had never seen yourself as the type for something so fancy, your figure never lent itself to things like sophistication and dancing. The pig mask made it feel even more like some strange joke. But the venue was legit, and a little googling told you plenty. Ms. Jester's Masquerade Ball was a big event, held annually in different locations. No one was quite sure how the guest list was decided, an eclectic mixture of tastemakers and nobodies, but you'd been chosen.

A friend helped you select a dress for the occasion, something cute. You'd wanted something that would obscure your figure, but she insisted you go with a form fitting black dress. "It'll highlight your curves, trust me!"

~~~

The night finally rolled around, you stumbled out of your taxi, struggling with your heels. You were regretting the lunch you'd eaten, bulging out of your tight black dress. There was a line out the door, all wearing their masks. You pulled yours on, trying to suck in your stomach and thinking that you already looked enough like a pig.

There was a clear theme as soon as you stepped into the line. Half of the guests were as plump as you, or even bigger, and wearing masks resembling pigs, cows, you even picked out a hippo and an elephant in the crowd. The other half were thin, slender, and wearing the faces of wolves, foxes and lions. The thought that this was some elaborate prank was hard to ignore, part of you wanted to turn tail and run before you could be humiliated. Then you felt a hand on your shoulder, and a familiar voice.

"I told you the dress would look good on you!" Your friend's voice came from behind the fox mask.

"You were invited too? Why didn't you say something?"

"I thought it would be more fun to surprise you," she giggled.

"Well, I'm definitely surprised," you scowled, "is it just me or is there a... Theme, here?"

"Aw, don't worry about that, Ms. Jester's events are always a little eccentric, but trust me, it's gonna be great."

"There's just a... Fat-shame-y kind of vibe, you know?"

"Trust me," she said, leading you to the door, "There's no shame here."

The large man that loomed at the entrance wore the only mask you'd seen so far that wasn't an animal. It resembled a plain white face with no mouth and a pointed chin. He glanced at your mask, and your friend's, before nodding and gesturing for you both to enter.

Inside, the place was already alive with dancing and music. The sound was more modern than you expected from something like this. Your friend took the lead, guiding you around. There were dozens of tables stacked high with cakes and cupcakes, everything decorated with pink frosting. The room was overwhelmingly pink, not at all what you'd expect from the grim, Gothic exterior. People gathered around the tables, sampling the treats.

"This looks good!" Your friend smiled under her fox mask, raising a small pink cake to your lips, "try it!"

"What?" You stepped back, not expecting the food to be shoved in your face so eagerly.

"Oh," your friend's cheeks flushed under her mask, "Sorry, I got a little too excited." She held her hand out more gently, "Do you want to try it?"

You took it from her and turned it over in your hand. It did look good, but you were already practically stuffed into your dress and didn't want to burst out of it in front of everyone. "I guess one couldn't hurt."

You bit down and suddenly you were in heaven. The little thing was sweet, tasting like vanilla and stuffed with cream. It was the best thing you'd had in a while, and as soon as it was gone you started to wish you'd savored it a little longer.

"Okay," you murmured, "I guess two couldn't hurt."

Your friend raised a second one to your mouth, slower and more timidly this time, and you let her feed it to you. You could tell she was enjoying it, and you were starting to realize that you were too. You knew you wouldn't stop at two.

~~~

As the evening drew on you kept letting the little fox guide you from table to table, stuffing your face at each. You would have felt ashamed but it seemed to be the done thing at this ball, and you thought that your dress might give out before the night ends but it wouldn't be the first.

Of course you took time to dance, to socialize, between tables. It was still a ball, after all. But as you ate more and your swollen stomach got heavier, and your dress more constricting, the dancing became more and more of an afterthought.

After what must have been your thirtieth little treat of the night, though you'd lost count a while ago, a woman slid up beside you and your fox. Like the bouncer at the door, she didn't wear an animal mask. She wore a bright pink evening gown, long black gloves and her lips were the exact shade of the lipstick on your invitation. Her mask left no doubt to who this was, a classic Venetian Jester. Ms. Jester.

"Enjoying the soiree?" She smiled down at you expectantly.

"Oh, uh, yes!" You sputtered awkwardly. "It's a lot of fun."

"And you're taking advantage of the spread?" She gestured to the tables, which were being steadily restocked by women in plain black masks.

The fox answered for you, "Oh yeah, she's making good use of it."

The jester grinned, "Good! I'd hate to see my guests going hungry. You two are so cute together, by the way." She winked and turned back to the party.

"Oh no we're-" you tried to correct your host but she'd already vanished into the crowd.

"Sounds like we make a good pair," your friend laughed.

"Sounds like," you laughed too, but only to hide the nerves. "Can you grab me ano-"

"Already on it," she mock-saluted, grabbing another cake.

~~~

The Ball was finally drawing to a close, more and more people making quiet exits. You sat on a chair, your fox gently coaching you through one last bite. She'd been coaching through "one last bite" for the last half an hour, but there always seemed to be "just one more, you can do it."

Then, you shifted in your seat and heard the rip. Your belly had actually breached the dress. You panicked, hands frantically trying to cover the tear.

"Hey, hey! Calm down," your friend laughed, pulling a jacket from her bag. "Throw this on and we can head out, this is winding down anyway."

You pulled the jacket over yourself, zipping it. You could feel the cold material pressing against your skin through the hole in your dress. The two of you headed out and your friend dialed for a taxi.

"So... Why did you have this jacket?"

"Huh?"

"You're half my size, why do you have a jacket big enough to cover me?"

"Oh, uh, well-" she stumbled over her words, struggling to find an answer.

"You planned this, didn't you?" You laughed, "How did you even manage that."

"These masks," she held out the fox face, "went out first and came with a plus one. I had you invited."

"Why me?"

"I've always had a... Bit of a thing for you." She stared at her feet, cheeks flushed.

"That's funny," you smiled, her eyes drifting up to yours, "I've always had a thing for you too."

You felt her lips press against yours as the taxi pulled up behind you. She started laughing.

"I can taste those cakes on your lips."

#feedist kinktober #feedist Kinktober 2024 #feeding kink #feeder girl #feedisn #female ffa #ffa #lesbian feeder #sapphic feedism #female feeder #nsft #feedee encouragement

69 notes · View notes

paperstorm · 3 months ago

Text

Thanks for the tags @heartstringsduet and @corsage! Have a slightly longer snippet than usual to introduce you to a musician AU I am in the very very early stages of working on. ([Band name] redacted only because I haven't settled on one yet 😂 My dumb brain that loves a pun keeps suggesting Strand and Deliver but that's too silly)

TK blinks. For a moment, he’s sure he heard wrong. “A tour?”

“Limited American, to start,” Billy says. “And then expanding to Europe if we can, depending on ticket sales.”

With another blink and a dumbfounded shake of his head, TK reiterates, “You want me to go on a world tour? When I literally just got out of rehab?”

Billy frowns. “Oh, is there like … more shit you need to do? With that?”

“I – not, there isn’t …” TK babbles, unable to adequately voice why he’s reacting this way, because really, Billy isn’t wrong. He finished his 30 days. It’s been two weeks on top of that, and he’s stayed away from anything stronger than a regular strength Tylenol for the headache he had last Thursday. He’s not on probation, he’s not being required to do another month in some kind of halfway house. The only thing on his calendar for the foreseeable future is rotting on his couch with a bowl of cereal and binging some sitcom he’s already watched a million times. He doesn’t really have a good reason that he shouldn’t jump right back into work, he just wasn’t expecting it to happen. He hasn’t even reconnected with his band, yet.

“I’m not gonna force you to do anything,” Billy tells him, folding his hands on his desk and looking at TK with a furrowed brow. “If you don’t think you’re ready, we can put all this on hold until you are.”

“But?” TK asks, sensing there’s a big one coming.

Sniffing loudly, Billy’s hands transfer to his keyboard. It clacks noisily in the quiet room as he types, and then he rotates the monitor so TK can see the screen.

The sight that greets him is a Google search of his own name, and as Billy slowly presses the down arrow on his keyboard, TK’s eyes travel over headline after headline – Musician TK Strand seen emerging from upstate drug and alcohol rehabilitation facility, and Lead singer of [band name] checks out of rehab; fans wonder what’s next for the group, and [Band name]’s critically acclaimed album dropped almost eight months ago, here’s why no one’s heard from them since.

He gets stuck for a moment on a particularly cruel one, questioning whether the band will have what it takes to pick up where they left off after a widely publicized relapse derailed what should have been their biggest tour to date.

“The most surefire way to shut all this up, is to get right back on the horse,” Billy says, in a voice that’s serious but not unkind. “You’ve still got an album full of new songs that your fans are dying to hear live, it’s just a few months later than it was supposed to be.”

“They don’t think I’ve got what it takes.” TK nods toward the computer screen.

Billy rotates it back toward himself so TK can’t see it anymore. “They’re wrong.”

“What if they’re not?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“I guess,” TK concedes, swallowing over his dry throat.

“There’s one more thing.”

“Okay.”

“The label suggested it, just so’s you know.”

“God, what?” TK groans, expecting the worst.

“If you agree to this tour, they want to pick your opener.”

“Oh.” TK frowns. It’s not nearly as bad as some of the things he was imagining. “That’s all?”

Pursing his lips, Billy asks, “You heard of Carlos Reyes?”

The name sounds vaguely familiar, but TK doesn’t recognize it well enough to be positive as he asks, “Carlos … wait, that song that’s been all over TikTok? That people are like hoedown dancing to?”

“That’s the one.”

“He’s a country singer,” TK says, stating what surely must be obvious.

“He is,” Billy agrees without further explanation.

“I don’t feel like we’ll have a ton of crossover fans.”

“He is up and coming.”

“Does he even have more than that one shitty song?”

Billy turns to his keyboard again and shows TK the guy’s Wikipedia page. He’s a year younger than TK and handsome in that wholesome, good Southern boy sort of way, complete with a cross necklace glinting against his clearly shaved chest. As Billy scrolls to the bottom, TK’s gaze catches the information that the lead guitarist and bass player for Reyes’s travelling band are a married couple, and TK barely holds in a scoff.

“He has two albums and an EP,” Billy points out. “He just hasn’t really taken off much, until now.”

Annoyed, TK asks, “And the label thinks, what, we can’t put asses in seats anymore without some lame TikTok star? That I can’t?”

“He’s not a TikTok star, he’s a musician with a growing fanbase. And he’s got a reputation that is not, unlike yours at the moment, covered in shit,” Billy explains in a no-nonsense voice.

“Right.” TK huffs and slides back in his chair. “So, that’s what this is. I was high at a Grammy party three months ago and now my name is mud, so the label wants me to bring some Mouseketeer in a cowboy hat along to calm the shareholders down.”

“I doubt they’d put it exactly that way.” Billy exhales and shrugs. “But basically, yeah. That’s the long and short of it. Reyes and his band are good clean fun, whereas people are still circulating pictures of you almost puking on Ariana Grande, so they’re not willing to put up the money for the tour unless you agree to bring him with you.”

“Fabulous,” TK mutters. “What could go wrong.”

“For the sake of your future in this business, you better hope absolutely fucking nothing,” Billy warns, and it still isn’t unkind, but he isn’t joking.

Tagging @theghostofashton @birdclowns @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

@carlos-in-glasses @actual-sleeping-beauty @thisbuildinghasfeelings @herefortarlos @heartstringduet

@goodways @alrightbuckaroo @lightningboltreader @freneticfloetry

@liminalmemories21 @nancys-braids @whatsintheboxmh @bonheur-cafebonheur-cafe

@reasonandfaithinharmony @thebumblecee @never-blooms @lemonlyman-dotcom

@sanjuwrites @orchidscript @jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng @honeybee-taskforce

@fifthrideroftheapocalypse @butchreyes @just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian

@tellmegoodbye @anactualcaseofthetruth @ironheartwriter @eclectic-sassycoweyes @ditheringmind

@emsprovisions @irispurpurea @nisbanisba @corsage @cheekgirl89

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

#911ls fanfic #wip wednesday #paperstorm writes

72 notes · View notes

jmdbjk · 8 months ago

Text

Cultural reset...

These are just my own opinions and I think it's time I address this.

I had to google "cultural reset" to make sure I was using the term properly. New Google AI Overview says:

A cultural reset is when something significant in popular culture changes or is added, causing people to change the way they view things or to have a lot of people hop on the trend. For example, in K-pop, a cultural reset is a song that is very influential, usually one that gets pretty popular and many people love. It has a lot of influence over the K-pop fandom, and gets a lot of attention.

I did not ask Google AI Overview to specifically give me an example in K-pop. That's just my browsing history telling Google AI Overview that this bitch is obsessed... scary right?

(But I'm a little miffed that Google AI Overview generalized my BTS browsing history as K-pop because I don't look at or search up other K-pop artists. I am BTS only.)

Anyway, thank you Google AI Overview. Actually, I was more interested in styling concepts that are a cultural reset.

Let's stop stalling and just get into it.

I know none of us knew what to do with this Jimin when the photo folios dropped:

Definitely a cultural reset in my opinion.

We had never seen a Jimin like that before. Only in our fanfic-AI generated images imaginations had we ever thought...I don't think AI images was even a thing when this Jimin dropped on us.

Does anyone else have the urge to smooth the wrinkles and creases out of those pants for him? No? Just me? Ok.

Photo folio-black lace up leather gloved-patent leather panted-big chain belted-horny mask Jimin was a cultural reset for me and for many of us. The gloves really put it over the top. We'll never go back. He's covered from neck to foot except for a few slivers of skin. It's wild. It's just a smooth arm pit. Ok, before I run off the rails here... what was I saying? Oh yeah.

Also a cultural reset for me:

Every time I see this come up on my Youtube I watch it because it deserves all the views. Even the soundtrack was perfect.

I know Dora-the-Explorer haired Jungkook is not the favorite of some but I absolutely adore it... wait... sorry. There's a word there that I'm striking from my regular vocabulary from now on. Reasons.

This Jungkook was a cultural reset for me. He's never looked like this before and hasn't since in any concept photos. This was brilliant styling, I don't know if it was JK's regular stylist or if a Calvin Klein stylist did it but it was pure art.

He played that camera until the camera wilted, I just know it. I hope he grows his hair out long again when he's back with us.

And no shoulder booboo. I wonder when the shoulder booboo incident happened and I wonder if we'll ever hear the details.

While I'm talking about cultural resets, I have an honorable mention:

Not just this visual but the song too. PJM2 is coming. I feel another cultural reset coming.

Talking to my partner in crime the other day and I think a meeting DID occur where they detailed out a timeline for Project Naked Bangtan. Because they weren't going to go full frontal on us cold turkey. (Somehow all those words together sound hideous but you get my meaning.)

Regardless of Tae and his proclamation that "Chapter 2 isn't about us taking off our shirts" it is about showing a more mature side of themselves which inevitably is going to lead to showing some skin and some cuss words. Little did we know.

I can imagine how it went down in the brainstorm meeting of them trying to come up with content to fill in the time until they are all discharged...on a whiteboard possibly... because some of us are visual learners... someone drew a timeline of nakedness, possibly for each member.

I can hear it now:

RM: "We have to ease them into it. Who's first?"

Jin: "Hyung will do it." LMAO

What's been your Jimin and Jungkook cultural resets?

#trying to stay away from the ongoing real and fake drama #so my other option is thirst #jikook #kookmin #jimin #jungkook #yes still missing them since no sign of them this past week #making up my own drama of pretty pictures #these two are art in motion #cultural reset

73 notes · View notes

disappointingcabbage · 6 months ago

Text

TMAGP 21 thoughts, spoilers below the cut

“What if Alice is right about how fucked up the OIAR is?” I mean fuck, dude, she probably is

“It’s fine I can just quit if something tries to murder me” Sam that won’t help with the whole “monster trying to kill you thing” that’ll just make you unemployed in addition to being about to die

When Celia said she had a “complicated immigration status” I fucking cackled like girlie you are never beating the universe hopper allegations

Also yeah why did the OIAR not notice that she probably has next to no legal documentation of her existence? Like I get them being more lax than other government organizations but this is a whole other level

tbh it’s probably because Lena was like “eh fuck it this isn’t even in the top 70 weirdest things I’ve seen” and let it slide

“I wouldn’t be able to take Jack with me if I went back” Does this mean she knows how to go back?????

MAGNUS INSTITUTE CHESTER STATEMENT

ooh this is some alchemy shit

POLITICAL RESOURCES? did the institute have fucking plants in the government or did they just have, like, lobbyists?

love how this guy is like “we need stop being Christian centric when choosing the date to our fucked up eldritch ritual guys”

I’m sorry, a UNIVERSAL TRANSMUTATION? as in transforming the entire earth or even the whole universe???? Dude what???

The fucked up ritual in question is called the Dome Project, which judging only by the name sounds like they’re trying to make Flat Earth real, which is fucking hilarious

ok they were allegedly trying to create a utopia but every “utopia” is flawed so the question is how did they fuck this one up?

Oh damn they were trying to create a perfect“final state of society” that never changes. Even without the eldritch bullshit that’s a terrible idea just look at like every dystopian novel ever (and also the game slay the princess, which is built around the idea that change is a necessary component of life and has Jonny Sims voicing a lot of the dialogue)

I love how this guy’s best argument against bringing the world to a stagnant state is just “but we’re alchemists, guys, change is our whole thing :/”

Was I the only one who thought “et al” was pronounced like “et all” or is it just me? Or is it a regional thing?

Wait was their plan to actually just build a big ass dome to house a “perfect society”?

Oh shit they had actually already started construction.

Of course they were exploiting workers to build this “perfect dome”

THE DOME IS REAL????? (It’s called the millennium dome, don’t just google “dome project” you’ll just find a bunch of unrelated shit about business models and stuff)

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T KNOW HOW LONG THE DOME WILL BE THERE? Isn’t that a major safety issue?

bro thinks the place is supernaturally contaminated and he’s probably right

Oh boy it’s also contaminated with heavy metals the real danger here is lead poisoning

I’m sorry what the fuck??? Construction guy got cloned by some dirt in the site and then his clone just fucking yanked him into the dirt? Clone didn’t even bother to replace him

lol statement writer just went “tldr we shouldn’t do our ritual here it’s fucked up enough as it is and incorporating a stagnant utopia into our eldritch ritual is dumb and we shouldn’t do it”

Alice has realized that Freddy is purposefully giving Sam Magnus statements

GIRLIE DID YOU JUST DELETE IT FROM HIS CASELOAD???

oooh shit she got caught by Lena

“haha Sam’s computer keeps malfunctioning so I tried to fix it and he definitely gave me permission hahaha ANYWAYS when are we getting a new IT guy?” smooth, Alice. Smooth.

Oh shit where’s Gwen? She’s late coming back? Lena doesn’t know where she is????

Ink5oul probably got her

Was that a .jmj error noise I just heard?

Oh fuck we actually get answers to the Gwen question and she is in fact running from ink5oul

Jesus this chase scene is actually scary, I’m impressed. It’s kind of hard to unsettle me this much without involving one of my actual phobias. Nice.

Also I had to google what trash polka is, turns out it’s a really cool tattoo style that’s simultaneously photorealistic and trippy, usually done in black, white, and red.

Oh shit Ink5oul can mess with tattoos they didn’t do

oh fuck they caught Gwen

Hey why is Gwen monologuing like those corpses?

[ERROR]? Where have you been, loca?

WHY IS THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES THEME PLAYING UNDER GWEN’S STATEMENT MONOLOGUE?

The transcript describes [ERROR] as “a nightmarish specter of an older world” and I’m not sure what to make of that yet but they sure are possessive of their victims, apparently. Judging by the fact that they said “there is more” I think they’re targeting either anyone with institute ties or anyone in the OIAR. Maybe both.

Love that Gwen just fucked booked it instead of sticking around to witness whatever that whole [ERROR]/ ink5oul interaction was

I’m glad that [ERROR] didn’t kill ink5oul tbh I like them

THE TAPE RECORDER FUCKING BIT THEM IM CACKLING

The Magnus Protocol sure is a podcast

#tmagp spoilers #tmagp early access #tmagp 21 #tmagp #the magnus protocol

56 notes · View notes

dr-spencer-reids-queen · 1 year ago

Text

Spencer's Choice

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: angst, reuniting long lost love, heartbreak, impossible choice to make

Summary: Breaking up with Spencer is the hardest thing you've ever had to do. You left and returned years later, only to run into him again. Feelings return that you thought were gone. Spencer has a choice to make: you or his family.

Square Filled: goodbye letter (2021) for @cmbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Ah, back in your hometown. You miss the way the sunshine feels on your skin even when the wind blowing is almost at freezing temperatures. You miss the way the cars sound as they’re rushing down the road as a reminder that people need to leave earlier when it comes to this town. You miss the small-town feeling of everyone being so close-knit that you can check up on your neighbors and see how they’re doing every day.

You miss home.

You haven’t been back in the United States in a little over a year, and back in this town for much longer. Ever since you left after you graduated, you really haven’t looked back. It killed you to do so but you were on a mission to better people’s lives with your degree and experience. You’re a very skilled architect who has been involved in many unique projects all over the world. It’s been one big adventure that you love having. You’ve met genuinely good people, tried amazing and unique food, delved into different cultures, and got to experience what others only dream about.

Now you’re just glad to be back in your hometown, relax, and spend the money you’ve been saving for years.

You walk down the familiar road next to the park you used to go to after school every day with your friends. There is something brown in the middle of the sidewalk but upon closer examination, you see it’s a child’s teddy bear. You pick it up in hopes there is a name or a number you can call, but the only thing you can find is an address. Weird. Most people don’t put their addresses on kids’ toys but who are you to judge?

With a quick Google search, you find the address is only two blocks from where you’re at. This is your chance to be a good samaritan and return the bear to a child who is probably missing it. You find the house easily and walk up the porch steps. You knock on the door and wait only ten seconds before it opens. A young girl about the age of seven is standing there with sad eyes.

“Hi, does he belong to you?” you ask and produce the bear.

Her eyes light up happily when she sees the toy.

“Thank you so much!” she squeals and grabs it from you.

“Marissa, what did I tell you about answering the door without your mother or me?” you hear her dad say.

You look up and lock eyes with the only person you’ve ever been in love with: Spencer Reid. You two were high school sweethearts back then, and it was clear to everyone at that school that you two were going to end up together for life. You were in love with him so much and wished you could have stayed, but it broke your heart to break up with him.

You have always wanted to be an architect even when you were younger. Your parents got you Legos that you could build houses from, and you’d build all sorts of different houses with different rooms for everything a person could need. When you got to your junior year, you applied to different colleges for architecture which also included colleges outside of the United States. Never in a million years did you think you’d ever get into those colleges but your mother encouraged you to apply.

Four months before graduation, you got an amazing offer to study at UCL in London with the opportunity to be an intern side by side with one of the most famous architects at that time. What an amazing opportunity, your mother told you. Yes, it was but there was one thing holding you back: Spencer.

It started one of the biggest arguments between you two. It lasted for months leading up to graduation. He obviously didn’t want you to go since you’d be in a different country, but he didn’t want to be the only reason why you’d stay. You wanted to go because this would be an amazing opportunity for you, but you didn't want to go because you didn’t want to leave him.

It took months to come to a decision but Spencer convinced you to go. Long-distance relationships never work out for anyone, and you didn't want to put Spencer through the pain of not seeing you every day or being with you. Breaking up with him was and still is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

You’ve had a few flings over the years that never meant anything because none of them were him. It took a really long time to stop crying over him. Now, seeing him right in front of you is bringing all those fights, that love, and every conversation you’ve ever had with him back. It’s a bit overwhelming, to be honest, and you step back to ground yourself.

Marissa looks up to see her dad looking at you with the same look you’re giving him.

“You don’t look at Mommy like that,” she observes.

“Why don’t you go inside and play? I’ll be right there,” Spencer says distractedly.

Marissa looks at you and goes inside to play with her teddy bear. Spencer steps outside and closes the front door for some privacy.

“I can’t believe you’re standing in front of me right now.”

This isn’t a good idea. You’re going to start crying because the truth is, and you’ve tried so hard to bury it, you’re still in love with him. If you don’t get out of here quickly, the patch over your heart is going to tear and you’re going to start bleeding all over again.

“I’m sorry. I can’t be here right now. I have to go.”

You turn around and walk down the porch steps, but Spencer jumps toward you.

“Wait.” You turn to face him and he sighs in frustration. “I have to get Marissa to the doctor. How long are you in town for?”

“As long as I want. I’m in between projects right now.”

Maybe the reason why you told him this is for the false hope that you two can resume right where you left off.

“Please don’t leave. Please meet with me for coffee tomorrow morning. You remember Jack’s Cafe, right?” How could you not? It’s the place where you and Spencer had your first date and first kiss. “My number hasn’t changed if you still have it.”

“I do,” you whisper.

He never changed it in hopes that you’d call it. You got home after parting ways with him and cried yourself to sleep. Seeing him again after all these years is reverting your mind back to high school graduation. You’re not much better the next day. When you wake up, you decide you’re not going to meet Spencer and just leave. However, when you look at past messages between the two of you on your phone, he deserves this meeting. You deserve to catch up with him.

You rush into the coffee shop knowing you’re late. Spencer is sitting at the table you two used to sit in every single time you went here.

“I thought you weren't going to show,” he says when you sit across from him.

“Honestly, I almost didn’t.”

Spencer slides a coffee over to you and you catch it to prevent it from falling. Just based on the smell alone, you know he still remembers your coffee order.

“How have you been? Any interesting projects you’ve been on?”

You don’t know if the small talk is good or not. It’s to distract you from the real issue but you welcome the distraction.

“Yeah, I’ve done some work in third-world countries with nonprofit organizations. We’ve built homes for people, homeless shelters, and enclosures for animals who are suffering and endangered.”

“That’s amazing. I’m really happy for you.”

“What about you?”

“I pursued my career in the FBI. I have been a profiler for many years. I’m retired now and get to teach others before they go into the academy.”

“Retired? You’re still so young. What happened?” you ask and sip your coffee.

“I went to prison for a couple of months for a crime I didn’t do. It messed with me mentally so I decided to take a different approach. I’m still involved with the FBI just as a teacher.”

Once you two get into the groove of talking, it’s like no time has passed. You’re laughing and having a good time with him as if you didn’t break his heart all those years ago. You’re falling in love with him all over again.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

Just like that, you’re back to how you were feeling before. The laughter dies off and you pick at the ends of your sweater.

“No. I haven’t had a steady relationship since--” You stop yourself from saying it out loud. He understands what you’re trying to say. He reaches over and grabs your hand. As soon as he makes contact with your skin, you quickly pull away from him. “You have a family.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You look happy.”

“Yeah, I am.”

His words tell you one thing but his tone tells you something completely different. There is a longing in his eyes that suggests he would drop everything in his life if it meant he got to be with you.

“I’m really happy for you,” you say with tears in your eyes.

“Y/N…”

“I shouldn’t have come here. You have a wife and daughter now.” You drop your voice to a whisper. “I’m too late.”

You’re already out the door before Spencer can process your words. Not only was coming to this coffee date a bad idea, but coming back to your hometown where Spencer also lives was an even worse idea. The projects waiting for your involvement will have to come a little earlier than planned.

You hate doing this to Spencer but you write a letter explaining how you feel about him and this whole situation. Once you’re done, you head to his house hoping he isn’t going to be there. You walk up the steps and notice something in the window next to the door. Spencer is sitting on the couch next to his wife and she’s comforting her. About the botched date? About you? About something else?

Damn it. Why did she have to be gorgeous?

You stick the note in the door and swiftly turn to leave. Spencer sniffles and looks up to see your long hair flowing in the wind. At first, he thought he was seeing things but then his brain caught up to the rest of him. By the time he walks out there, you’re already gone. Your note sways to the ground so he picks it up and starts reading it.

Spencer,

I am so sorry for the way we left things all those years ago. Leaving you was the hardest thing I ever had to do, and hurting you was never my intention. I love you with all my heart and wish things had ended differently between us. You have a family now that I never wanted to disturb. I kind of thought by coming back here, I’d be reminded of what’s really important. Seeing you after all these years did just that. I don’t want to hurt you now, but I’m leaving. I’ll be accepting other projects that need me, and you can continue to be with your family. I wish you the very best.

Y/N

Spencer can’t let you go this easily without letting you know how he feels. He tells his wife he’s going over to Derek’s house but ends up going to the biggest airport in the state. It’s the airport that has the most flights coming and going so you have to be here. He doesn’t know which flight you’re going to get on so he buys a ticket for one of them and hope for the best.

He rushes through the entire airport in search of you, wishing you hadn’t gotten on one of the airplanes yet. He’s sweaty and disheveled but determined to find you before you board. He runs around the corner and scans the many gates with people boarding their planes. There at the far end of the building is you. You’re in line to get on the plane.

“Y/N!” Spencer yells.

You don’t hear him and move up in the line. Spencer breaks out in a run in hopes of getting to you in time. You hand the attendant your ticket so she can check you in. She doesn’t question the dried tears on your cheeks as she does. Once finished, you grab your ticket and walk onto the bridge.

“Y/N! Wait!”

Spencer runs past everyone and tries to get onto the bridge but the two attendants posted there prevent him from going in.

“Sir, you need to wait in line like everyone else.”

“Please, I just have to talk to her.”

“Sir, I can’t let you on there without a proper ticket.”

“Y/N!!!” Spencer screams to get your attention, hoping you’re not too far away. He waits agonizingly for you to show up. He’s about to yell again when you come around the corner with tears in your eyes. “Y/N, I need to talk to you.”

“Spencer,” you gasp. You leave the bridge and take him off to the side. People stare but go about their business to give you two some privacy. “What are you doing here?”

“Please don’t leave.”

“But your family--”

“Please don’t leave. I can’t bear to watch you walk away again. I let you go once. I can’t--refuse--to let you walk away again.”

Spencer grabs your face and kisses you like he should have done all those years ago. You get lost in the way he’s making you feel so you kiss him back. It feels so good to feel his lips on yours again. He feels like home. The image of him and his wife pops up in your head, and you pull away from him with tears streaming down your face.

“What about your wife? Your daughter?”

“I don’t know but please don’t leave. I love you.”

He’s only here because of the feelings you drudged up. He was happy before you came back into his life.

“I can’t do this right now. I have to get on the plane.”

“Please don’t get on that plane,” he begs.

“Miss? Are you getting on? We’re taking the last call,” the attendant asks.

“Spencer, I have to get on the plane. They’re waiting for me.” You step away from him even though it kills you to. “You have a family now. Maybe if I never left before, things might have been different. I can’t do that to them.”

You hand your ticket to the attendant even though she allows you to go through. Spencer watches you get on the plane, and the attendant shuts and locks the door behind you. Spencer has a very important choice to make:

Does he go back to his family and pretend this never happened or follow you? Stay with what’s comfortable or follow the one woman who has always made him feel alive? Her or you?

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

266 notes · View notes

akingdomscrypt · 1 year ago

Text

Make a Mercy Out of Me

Part Two

Pairing; König x m!reader

Word count; ~5.8k

Warnings(?); ...the google translate is abundant in this one. But I did add some translations this time!

A/n: this took me. so. long. Three drafts later, writing each section separately then again for coherency sake.. my hands hurt. Hopefully this was worth the wait! <3

('reader' during the second portion of this chapter^^)

(I think I should mention that this was originally an OC but I figured more people would enjoy it if I made it x reader. So while the appearance is left anonymous, backstory n shit is pretty solid.)

--- "empty note" ---

"Good." The voice rumbles from behind you. You huff an irritated breath and shake your head.

The man grabs your other hand and forces it behind your back. The familiar sound of metal clinking together ignites your fight or flight and you begin to struggle. Panic surges through you and you tug, hard. The rough movement pulls on your fractured arm and you bite down harshly on your tongue to stifle a shout.

The man tightens his hold on you, gloved fingers digging into the flesh of your forearms.

"Shit- fuck, damn you, asshole-" You seeth but stop moving.

The sound of several sets of footsteps echoing through the corridor you had just come from lets you know that he's not alone. The men you'd heard talking earlier at the front desk were indeed with him.

When you got out of this, and you would, you were going to have a word or two with your handler.. consequences be damned.

You're dragged backward by the grip on your arms, stumbling a bit as you're forced to follow. The man brings you a little way deeper back into the hall you'd just escaped, your sliver of freedom slamming shut in front of you with a dull click.

The footsteps get closer and soon enough another man is creeping into your peripheral. The tall man walks until he's standing a few feet away from you. You match his glare with a harsh one of your own, not succumbing to that piercing blue.

"Good job," he says to the man restraining you, stare unwavering. "We're taking him with us. Let's go."

The man turns until you're facing back down the way you had come, then begins ushering you forward. Three other people are watching you as you're pushed down the hall. One covered head to toe in black, a skull mask layered on a fabric base obscuring his face. Another sports a, surprisingly, neat mohawk and babyface that makes his scowl just that little bit less threatening. The last is a darker-skinned man, his eyes on the man who seems to be in charge as opposed to you.

The big one holding you continues walking without faltering for even a second. The skull-faced man and the baby take the front charge, leading you two through the halls. The other lags behind to join the leader, the two herding you from the back.

Having three people out of your range of sight made your hair stand on end–but the position in which you had been forced into left you powerless to put a stop to it. So, going against every fiber in your body, you complied. Allowing them to think they were in full control would benefit you in the end, you just had to bide your time.

The journey to the front office is a lot shorter than it had seemed when you were stumbling blindly through the building. The woman who's usually at the front desk is uncharacteristically absent when they drag you through the front door.

Your breath is still coming out hot and heavy within the confines of your cloth mask, the sudden influx of humid air hitting you and the sun beating down on you only adds to the already fuzzy feeling clouding your mind. Sweat slicks your skin, making your hair stick and your clothes rub uncomfortably.

It's a good thing the residence you'd chosen was on the outskirts of the town as it prevented too much attention from being brought to the group of six well-built men. It also meant you had a clear shot at running, you just needed to wait for the perfect opportunity.

You're herded off the streets and into the soggy plains beyond the city. Just a little more, just a little closer.. and you could make your escape.

Your legs are shaky and the pain in your shoulder and thigh have become nothing but a throbbing afterthought. Which would be concerning, if you weren't more focused on keeping yourself conscious enough to make a run for it.

Your movements begin to slow, sluggishly moving one foot in front of the other. The heavy, noisy thumps of your footfalls and your labored breathing are all that you can hear. When you begin faltering too much, the man behind you shoves you forward–forcing you to stagger like a newborn fawn to regain your balance and pick up your pace.

After what feels like forever you spot a beige-colored van in the distance. The two men taking the lead arrive first and you see the shorter one speak a few words before nudging the taller's arm with his. As you approach, the two behind you move to the front and you feel as though some weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Now about a yard from the vehicle, the grip on you loosens–but you don't run. Not yet. Keeping your head low, you glance up at each of the four men within your line of sight. Flickering from one to another you gauge their positions, who would be the fastest, and who would notice first?

The hold falls away completely, but the man remains hovering behind you. You don't move. The five communicate in small, clipped words. None of which have any meaning to you, so you file them as unimportant and focus on making an escape route.

It would be foolish to just charge and hope for the best. You had no weapons on you, your duffle was back in your room, and each of the men had a visible gun or two strapped to their hip. There was also no way of telling what other weapons they possessed that were simply not within sight.

So you wait. Wait for the man behind you to take a step back. Wait for the shortest of the crew to hop into the backseat farthest from you. Wait for the second to open up the back portion of the van. Wait for the leader to capture the skull-faced man's attention.

Then you make a break for it. A shift in your weight from one foot to the other could be easily misread as you simply being tired. After all, you had been on your feet all morning. Another shift and the man watching you would grow a bit suspicious, but not enough to act.

Launching yourself away with a forceful kick to the ground to gain as much distance as you could with that first step would quickly turn that suspicion into action. His gloved fingers just barely graze your forearms as you dart away.

For a second you think you're going to get away. For a moment you're hopeful. Heavy footsteps pound behind you, but you've always been quick–surely, surely you can get away. Even injured, that giant could never catch up to you.

You shouldn't have been so focused on him. Should've been listening for the other footfalls stampeding behind you. More importantly, the quick, light steps rushing at you.

In the end, you only make it a few yards before the blunt end of something heavy rams into your skull from behind. Your world is forced into darkness, though of course not before you get a mouthful of mud.

You wake up in a daze. The ground is moving beneath you and you can't see shit. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears and your mouth is beyond dry.

You don't last long. And soon enough you're succumbing to that void once again. Though this time it's from blood loss and not being whacked in the head by the stock of a rifle.

The next, and final, time you come to is by force. Deft fingers dig into the meat of your thigh and your eyes snap open with a cut-off gasp. You're met with a blindingly bright white light, blinking a few times in quick succession to adjust. The fingers disappear, as does the sharp, stinging pain–now replaced with a renewed burn.

You recognize the man looming over you as the leader from before, and you grimace in distaste. Thankfully, as reinforced by the rubbing of stiff cloth over your cheeks, they hadn't removed your mask. You almost sigh in relief, at least you weren't going to lose your job–then you remember where you are and how you got here, which puts a hard stop to that thought.

"You've had us chasing your tail for a while, kiddo." He rumbles in a deep, British accent. It was the first time he had directly spoken to you and that has you on edge. Why him? And not one of his little helpers?

Your eyes flick around the room you're in. There's nothing but white, concrete walls–stained with questionable shades of brown near the baseboards–, an overhead lamp, and a well-worn roll-up door to your left. Some sort of storage unit. What remains is you, the man in front of you, and the chair you're tied to.

Having both arms restrained behind you pulls uncomfortably at your fractured arm and stab wound. You're also bound to the chair by the thick rope looping around your waist and legs. All the movement of your attempted escape and transport from the city to wherever the hell you were now had irritated your injuries–blood soaking through the makeshift bandages and staining your clothes to the point the original color was no longer recognizable.

A sharp clicking sound has you snapping your head up, yanking you out of your thoughts. You feel the tiniest bit of shame crawl up your spine when you realize the noise had come from the blue-eyed man. Grabbing your attention like one would do a well-trained mutt.

You grit your teeth and huff, glare burning holes into the other man's retinas. He raises one brunette eyebrow and you resist the temptation to wipe that arrogant look off his face with a few choice words.

"Did you hear any of what I jus' said?" You don't give him the satisfaction of a response, but the little puff of air from his nose indicates he knows damn well you did not.

"Listen close, kid," he leans forward a bit by the waist, bucket hat shadowing the upper portion of his face. "'Cause I'm not too keen on repeating myself."

When you don't reply, he continues.

"You're going to tell me everything I want to know, got it?" Silence.

You needed to get out of here. Needed an escape. But what were you supposed to do with a most likely fractured arm, a recently relocated shoulder, and a stab wound–all on the same arm, mind you. The gouge in your thigh was really just an added bonus. A nice little ribbon to tie it all together.

"Well ya' certainly aren't the chatty type." He sighs. "Very well, then. But I do expect an answer."

Part of you wished you hadn't been so adamant about going solo–then you remember the last time you worked with someone, and that thought is quickly ushered out the window. Being on your own was kind of your.. thing. You don't mesh well with others. Everyone knew that–your handler, your other sectionmates, hell even the execs all the way up the food chain were aware of this tidbit. It's what made you good at your job, and everyone made sure to steer clear of you because of this. Except for Nina, the damn stubborn bastard.

"What's your name?"

You didn't really.. have a name anymore. Myš, Maus, Mouse. Really, it didn't make much of a difference to you. You had lost the privilege of having a birth name a long.. long ass time ago. Too long to care about it. Even before your section had given you the title–a bit of an inside joke, a little jest on your height–of Myš, you had only been referred to by letter and number. Like branding on cattle.

"Alright-" he takes a step back, standing up to his full height. "Fair. What about who ya' work for? Your cause?"

You tilt your head up to follow him as he moves, never once breaking eye contact.

Did he really think you were that stupid? That you'd just up and give the name of the organization that had basically raised you? Had taken you in when no one else had cared to? You try not to think about the fact you don't actually know who you work for. There isn't a name to it–you just do your job. Taking out corrupt scumbags and cleaning up messes.

"Do ya' even have a cause? Or are ya' jus' killing rich folks for the 'ell of it?"

You didn't have one, not really. Morals and red tape pretty much flew out the window the second you were upgraded from hatchling to predator. You had a job, and you did it. It's what made you better than the rest. Your first solo mission had impressed even your handler, and isn't that a wild thought?

A few more unanswered questions and the man is beginning to get frustrated. Even his attempts to poke at you until you snap fall short. Which only makes him all the more annoyed.

"Are ya' bloody mute or something?" He asks, entirely fed up with your bullshit by now. "Or do you' think you'll get out of this by playing the long game?"

It's not like you'd get out by blabbing your mouth. Besides, you were pretty certain you were a dead man if you gave him what he wanted.

"Look, kid," the way he stares you down makes your skin crawl. "No one is coming for you. No one. No one's gonna save ya'. You're stuck here, with me. So either answer my questions, or I'll have to resort to other methods."

You know no one's coming. You knew that the second your jerk of a handler hung up on you.

Still, his words unintentionally rip open a fresh wound and you let out a small snort. He perks up at the sound; as if he's finally found that loose thread he's been searching for and is planning on pulling on it until you break.

"The big one." You cut him off when he opens his mouth again. You'd rather not hear what other nonsense he has to spout and, if you were being honest, he was a little boring. "Bring him."

Your voice is hoarse, rough, and pitched low. The man hesitates, then sighs. He doesn't reply verbally, but the way he walks away in defeat lets you know you've won this round.

One down, four more to go.

From the moment the two hulking figures, both masked, had walked into your peripheral, you knew you were in for a treat. The man with the skull face took his place perched against the wall across from you, the other, much larger man pulled out a metal folding chair to place in front of you. Backward with the backrest facing you, he sat with his thighs on either side of it–practically straddling the damn thing as he stared you down.

"So," the one in front of you began, folding his arms over the back of the chair. "Shall we begin?"

His voice was surprisingly more high-pitched than you'd anticipated. Earlier today–or what you assume was, you didn't really have a great grasp of time at the moment–when you were half unconscious and high as hell on adrenaline, his tone had been a lot deeper. Or, maybe not deep, exactly, just more.. rumbly, thicker. Now it still holds that same Germanic–Austrian maybe?–accent, only a lot more hoarse and almost.. pitchy? No, that wasn't it. You didn't know how to describe it.

You'd be the last to admit it was.. intriguing. Yes. Intriguing. That was the word–that's all it was.

You shift in your seat–or as much as your current position allows at least–and clear your throat. Seconds tick by, and he says nothing. Discomfort begins to trickle in, weaving its way through your nerves and up your spine. Settling heavily at the base of your neck.

Electric blue-grey bores into your own dull gaze. You break away from it after a tense second or two, unable to hold it for much longer. Instead, your eyes flick to the other man behind him and to the left. That menacing amber is no better and soon enough you're dropping his gaze too.

You settle for finding a place on the cloth of his hood, in between those gunmetal hues. Not exactly avoiding eye contact, but not initiating it either. Silence lulls on, an uncomfortable weight in the air.

It makes you want to squirm, makes you want to fill the empty void between you and the two towering figures. You were never one to shy away from the quiet–if anything you often found yourself basking in it. The majority of your missions were done solo, so time to yourself wasn't something you really lacked. It was comforting, like a sweet escape from the hellscape that was your home base. Nice. That's how you'd describe the solitary you often found yourself in.

This silence, though, puts you on edge. It just wasn't… 'nice'. There was nothing to seek comfort in. No crevices of wood and metal to squeeze yourself into, no damp, mildewy grass to welcome you home. This quiet was cold, distant. It stalked around you, judgment in the false pretense of analysis. It watched, it leered at you. Picking you apart, cleaning the meat from your skeleton, and sucking the marrow from your bones.

The rubber sole of your worn boot scuffs against the floor, unconsciously bracing yourself for.. something. Anything. Anything was better than this. Whatever this was.

It made you want to open your mouth. Made you want to break that vow of silence you'd unintentionally taken the moment that brunette Brit had spoken to you. Your skin crawled, fingers twitching as they itched to remove the filthy mask that obscured your identity. That chained you to a life of adrenaline rushes, stale corner store food, and blood-stained clothes.

You couldn't, sadly. No matter how badly you'd like to. It was your safety net, no matter how much you hated it. It kept you anonymous, kept you guarded from the prying eyes of strangers. Kept your expressions in check–like the way your teeth were currently trying to gnaw a hole through the soft flesh of your cheek.

His eyes search you. You notice. They inspect every part of your bloodied, muddy form. From your matted hair to the peeling, makeshift bandage on your arm, and further still. Down, down, down. Following your exposed torso down to your rope-bound legs, lingering over the crimson mess of your injured thigh then back up again.

If you felt uncomfortable before, now you were on fire. And not in a good way.

You needed something. Needed to get him to talk. Needed to get one of them to do something. So, pulling on the frayed memory of the language, you finally speak. They better treasure this damn victory for the rest of their pathetic lives–which, hopefully, wouldn't be much longer.

"Du sprichst Deutsch, ja?" (You speak German, yes?) Your voice comes out weak, scratchy from dehydration. You clear it once more and wait.

A small, barely even noticeable, tilt of the man's head is the only evidence that he even heard you. That's all the confirmation you need to dig your claws in and pull.

"Wie heißt du?" (What's your name?)

Eventually, after a few more terse moments of silence, he opens his mouth for the third time since you two had met.

"Du zuerst." (You first.)

His voice, no matter how dead-sounding, is the sweet reprieve you've been searching for–a pleasant salve for the aching burn in your chest. You almost sigh in relief at the sound of it. You don't, that's one more hit your ego definitely cannot take. But the point is you almost do, and that fact leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

You don't exactly.. want to give yours first–nothing is tethering him to his word. Nothing holding him hostage until he does the same, as he implies he will. What you want doesn't matter at the moment. What matters is survival.

And, well, if you want to get further into his head, you might as well.

"They call me.." you drawl, noting the way the man's gloved fingers twitch where they rest against the arm guard covering his forearm. "..Maus." (Mouse.)

"Maus?" He says. You can hear the disbelief, maybe even the slight humor in his tone when he repeats it. Even the man behind him–who you'd almost completely forgotten about–gives a small snort.

You clench and unclench your jaw a few times, fighting back the irritation that nags at the base of your skull.

"Your turn." Is all you say in response. It's not like it's even your real name–though after over a decade of use, it pretty much has welded itself to you. Stuck on you, just like this damn feculent cloth.

"König." He says it with a certain air of confidence, and you almost scoff at that. Typical. You're not surprised–a self-assured, military bulk of a man like him. You have half a mind to tease him about it. Then you remember where you are, who he is, and you refrain.

You look from König to his–most likely–equally egotistical friend and raise a brow.

"And…?"

He frowns. Or, at least you think he does. His eyebrows pull together a bit, and those slanted eyes narrow in the slightest.

"C'mon, König." Ah, another Brit. "Stop toying with the poor guy and do your damn job."

König grumbles something unintelligible under his breath followed by an honorific in German before redirecting his attention to you.

"Now that we have finally got your name," he sighs. "There are other more.. pressing questions that need answer."

"Which are?"

He gives you a pointed look. It doesn't take long before you groan in defeat and tip your head back, recognition hitting you like a ton of bricks.

"Nein." You grit out, leveling the other man with a glare. "That wasn't me."

"Then who was it, Maus?" The skull-faced Brit speaks up again, the way he pronounces the word grates on your nerves. You'd simplified it, mainly for the Austrian's sake, and he'd still managed to mispronounce it.

Fucking Brits.

"Just 'Mouse'." You shoot him a dirty look before shifting your focus back to König–who, while still very intimidating, was a lot less so now that he was speaking.

"I do not know who was behind it."

"How do we know you are telling the truth?"

"Fucking-" you whisper out a few more silent curses in your native tongue. After getting it out of your system, you answer;

"Why the fuck would I hit myself with it? Seems a bit counterintuitive, no?"

"Maybe your timing is jus' shite."

"Or, maybe," you're on the verge of losing your patience, and it hasn't even been five minutes. "It was not me."

"Then who was it?" König leans his head forward a bit, those ice-cold blue hues piercing into your very soul. "What were you even doing there? With that dreary old lady?"

Your eyes shift from one hulking brute to the other, seeing their goddamn fixation on this minute event, you decide fuck it and give in.

"I am certain you are both familiar with the drill, yes?" That blank stare gets you nowhere. "You are given a target, you go after said target? That is what I was up to–I was receiving, uh, intel on a target."

"Intel?" The Brit.

"Sometimes it is coords, sometimes it's other minuscule bits of information. Like a fucked up puzzle."

"And this time?" König asks.

"A name."

More of that stiff silence follows your admittance, but it's not like the suffocating type from earlier. It's speculative, calculating. Probably wondering just whose name you had received.

Now that you thought about it–you hadn't exactly had the privilege of indulging in that information as of yet. Too busy getting blown up, chased, stabbed, then chased again. And now you are here.

"A name?" The Brit repeats at the same time König questions; "Who?"

You're quiet for a moment, trying to decide if you want to divulge the little tidbit that you aren't entirely sure who. As if that would help with their nonexistent faith in you.

"That's classifi-"

König launches himself off the chair, metal scraping unpleasantly against concrete. You only barely manage to suppress a flinch, muscles seizing up into something that leaves you with more likeness to a marble statue than a human being.

He looms over you, now standing at his full height. Those paralyzing grey-blues tear into you with an untapped store of anger; made all the more intense with those shadows engulfing all but his irises and bright sclera.

König leans down a fraction, just so as to keep your focus solely on him and him only. A heavy hand comes down to grip your shoulder, gloved thumb finding the exact point of your stab wound–digging in with practiced precision. It burns, holy fuck it burns. A flame licking up the length of your arm, cauterizing your nerve endings and forcing a low, garbled whine from your throat. You don't look away–finding it nearly impossible to break away from the penetrating stare. A traitorous part of your brain whispers you don't want to.

"Sie haben nur so viele Gliedmaßen, Maus."(You only have so many limbs, Mouse.) He grumbles out–that same, deep rumble that sends you back in time to your first meeting. "Nichts davon ist nötig, um zu sprechen. Ich schlage vor, Sie wählen Ihre nächsten Worte mit Bedacht." (None of which are needed to speak. I suggest you choose your next words wisely.)

You swallow thickly, and the next breath that leaves you is shakier than you'd like–equal parts fear and something.. something you'd rather not put a name to. It's like the skull-faced Brit isn't even there anymore, only just the two of you. Heavy, strained silence lulls between you both; neither seeming to have any intention of breaking it. A thread dangles in before you, barely out of reach–and you want nothing more than to pull it. To pounce like the predator to your namesake would. To keep pulling and pulling and pulling until the man looming over you fell apart at the seams. Crumbling at your feet. To see how far you could push him until he broke.

"Moje vrecká." You finally cave in, clearing–for the third fucking time in ten minutes–your throat once more when your voice comes out more affected than you find acceptable. Then you repeat yourself, louder this time for the both of them–now finally remembering the voyeur only a few meters away. "My pockets."

König doesn't look away, but he does cock his head slightly to the side.

"The lady." Your voice is still less than ideal, hoarse and vaguely hinting at something more primal. It's better than it was, though, and you pin the roughness of it on your extreme dehydration at the moment. "From the city square. She was- was carrying something for me. A message. I slipped it in my pockets when collecting her–frankly quite an excessive amount of–items."

"What did it say?" Ah, so the Brit hadn't completely vanished during the course of whatever the fuck just happened.

"I don't know."

"Was meinst du mit.. "I don't know"?" (What do you mean by..) The pressure against your wound increases.

"I mean," you stress, already feeling yourself coming back to your senses. Which, admittedly, didn't mean much at the moment. "I do not know. I never got the chance to read it over. After that damn explosion, then getting stabbed, then you lot chasing me down. I did not exactly have time to sit by a fire n' get myself a good look, now did I?"

"And we're jus' supposed to believe you?"

You spare a glance over to the damn Brit–who was increasingly rising in his place on your I-never-want-to-hear-you-speak-again list; quite the lengthy list, you might add. With a huff and barely restrained roll of your eyes, you reiterate;

"My damn pockets." You grit out. "Check them. That is all the proof you will need."

Skull-face gives a curt nod to König when the latter looks back at him–the hand on your bandaged shoulder disappears. You track every movement the man makes when he reaches in to explore pocket number one. Every hesitation, every crinkle of distaste in his limited expression. Payback's a bitch, after all. Now it's your turn to make him squirm.

"Aye." You drawl when his trembling(?) fingers skirt over the grimy fabric of your waist on their journey over to investigate the other pocket. "A little too close there, you think?"

"Hält's Maul." (Shut up.) The words come out a muffled rumble, and it takes everything in you not to make another comment.

After a little more fumbling König pulls out a crumpled, tattered piece of folded paper. It has yellowed at the edges and is covered in an excessive amount of dried mud and water stains. Though no matter how much horror the poor scrap has been through, your handlers' impeccable penmanship should be legible enough.

You find yourself leaning up in the slightest as König unravels it, also curious to see who–or what–your target is. There's a hitch of his breath, a stall of his movements–and all signs point to the unfavorable.

"Was?" (What?) Those ridged grey-blues seize you again, searching. Was it König? Or one of his associates? Maybe someone the man knew?

König wordlessly flips the paper around to face you–one would assume he'd show his friend first..–your stomach drops when you read over the red ink you're so familiar with.

Or rather, the lack thereof.

"Nie." (No.) You breathe. Because, really, what else is there to say? "Nie, nie, nie-"

"That is not– that is not possible–" That chill creeps up your spine again, but it's worse than before. Worse than the stagnant silence from earlier. It consumes you, floods your system with ice-cold water–fills your lungs, and crystalizes in your trachea. "She wouldn't–"

But she would, wouldn't she? After all, she'd practically left you to die back when you were bleeding out in that hotel room. Told you that getting the target was more important, not a care in the world for your safety. Then again, there was no target, was there? Not really. It had all been a ploy. A reason to push you overseas–away from everything you've ever known, everything that brought you comfort–and get you isolated.

No one would look for you. No one probably even knew you were here. Not your old sectionmates, not Nina–no one. You were entirely on your own. Again. But, really, when has it ever been any different?

It was all a farce, a plot to get rid of you–and you had free-fallen right into that snake pit. All of your own volition. The freezing spikes of betrayal quickly melt into white-hot rage.

"That conniving piece of shit-" you grit out, not a thought in your mind except her. Probably sitting in that shitty office chair, squeaky springs and all, with that smug fucking look on her face. Not grinning, no, she didn't smile. At this point, you were convinced she simply couldn't. She'd accomplished her mission, she'd gotten rid of you. Disposed of you like last week's leftovers. There was nothing left for her to worry about anymore–for all she knew you could be dead. "Idem ju spáliť, kurva ju koža zaživa. Bude si želať, aby ma nikdy neprevalcovala, nikdy ma ani nestretla."

She's going to wish she had never been born. There was going to be nothing left when you were done with her. "I am going to fucking kill her."

"..who?" You jerk your head up at the noise, tunnel vision widening to encompass the two men you had entirely forgotten about–you hadn't even realized you'd hunched over as far as the bindings would allow, fists clenched so tight it was a surprise your tendons hadn't snapped.

"My fucking–" you cut yourself off, seething behind your mask. It didn't matter how pent-up you were, spilling your life story to these lunatics wouldn't solve shit. If anything it would only worsen your situation. "She left me."

The confusion in their eyes only doubles. "She fucking- abandoned me. Left me with nothing. Left me to die. Left me with you."

They share a glance, and if you were any less absorbed in your own mind at the moment, you probably could've deciphered it for what it was. A golden ticket. A weak point. Something to poke and prod at–an advantage. You don't notice, though, and it's a damn shame.

"She, this person, is the one who sent you here? The one who gives you your targets?" The Brit inquires.

"Fucking obviously." You snarl. Wasn't that clear? You were only here because of her. Because you'd trusted her to pull you out if things went sideways–or maybe not trust. Never trust. You'd never held any sort of feeling like that for another. No. It was an obligation. She was supposed to follow through, keep you alive, that was her damn job.

"And what now?" Skull-face.

"You wanted to know what I was after?"

"...are you going to tell us?"

"Release me."

"What?" Collective disbelief.

"Let me go, and I will.. I will help you."

"You?" König scoffs. "Help us?"

"Ja," you meet those grey-blue hues once more, and grin beneath your mask–it's not pleasant. A twisted thing, really, and if they could see it they probably wouldn't want your help at all. Not that they seemed much interested anyhow, but you could fix that.

"I have resources. I have… leverage. I can be useful." You tilt your head a little to the right, focusing entirely on the man in front of you. He seemed the most malleable at the moment. Perfect. "Release me, König. And I could make the world bleed."

The ball was in his court now, but you had a feeling he wouldn't deny you. A slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and you know you've hit home. Hook, line, and fucking sinker.

___

One | Masterpost | Next

~~~

@cptg00s3 @ruthgrimxiao @20nerd04-blog

(if anyone else wants to be added, let me know in the comments!)

#call of duty #cod x male reader #könig cod #könig x male reader #male reader #call of duty x male reader #reader insert #x reader #call of duty x reader #könig x reader #könig #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #tehe #gay #mlm

261 notes · View notes

thefallennightmare · 2 years ago

Text

Moment of Weakness-twenty eight

*credit to whoever created the gif. found on google/Pinterest *

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: language, smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Author's Note: Get ready, everyone. We've reached the big part of this story. Also, ONLY THREE CHAPTERS LEFT!

Tags(closed): @splendidreads @sebsgirl71479 @mdpplgtz03 @pattiemac1 @unaxv @alana4610 @broadwaybabe18 @themayzittcha @playboystark @raajali3 @ozwriterchick @ragamuffin285 @screamingdying @themorningsunshine @kenziekugler22 @calwitch @sebastianstansqueen @stanaddict @stucky-simp03 @sleyeveryday @loustan90 @lyra-black13 @valsworldofcreativity @cjand10 @tesseract69 @batprincess1013 @subwaysurf45 @arsonfrogger @yoruse @5moremin @lipstickandtanqueray @mandijo17 @joannaromanoff @justsebstan @winters1917 @elizacusi-blog @football1921 @elxvrr

The rays of the sun broke through the small opening of the curtains, blanketing warmness over Bucky and I as we laid in bed. I had been awake for a while now, simply staring at him, heart swelling in adoration and love. We’d been sharing a bed the last couple of nights, both needing the sense of security from one another. All we would do was lay in each other's arms, that’s it. Even though we were getting close again, I didn’t want to jump right back into everything until I felt I was ready too.

Bucky’s hair was falling into his eyes so I gently brushed it away, the urge to kiss his plump lips was unbearable. I leaned on my elbow to stare down at him, a soft snore sounding from his mouth.

As if he felt me staring, Bucky’s eyes slowly opened with a very large smile appearing on his face when we noticed me staring.

He snuggled closer to his pillow. “Hm, good morning, doll.”

“Morning,” I smiled back.

His vibranium arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer into him. I rested my head against his chest and hooked my leg around his waist, locking him into place. This is what our mornings had been spent the last couple of days before Bucky locked himself in his office at home for the day, trying to find more leads on Clint or Natasha.

Absolutely nothing. It was as if they dusted away, their lives almost forgotten.

“Are you busy tonight?” Bucky asked while rubbing my back.

I couldn't help but snicker at his question. He knew that with the hit on me, I refused to leave the house alone. To be honest, I rarely left his house this past week, not wanting to risk anything. There was no way Bucky would let me leave by myself anyway.

“I think my schedule is open,” I joked with a smile while looking up at him. “Why?”

“Would you like to go out to dinner with me?”

My breath caught in my throat. “Like a date?”

Bucky could feel the way my body tensed in his embrace so he gave my hip a soft squeeze. “Whatever you want to call it; a date or two friends getting dinner.”

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, debating the offer around in my mind for a few minutes.

“How about we start it off as friends and see where it goes?” I suggested.

He smiled, brushing his lips across the top of my head. “As long as you're comfortable, Y/N.”

My laughter bounced off the small confines of Bucky’s car as he drove us back home, our dinner replaying in my mind over and over. It had been so long since I had someone do everything Bucky did tonight and my heart was swimming.

It started with him renting a small section of the restaurant for us, him pulling out my chair for me, and the table had a very large bouquet of black roses, my favorite. He already had a set menu for tonight, knowing what I liked, and when we talked he let me talk endlessly as I told him about me; things he didn't know. Not once did he interrupt, only kept his bright eyes on me the entire time.

Bucky then divulged into his own life growing up and I learned so many things about him that surprised me. Our hands were linked on his lap under the table the entire time, his vibranium thumb pressing light circles on my skin.

He pulled the car to a stop at a red light then looked over at me. “Have I told you how breathtaking you look tonight?”

I smiled, my hand resting behind his neck, fingers playing with the end of his hair.

“Once or twice.”

The car started to move again but I could tell that Bucky was still upset with what happened tonight so I placed my other hand on his knee.

“You know you could have asked Steve or Sam to hang around. That way you wouldn't be so on edge at some points, "I said.

“I didn’t like the way the waiter kept staring at you. I couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t try something,” Bucky said while gripping the wheel a bit too hard. “I can take care of you, Y/N.”

I bit back a laugh. “It could be the fact that the dress I chose was a bit too short.”

His eyes were laced with darkness as they quickly grazed over my form, slowly licking his lips. I felt my body ignite under his gaze so I shifted in my seat, the air shifted around us and I suddenly wanted to feel him all over me again.

We arrived back at his house before I knew it and neither of us made an effort to leave the car, only staring deeply at each other. Our breathing synced as Bucky lifted my chin up towards him.

“So was this a date?” Bucky’s voice was gentle, quiet.

I nodded without hesitation. “This was the best date I had been on in a very long time. Thank you, Bucky.”

“Anything for you, doll,” he breathed over my lips.

The Bucky that I had been around the last few days was different from the one from months ago. He was more attentive towards me, sweet, and willing to take everything slow. All the anger I felt for him had vanished long ago, my love for him outweighing all the bad.

I was done taking it slow.

“Bucky?” My voice husked.

His shoulders shivered. “Yea?”

My tongue rolled over my bottom lip, it got caught between my teeth.

“Did you want-.”

I was cut off by his phone ringing but Bucky ignored it. “Not important.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Doll,” he leaned closer to me. “You’re the only thing that matters to me right now.”

Without a second thought, I crashed my lips to his and he wasted no time either by lifting me into his lap, the steering wheel digging into my back. I scratched and pulled at his hair, doing whatever I could to deepen the kiss. His tongue tangled with mine and I moaned into his mouth when his vibranium hand squeezed my ass to bring our hips closer together.

I leaned my head back when Bucky began biting and sucking at the sweet spot of my neck, our movements becoming familiar with each other all over again. He remembered exactly where to touch or kiss that would set me off, in the most euphoric way.

My name fell from Bucky’s lip when I started to rut my hips into his, trying to scratch that itch I felt almost everyday since we came back into each other's lives.

“Should we take this inside?” I asked breathlessly from our kiss.

Bucky didn't answer, only kicked open the car door and carried me inside the house. We were so engrossed with each other that the text message from Baron Zemo, that interrupted us before, went unread.

“Oh, Bucky,” I moaned, nails scratching and pulling at his hair.

His moans were swallowed by the lips between my legs, his tongue pressing circles on my sweetest spot. I hooked both of my legs around his neck, almost smothering him. Bucky didn’t complain once, only kept his actions up, moving even faster.

I lifted my hips up from the bed as my orgasm washed over me without warning and cried out his name over and over again in praise.

Bucky didn’t bother waiting for the white haze to pass from my eyes before he hooked my leg over his hip and buried his dick between my folds. I clenched around him and he let out the most guttural moan which made my eyes flutter shut.

“I missed this so,” he slid his dick out but left the tip in.

“Fucking much.”

With a hard snap of his hips, he began to move them erratically, his pace unforgiving and unruly. It was what exactly I needed, my nails grasping at anything I could reach. The sheets of the bed, the skin of his back. Anything.

“Bucky,” I breathed.

He buried his face in my neck. “I miss the way you say my name. The way you touch.”

I whined at the sudden emptiness as Bucky dragged his soaked cock from me to roll me onto my knees. My ass was raised up towards him, ready for whatever he was about to do.

A hard smack of skin against skin bounced off the walls in tangent my screams when Bucky smacked my ass.

He leaned behind me, his warm beath cascading over my ear. “I miss the way you fuck. The way you taste.”

I pressed back into dick, the precum and my own sweet juices dragging all over the back of my thigh.

“Please,” I begged. “I need you, Bucky. I need to feel you again.”

“Doll, you never have to beg me for it. Never again.”

We shared a moan as he slipped between my folds again.

Snores filled the room as our sweaty bodies were tangled together, not bothering to cover ourselves with any covers. We had come down from our high a while ago, both of us collapsing to the bed short of breath. Bucky had me locked against his chest, vibranium arm over my stomach.

Tonight had felt like we never missed a beat, everything between us becoming second nature. The only difference was that Bucky didn’t have to leave; we could stay as long as we wanted together. There wasn’t the lingering regret or shame that we would feel after a night spent together. We didn’t get the chance to talk about us, exhaustion taking over us almost immediately. But there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that things would be different between us.

For the better.

That was until the sudden thirst woke me and I let out a small yawn while doing my best to untangle myself from him.

Bucky whined while gripping me tighter. “Where are you going?”

“I’m thirsty,” I giggled.

He left a kiss on my bare shoulder. “Hurry back. I’ll miss you.”

I laughed at the tone of his voice and gave him a quick kiss before slipping on one of his shirts and a pair of shorts.

Not bothering to turn on any lights in the kitchen, I rummaged through the fridge in search of something to drink. That was until I felt a strong arm around my throat, yanking me away and tossing me onto the hard, cold ground. My head smacked against the floor as I let out a strangled scream, feeling hands around my throat now. Fear filled my eyes as I looked up and saw a vicious smile looking down at me.

“Cl-clint?” I choked out.

“Miss me?”

Before I could fight against him, he knocked me unconscious with a swift punch to the side of my head.

#mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #mob!bucky barnes x yn #mob!bucky barnes and yn #mob!bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes and reader #sebastian stan #moment of weakness-mob!bucky barnes

296 notes · View notes

elfqueen006 · 5 months ago

Text

Suspect Apprehended

Notes: Slasher/Detective AU by @themeatpit37 . Basically, May is a detective in this. We chatted about this a little and in a burst of inspiration I wrote it while I was getting my hair done. I also did a LOT of googling for 80s accurate info admittedly lol

Content Warnings for use of a gun, gun abuse(?), implied/referenced murder.

---

"Finally caught your ass..." May pulled up in front of the apartment, a new fervor boiling up inside her. Her shotgun rifle in the passenger seat screamed in the corner of her vision. It'd be too heavy. That was a great excuse. It'd look great on her tombstone.

He's not going to let me point that big ass thing at him. She'll have to make him look at it. He's gonna have to.

It takes three seconds to reload. Every one unaccounted for marks her end. So she better make it count.

Call for backup.

...Call for backup.

It was a blow to her pride, yes. But she didn't have time to play renegade. She wasn't even really a cop, not on paper. She was technically a civilian until faced with an angry parent or love one, blaming her for not following an obvious lead - an obvious trap- No. No. No...

She unclenched her fists and leaned back in her driver's seat. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. "Don't get mad, don't get mad..." said May. Don't get mad at the parents. Don't get mad at the police. Don't get mad at the world. Hell, don't even get mad at the killer. "...When you're mad, you're not thinking."

May stepped out of the car and looked around. By the grace of God or Lady Luck she saw a phone pole. There was no one else on the street, but people chattered in the apartment. Laughing kids, arguing couples, and raucuous druggies. They're so unaware to the monster residing with them. Or maybe few had caught on for some time and just... didn't care.

She knew better than anyone, having lived in her own shitty apartment - sometimes it benefit most to simply mind your business.

Maybe she should have ignored this case. God knew before this, she hadn't bothered to contact either of her sisters. Only Hailey had reached out every so often. It was only because of common decency that she came by to get a 411 on her missing sister. And truthfully, she should've pegged him from the start. Everyone should have, but Eileen wouldn't have given anyone a reason to. It was one of the primary reasons they grew so distant beyond obligatory babysitting and message passing. Pride. And what little Hailey had of that, she made up for in humility and kindness. And if she hadn't that, May was sure none of them would be aware of the others existence up to this point.

The wind blows hard, snapping her out of a daze. She checks her pocket lint and thankfully gets out a ripped ten dollar roll. When she deposits what little of it she has and waits for about three rings.

"Gallagher residence."

"Yeah, this is Davis. I'm outside the suspects house."

---

She's faced with the door. Once again, there's no one around. But the hallway is so vast and there's so many sounds... don't think about that.

May raps the door three times. "Open up." No answer. The rifle is heavy in her other arm, but sure enough it's damn near apart of her. And she's not letting it go for any reason.

She knocks again, damn near rattling the peeling walls. "Open up. I'm with the police."

There's some faint footsteps and then a series of locks coming undone. Yeah, you would you bastard.

Joseph Haberdae opens the door. He's a tall, pretty thing with wide set shoulders and a thick frame. Dark eyes and coiffed hair. To those that didn't know him: a dreamboat. To people like her that knew better, The Sunny Day Killer.

But it was too soon to make that call. She'd startle him into slamming the door in her face. Then that'd be it. He'd probably flee the city. Or worse, he'd stay and send her the bones of whatever unlucky kid decided to ride their bike next afternoon. He'd mock her like he always did. Even now he was mocking her by feigning surprise. You expected me, didn't you, you son of a bitch?

"Can I help you?" He asked.

"Joseph Cullman? I have a warrant out for your arrest."

He looked her up and down, "You have a rifle at your side. I don't think I'm in any position to refuse."

"You're right. You aren't." May said. And that's literally what the warrant is for so you couldn't do shit anyway.

"Show me the warrant." She held it up to him. He eyes it with a scoff. "Cullman isn't my name."

"I'm aware you went by Cullman up until you were around seventeen or eighteen. There was never a documented legal change with any sort of court, you simply started using an alias for your old high school. Right? Haberdae?"

Joseph gave her a long look. May resisted a chill from having his dark eyes look through her. They were fascinated, evaluating, and probably seeing all the ways he could tear her apart.

"I-"

His large hand shot out and gripped her by the collar. May was ripped from the hallway floor and thrown across this man's kitchen in a single move. She hit the hardwood floor. Her vision swam by the swift assault and harsh impact.

"Caught me, yeah?"

At the last second, Joseph's loafers came down on her face and shoved her head over to look at him. "Yeah?" He had a wild look in his eyes now. May moved her arm to get some leverage, but he kicked her over. She cried out.

"You're the spitting fuckin' image of her, you know that?" Eileen.

"It's just the mole." May bit out.

"No, no. It's the almond shaped eyes. The...the green irises. Granted hers are a little brighter. But yeah. You look like her." Joseph huffed.

May looked up at him to glare, "You take a course in genetics or something?"

Joseph grinned and knelt down. He gripped her by the hair and forced her head back to look at him. His breath smelled coppery and tart. Her nose scrunched up in disgust.

"Does being a smart ass make you feel like you have some control in this situation?"

"No."

"Aw... at least lie a little."

May glanced at the rifle. It'd fallen next to her, just out of arms reach. There's no way Joseph didn't catch it. "Oh, you think you're gonna shoot me?"

You arrogant-

"No, I know I'm gonna shoot you!" Before he could answer, May reached up and swiped at his face repeatedly, nails digging into his skin and puncturing his eyes. He yelled, jerking back and loosening his grip on her hair. It was a split second but she pulled the butt of the rifle to her and fumbled with the grip before cocking it. Joseph had pulled her back to him but the iron grip she had on the weapon wasn't yet to wane. She held it assuredly as he jerked her by the hair and held a hand over her neck. May waved the barrel his way and pulled the trigger. The closeness of the blast startled him away, giving her an open to scramble from his grip.

She pulled up in time to see him lunge again. "Get the fuck back!" she hated the crack in her voice as she screamed.

"You ever held a gun before-"

"Shut the fuck up! I'll shoot you in the fucking face, I swear to God!"

He was a huge fucker. And she had to check her backseat multiple times to make sure she had the right size and amount shells to take him out. But reinforcement should be down the street. She had to make it count.

"Reinforcements are coming in less than five minutes and you will be detained. Any funny movements and I'll shoot."

Joseph sneered, "Oh really? So because your technically a civilian you think a cops punishment don't apply to you?"

"Cops don't get punished. They get laid off." May cocks the foreend. Joseph laughs. He laughs and it pisses her off.

Don't. Get. Mad.

"... you said less than five minutes." Joseph said.

"I did."

"How long do you think it'll be before I snatch that barrel and bang your head against the wall. You'd be out cold before they knocked on my door." Joseph said coolly, "And by the time you come to you'll be stripped bare. Wrists bound. Probably on a dirty floor. Probably in the bathtub. Your call."

Crazy as he was, she was sure he'd take that chance. Even with the barrel of a gun pointed toward him. He'd take that chance. He was just that crazy.

May took a deep breath and turned the gun toward the bare wall next to her. If she knew anything about apartments, the layouts were likely the same. She noted the idle chatter of a couple nearby. They didn't seem to stir after hearing the sound or her rifle go off.

Blam. Ker-chuck. Blam.

"Oh, what the fuck!?"

"Oh my fucking God, Jerry!"

The man's voice, likely "Jerry", banged on the wall shouting various cuss words and insults. "I will call the fucking cops!"

Ker-chuck. Blam.

The woman's voice shrieked. "Jerry!!!"

"You motherfucker!"

May pointed the barrel back at an astonished Joseph. "It's their problem now. They're stirred up. He should be coming around with his girl, right now."

"Jerry be careful!"

"No I'm giving the fucker a piece of my mind-" Footsteps rounded the hallway and banging ensued on Joseph's door, rattling it. He cursed under his breath.

"No one can just ignore it now. And the police won't miss your door by the time they get here."

"Get the cops over here Carrie, call the fucking cops!"

"You still wanna try and kill me? Get yourself one last hit before you go down." May taunted. The vein throbbing on his neck was proof enough of his agitation. But she couldn't get cocky, no. Even if she riled up the neighbors, there was no guarantee they'd stay long enough to get follow through on their threats to call the cops.

And unless Joseph was as bloodthirsty as he portrayed himself, there's no way he'd follow through on killing her before the cops came, now that the attention was on his door. Even if she died, she won. Because this was a game to him. And May could tell he was the type of person who really hated to lose.

---

May watched the trial on TV. She recorded beforehand and bought out as she went home. It wasn't as satisfying as she thought. Clearly, Joseph was milking his exposure for all its worth. He recounted his...exploits... with perverse glee and smugness.

Officers were placed around the courtroom, holding back various agitated peoples from dog piling him. In the corner there was one man who even came at him with a hammer. And in the middle of it all was poor Hailey. Disheartened and confused, like Alice in the Queen of Hearts court. Terry, bless his heart, had been with her the entire time.

It almost pained May not to be there. But she was adamant on being done with the case. So she instead, provided a written statement for a cop to use.

She rather enjoyed the sneer on Joseph's face when her name came up. She took a bite out of her burger and kicked her foot out, "Your call, bitch."

#somethings wrong with sunny day jack #sunny day jack x mc #joseph haberdae #sdj Joseph #sdj joseph x oc #slasher au #detective au #80s #my fics

11 notes · View notes

ohsayit · 7 months ago

Text

Zevlor and Nora. Mostly about Nora

I HC'd the name Nora for his horse back in his Rider days. I saw someone mentioned him being a horse man in the server, and then my brain just jumped to gibber. (face palm) A way to keep the old sweetheart from my head is yet to be found. So here I am again, gibbering away.

I must be possessed when I was typing this. This is much longer than I thought -,-

There is something cute and lovely in a short name like Nora. I am particularly fond of names ended in an "a" sound. It's oh so suitable for sighing, cooing, and war cry lol.

The same chat I saw was something about horse breeding in Faerun. I am not sure if everyone enlisted to the Riders will automatically get a horse. Horses are expensive little shits.

Tin foil hat: I know fuck all about horses. The only thing I know is if they proper snapped their ankles, they would be put down.

I imagine horses could be quite picky (aka being a little bitch) with who gets on their backs. So in general, once Riders are "assigned" a horse (given the horse is fine with the person, otherwise, reassign, Riders can't be short of horses lol), they are supposed to take care of their companion personally.

Riders are to build a strong bond and relationship with their horses. So Zevlor definitely took his time taking care of Nora.

However, Nora was definitely not his only horse.

I HC'd him being in his 60s when we met him in the Grove. Riders could get admitted as young as 14 (IIRC). It's quite a long time

Google says horses can live for 20-30 years

race horses irl most retire before 5(?). I think I've heard somewhere on the telly before that their prime racing age is between 3-4

companion horses are supposed to go into combat with the Riders. There are chances for the horse to get hit in combat and leads to retirement

But Nora was his girl. He had her name tattooed under his ribs, a tender spot. It's close to the torso, a place that people would put a lot of protection on.

Nora would be given to him at a rather young age, so she started training at a young age and build up her relationship with her rider. I can see Zevlor investing time and affection on her. He would buy her treats and pretty gears out of his own pocket, put on a stern face and scold her when she was being naughty, give her pats and praises when she did well in training, take her for rides to stretch her legs, let Nora nudge him in his neck and chest and be all cute.

Oh yea, Nora was a princess when she's not at work.

She would definitely make it everyone's problem if she smelled other horses on Zevlor. This would happen after Nora stopped working and Zevlor was assigned a new companion horse. She would super flip and bite him lol If the new companion horse happen to be in Nora's bite range? (You know, horses live in horse houses) Sorry newbie, Nora got scolding, cooing and brushes before you.

After all the time they spent together, Zevlor could guess what goes in that big head. He would shower before seeing Nora if he rode on his companion horse earlier that day. He split his day offs between Nora and the new companion horse. Nora got the prettier trinkets.

Nora died before the Descent because she's a babe to me now for some reason. So in all her life, she shared Zevlor's best days and got the most treats.

I think Zevlor put all the pretty trinkets he bought her in her grave. All he had with him was her name under his ribs and the loving memory of her. She's his favourite girl of all times. Why? Maybe because of her uncanny ability to flip between being a princess and the most loyal and fierce companion horse? They just clicked. Zevlor was her favourite for all her times as well. She was the happiest when he took care of her and going for a ride together.

They must have this goodbye ritual between themselves. When Zevlor was about to go, Nora would grab a bit of his clothes and try to keep him. Batting her lashes and all cuteness. Zevlor would turn around to stroke her nose and say something sweet to her. Princess would then be happy to let him go. I am sure the other Riders would tease him about it but he was a bit cocky "Oh, does you companion not care when you go?"

All in all, Zevlor was a horse person (like all Riders), but he wss even more so of a Nora person. lol Yes he cared about all his companion horses but Nora was something else. He shared quiet moments with her. Some people talk to their stuff toy, Zevlor talk to Nora. I don't think he would put it to words. He would quietly give her care and stroke her gently on a day he felt terrible. Possibly gave her a little smooch when he felt he was good again.

Gods know why theses things come to me lollll This whole thing somehow is about Nora lollllll

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #zevlor #bg3 zevlor #headcanon

12 notes · View notes

the-fools-route · 7 months ago

Text

THE FOOLS ROUTE

Chapter 3

Google docs isn't working so I don't know the word count. 😐

Expect grammar mistakes

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

" Rise and shine! "

Portia opens the curtains, filling the room with light. I pull the covers over my head, it's way too bright right now.

" Not a morning person huh? Maybe I can convince you to get up with some breakfast? "

I slowly pull the blanket from my face.

" I might be interested."

She laughs at that. She sets a silver tray on the dresser next to my bed. It's filled with warm flaky pastries.

" I also brought a fresh set of clothes for you to wear. "

She sets the clothes pile on my bed, and she looks at me funny.

" Are you ok? You look like you're thinking of something important. "

The golden corridors still cloud my mind.

" Just a weird dream. "

She makes a sound of acknowledgement.

" You have a pretty free day today, all you really have to do is join milady for dinner tonight. I have to leave to run some errands. But till then, the world is your oyster! "

The door clicks and all is quiet. But my mind is not. I cannot stop thinking about last night. I usually have weird dreams, but this one takes the cake. Candlewick lightly lifts his head, swaying. He first slowly surveys the room, then trots to the edge of the bed and slides off. He lazily wanders around the room, exploring his new domain. I pull my phone from my pocket, the battery level is still the same. Strange. I sigh heavily, loud enough to make Wick look at me.

" What do I do now? "

Candlewick sits, as if he was thinking. He then trots to the bed pawing toward the folded clothes.

" Yeah, I should probably change. "

I've been given loose steel blue pants and a lighter blue top. The sleeves are wide and flowing. The outfit clashes with my red shoes, but I don't mind much.

" You know, for a cat you seem to understand me pretty well. "

He rolls on his back ignoring me. The platter Portia left me was fairly large, and very expensive looking. I trace the intricate designs of the silver platter with my finger. There were 5 pastries, some with what looks like fruit jam inside. Don't get me wrong, I love fruit. I'm just picky about how I eat them. Jam is a no no. I take the most plain looking bread roll. I be careful to not drop any crumbs on the floor, which proved to be more of a problem then I thought it would.

I leave my room to explore for the day since I'm not very busy. Candlewick trots close behind me, he seems to be a great travel buddy. I'm glad I'm not alone. The halls are brilliantly lit by the golden sun. The silk curtains gleam and the floors I swear were mirrors in their past life. The halls are much more lively than they were yesterday, people with big hats and bigger feathers adorned on them walk the halls. Some are holding papers or baskets, and some wave at me. I shyly wave back. I really don't belong here, I'm like a stray dog. At least dogs are cute. I explore different rooms, and believe me there are plenty of them here for me to stoop in. I found a a room filled with instruments, and another with chairs and couches. I hope nobody minds that I'm snooping around.

I eventually find large double doors that lead into an empty ballroom, a very big empty ballroom. A glass dome ceiling lets streams of light in, sending gold streaks to dance around the room. I Imagine the light morphing into people in regal dresses and suits, spinning and gliding effortlessly across the floor. It's beautiful. I personally don't know how to dance, but it feel like the right thing to do right now. I pick Candlewick up and hold him in my arms.

" May I have this dance? "

He peeps.

" That's probably a yes. "

I spin around the room trying to copy the golden phantoms around me, it's not easy. I keep tripping over my feet, but I don't mind. I sing to Candlewick a song that doesn't exist here, something only known by me. He purrs contentedly, I swear he's swaying with me. A cloud passes over the skylight dimming the light. The gold dancers disappear leaving us alone. I drop Candlewick and bow, and I can't help myself but laugh. Who knew dancing could be fun? The cloud passes and the room is bright again.

" Where to now? "

He stares at me for exactly two seconds then takes off running to a door on the right. I chase after him.

" Whoa! Can't we just walk or something? "

I dont understand how he can run so fast with so little traction. He slips through a cracked door and disappears. I persue to to little avail. The aroma of flowers swirl around my head as I open the door. I must be on the balcony from yesterday. Large marble stairs lead me down from the balcony to the gardens.

Morning dew blankets vibrant flowers of all shapes and sizes, I recognize a few of them. Peonies, roses, lavender, so on so forth. I move at a slow pace around the garden beds trying to find where that dang cat went, I find nothing but the sound of the early birds and the first sunshine of the day. I end up not finding him in the end, but instead finding a large white pavilion with a table and some chairs. I take a break from searching, he will show up eventually.

A cockatoo lands on the table I'm sitting at. He hops around and surveys me with his red eyes.

" Hello there friend. "

He skips to my hand and nibbles on my fingers. I attempt to pet him with my other hand. He puffs up and hisses at me.

" Fuck you! "

I'm left absolutely stunned. He just cursed at me!

" Excuse me? "

He squawks at me and flys away.

" Well, screw you too bird. "

He taunts me from a tree branch, hopping around puffing his feathers.

" My my, such colorful language. "

I know that voice. I whip around to see Nadia behind me, I didn't even hear her approach me.

" Do you know that bird? "

She sighs.

" Yes, I believe he was my husband's. "

She doesn't look as if she was fond of his bird.

" He always had such a temper. " she sighs.

" Your husband or the bird? "

She looks shocked, I probably shouldn't have said that. I attempt to apologize, but she laughs.

" I believe both, if possible. "

She pulls a chair from the table to sit in.

" I believe I have found a friend of yours. "

She looks to the side were lo and behold, Candlewick emerges from a bush. I think he goes out of his way to give me a hard time.

" How has your time here been? Are you comfortable? "

My hands fidget underneath the table.

*Pick*

" I've been fine, I don't have any complaints. "

Her voice is so soothing, she's so easy to listen to. She looks to the sky and smiles.

" It's been a while since I've gotten a chance to sit out here, every time I have a moment to myself another problem arises. "

When was the last time she had a day to herself?

" You could take the day off, go into town, I'm sure nothing too horrible could happen. Worse case scenario a painting falls over. "

She looks at me with wide eyes. Then looks to the side, concentrating. A small sound leaves her mouth with finality.

" Then we shall go to town. "

" We? "

The streets are bustling with noise as people start their day. Shouting and laughing become white noise, almost unnoticed. Almost. Nadia had wrapped herself in a purple shaw to blend in with the crowd. I was dressed ths same, I had no title to draw unwanted eyes, well other than being a thief in that one specific market that I will be sure to avoid, but that's beside the point. I have an ( nearly ) blank slate.

I point out stalls with strange oddities that I had never seen before. The shiny items beckon for me like a siren calling to an unsuspecting sailor. We visit meny vendors selling high quality goods, Nadia has told me at least a billion times that i can get whatever I wanted. Yes, I saw meny nice things. And also yes, I picked up said meny things to admire them with my hands. Feeling the bumps and ridges on everything. But I had no need or want for such things, they're just nice to look at. Time flew by without acknowledgement, we had shared a lunch in some high-rated inn. We had made small talk about restaurants from home.

" So, the owners knew the food was unhealthy? And they sold it anyway? "

I laugh at Nadia's confusion.

" Yep. But everyone still loved McDonald's, as bad as it was. "

I pick at my food before me. I had a plate of some sort of spiced meat drowned in a sauce. I ate most of it but I honestly wasn't all that hungry. I don't want to say we were running out of things to do, but it felt as if we were. There was much more to be done, just not today.

" What do we do now? "

Nadia readjusts her shaw to ensure anonymity, but her eyes never leave me. Once she is satisfied with her disguise she takes my hand into hers and smiles.

" Why don't I take you to a tailor to get yourself outfitted to your preference. I'd love to treat you as a thank you, I haven't had this much fun in a while. "

*Pick*

I tear at my nails with uncertainty.

" Are you sure? Do we have time? "

She smiles that beautiful smile once again.

" With certainly. "

So Nadia took me to see a tailor.

She expressed mild worry, as she had never been to this peticular store before. She has high standards for such things, and wanted it to be perfect or it was just a waste of time in her opinion. Once we enter and observe the room to be empty other then the man at the front desk, she removed her "disguise". Two things happen.

First, the man behind the front counter froze for a moment and stuttered his welcome slightly. I bet he didn't count on seeing the Countess in his store today. Secondly, I wondered how the hell is her hair so perfect after being covered and walking around all day.

We are each lead to a room to be measured. I stood on a small platform in the middle of said room, it was filled with mannequins and long rolls of patterned fabric. The room was filled yet was still orderly. I had never been measured before, I just grabbed clothes from my local Walmart and called it a day. I felt as if it was mildly invasive but that was to be expected. Once the man was done he lead me to an even larger room with clothes, he told me they were my size. Or at least close too.

I'm surrounded by suits, evening gowns, and robes. I try on a dress or two. But I don't keep them, i'm not really a dress person. Makes me feel silly for some reason, but the idea of wearing one is nice I guess. If I did wear dresses, i want it to "feel" like me. I don't want to look in the mirror and see someone else. I don't quite know what I'm looking for, as of now I am simply grabbing clothes and trying them on. But nothing really sticks. Not until I find a white blouse. It has puffy sleeves that cinch at the wrists and a simple v-line collar. I back track through the clothes till I find a pair of very dark pants, I try both on. I tuck the blouse in for a cleaner look, yet it's still a bit plain. I search the clothing racks for something to add. A mannequin catches my eye. A leather underbust corset lies wrapped around the wooden waist. I trace my fingers along the strings. This will work.

I stand in front of a tall mirror admiring my work. My white blouse tucked into my pants, then wrapped in the corset. Dark brown leather boots with a pair of slightly lighter half chaps, for a bit of pizzazz. I look at myself in the mirror, admiring my work. Maybe I should find a pretty collar for Candlewick, so he can be fancy too. But that will have to wait, I have a bigger problem at the moment. I need to leave the changing room.

What if my outfit is wrong? What if it's not nice enough? My hand hangs over the doorknob shaking, trembling. I don't understand why I am so hesitant to be seen. Maybe I don't want to be judged. Candlewick leans against my boot, he's either comforting me or demanding attention. Regardless, it calms me. I place my hand on the doorknob, no turning back now.

I'd like to say that the changing room door creaked horrendously loud causing strangers to look at me, and that they turned their heads away with disgust. And that some random woman shielded her baby's eye in fear of it crying because of me. But that's not what happened. The door didn't make a sound, no creaking. It was silent. And the room wasn't filled with potentially upset people, it was nearly empty. Filled only Nadia and a man measuring her clothing size. The tailor barely notices me, Nadia on the other hand definitely saw me.

* Pick *

She smiles but says nothing.

I wait around awkwardly until she was satisfied with browsing the store. She waves her hand to dismiss the tailor. He leaves for a few minutes before returning with a few rolls of fabric.

" I summoned a carriage for us while you were changing, it's late in the afternoon and I don't want to tire you out. Our duties are not yet finished. "

*Pick*

" Ok. "

I respond in a small quiet voice, my nerves always get the best of me.

I had never been in a carriage before this. The seats were plush and soft, very inviting. They were a beautiful crimson, like a fine wine. Total upgrade from the hard dirty seats on the bus.

She pat the seat beside her, signaling me to sit. She gently lays her hand on mine, her rings feeling cool on my warm skin.

" You look beautiful in your new clothes, I only hope you shall allow me to spoil you in the future again. "

My face flushes red, I'm not used to such treatment. It made me feel weird. Tingly? I felt warm, I felt . . .

Loved.

The ride wasn't very long, so we were back by sunset. Nadia was pleased that nothing horrific had happened with her temporary absence, as was I. Nadia told me to have some fun before dinner so she sent me on my way. I wasn't really sure what to do, so I just wondered around. I walked with a bounce in my step, I felt like I was shinning.

I feel great here. At home, I felt like I was just some other ordinary teen. No one paid any mind to me. But here? I think I can make something good for myself.

I went to Lucio to show him my new outfit, he was expectedly unimpressed by the lack of "flair and gold ". But he did say it was nice. I told him about my trip with Nadia, and about the new things I had seen. He seemed sour, grumbling how Nadia never took him to town.

We had laid on the rug by the grand window and talked for a long time. He talked about a "red market" and how he loved to romp around and buy whatever he wanted. And I talked about video games I had played and movies I had seen. Lucio seemed quite content with himself, he practically melted into the carpet while I told him the plot of a Disney movie. His eyes were soft and his breathing was steady.

He looked happy.

I obviously couldn't stay forever as I had a dinner to attend, I bid fairwell to Lucio and left. I felt him follow me, although I couldn't see him i knew he was there. I found his dogs lounging about toward the staircase that lead to his side of the palace. I made sure to scratch their ears as I passed. I think Lucio stayed with his dogs because of a sudden feeling of loneliness that came apon me as I left.

I enter the grand dinning room to see Asra and Nadia talking amongst themselves.

" I'm sorry I'm a little bit late, I got lost. "

"With time you will be acoctomed with the layout. What matters is you are here now."

Nadia reassures me that all is well. Thank God, this place is a damn labyrinth.

The long table welcoming, Nadia sits at an end with an empty chair to her side. I'll be between her and Asra. Me and Asra haven't really talked much and I had a few questions. Nothing of importance, I'm just curious of his character. We are brought meals one by one. First a light salad, then some butterd bread, and finally a spiced fish. I'm not really a salad person. I don't prefer it with ranch, although most people do. And I hate croutons. Yes, croutons. But this salad? The one before me?

Heavenly. It was lightly peppered and had a dressing that wasn't overpowering.

This place is awsome.

We had nice conversations about our pasts. I shared pleasant memories of a rainbow xylophone I had when I was young. Asra spoke of adventures to far away places. And Nadia of her childhood home. Eventually Nadia got on the topic of her late husband. No one seemed somber when his death was brought up. Asra briefed Nadia on their recent findings regarding said event. I know it's not my place to ask, but I need to know. Half of his room is suffocated by ash. I want to know why. How do I ask this in a nice way?

" How did he pass away? "

Nailed it.

Asra didn't look uncomfortable, but he didn't look thrilled that I asked.

" 3 years ago my husband was murdered by his personal doctor. "

Time to ask another dumb question.

" His doctor? Was he sick? "

Asra answers my second question.

" He was affected by the red plague. It killed hundreds of innocents. Noone afflicted survived. "

They looked sad now.

" Meny of the deaths, were of people I knew. "

Hundreds? That's horrible. Was it because of the lack of modern medicine? How were so meny lives lost?

" We are still on a man hunt for the man responsible for my husband's death. Dr. Julian Devorak. "

. . .

I pause. Murder? No, not possible. He was so kind to me, to Asra. But Asra is looking for him? We saw him yesterday?

I look at him next to me, we lock eyes. The look he's giving me tells me to stay silent. Dont say anything.

So I said nothing.

#the arcana #the fools route #nadia stratinava #asra alnazar #the arcana fanfic #portia devorak #lucio morgasson #count lucio #the arcana game #the arcana oc #the arcana original character

11 notes · View notes

sugar-omi · 7 months ago

Note

honestly all that was sooo what i needed to hear rn bc a girls been STRESSED so thank you <3 😭

i'm gonna major in biotechnology! i went to a votech and that was my trade there and i loved it so i wanna continue studying it. not totally sure what job i want yet so i don't know how much schooling i'll do but yeah! :D

BIOTECH??? THAT SOUNDS SO COOL N SO COMPLICATED please i literally had to google that shit bc idk what it entails but this is some big brain shit, n all i gotta say is good luck n i am cheering you ON!!🎉🫶🫶

although i think you got this in the bag already. anyone with the balls to do something so advanced. is a very smart n strong person. from what im reading on google this is some really cool shit, no matter what direction you go with it. n you have your work cut out for you, but i know you got this!!

so don't doubt yourself!! you got this!!! your brain is huge n you are powerful!!!!

n of course!!! i figured saying something like that would help with anyones anxiety, because really, its the pressure (even if they're not actually pressuring you) and the overwhelm of questions and expectations that make the future so stressfullll

*ramble utc because i... cannot help yapping i guess LOL and while i'd usually be embarrassed and delete my ramble n word vomit, but i figure someone else readding this may appreciate the relatability of what i have to say about my fams reaction to my plan after hs, and find some comfort in my word, if thats not to presumptuous

because i decided to take a gap year (it's been a year since i graduated, for reference), and everyone freaked out. my mom n uncles first reaction was "yeah well, you won't go if you do..." before they came around n agreed with my reasoning. and my dad was all "if i had it my way, you'd go full time--" (mind u, he likes to brag that he worked n went to school full time AND partied.... he did not finish college LMAO) and when i graduated, said to me a MONTH. AFTER MY GRADUATION. "if you're not going to college any time soon, go into the air force."

and when my extended family would ask my plans, and i only had a short "i'm just gonna take a break right now, figure some things out, work... and by then i'll have come to a decision." because i was tossing around the thought of art school, and then i thought abt getting an english degree to be either a teacher or go into writing/editing, journaling or whatever... but was also tossing around the thought of psychology and even real estate. my ideas for my future were absolutely jumbled, and i was torn between what would make money, what i loved, and what i was interested in that i thought could be a career.

it's tough. especially depending on your financial situation yknow, so your thought process always leads towards something profitable but also wanting to do something you enjoy, maybe even love, but not wanting to burn out and tarnish your beloved hobby/hobbies.

like while i did have people who supported me upfront, and never doubted my plan, it's the small things too yknow. because for months my dad's words haunted me, i felt like i wasn't doing enough. or when i met family, and they asked how it was going, or what i was doing now, i felt disappointed that my answer was always "i haven't been doing anything. just been sleeping, drawing, writing..." or eventually that and "practiced driving.. n that's about it."

or when i'd talk to close family members, and i admitted i was going through a hard time, my mental state finally falling on me now that i didn't have to be strong n power through school. i even got sick a couple times, because my body was finally feeling the stress. even now, i feel a mental lag, a fog. but i feel clearer, a bit.

but yknow, the looks and the "you said that last time" or "i think you're lying" is tough.

but at the end of the day, if not working for the summer, or not going to college for a semester, or 2, or 3, or a whole year. or if going part time, or whatever you're doing... and it benefits you, and it benefits your mental health. then do it, don't listen too much, don't feel too guilty.

because if you need it, just like i needed the time to rejuvenate, then don't listen to anyone else. don't force yourself to do anything. because if you have the ability to take a break now, do it. you're not doing this because you're lazy, or selfish, or unambitious. or anything like that. you're taking that break, you're taking this break right now, for future you.

because if you don't take it now, when will you take it? and when you do take a break... will it be at the cost of your health? will it be at the cost of something greater? when the break comes, will it come when you're being handed the gold medal you've been fighting for.. and then it slips out of your hand just like that.

anyway.. do whats best for you. what you need. don't worry about figuring things out too fast either, because in fact, i've been plotting this moment of my life for about 10 years, genuinely, and i still had to revise it. still had to come to a conclusion because even with all that plotting, it doesn't plan for the hard times. or the 'you' you are right now. you will be someone else next week. and you will be someone entirely different 2 months from now.

take your time. because if you jump into something, and are unsatisfied, or "waste" time doing something other than what you "should be doing", the time still passes.

if you "waste time" anyway, waste it on yourself. not others expectations. or wishes. or their dreams.

and once enough time passes as well, no matter what you do by then. the questions do stop coming. the weight of the future, once you get there, is suddenly not so... big. intimidating.

you do not need a grandiose plan. if you are content with the future in your mind, that is enough. because at the end of your life, who will sit in that chair and ponder the life you lived, and weight it's satisfaction, if not you?

3 notes · View notes

scratchandplaster · 1 year ago

Text

Stack The Deck - Fair-weather company

CW: corny behavior, suggestive language, PTSD, aftermath of torture and injury, medical whump, mention of self harm, hand whump

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The taste of cheap liquor still stuck to the roof of their mouths, and with the streetlights already guiding the way, they could stumble freely onto the driveway. Hardly trying to keep her laughter down, Amber unlocked the front gate of the massive family home and let the cold spring breeze follow them.

Her escort was close behind her when she stepped over the doorway, hands still clutching onto her bags. As always, they had swiped a lot more food from her friend's house party than intended, but that turned out to be his favorite part of the night.

"You good?" she slurred while turning around to meet him.

With a gentle push of his foot, Elliot let the door fall back into place: "Yup, I'm just gonna say hello real quick and get going. I got practice tomorrow morning."

This would be a terrible first impression, but better than bluntly running through a house he didn't belong in.

"My parents aren't home tonight," she disclosed, the news echoing through the foyer, "So no rush. The party doesn't have to stop."

Elliot knew that glance well enough, the one he got at family reunions. Or birthdays. Or funerals, for some tasteless reason.

"Oh come on, not when I'm half-shitfaced!" A tired huff was all he could muster as she grabbed him by his hands to lead.

"Please, baby..."

With that, he was dragged through the hall past the coat rack and over to an upright brown piano at the back of the living room. The simple white decorations didn't divert him from noticing how this room, apparently only existing for a couch and TV, was nearly big enough to fit his whole apartment.

"Still a no," he tried to mumble, only to be excitedly interrupted.

"Pleasepleaseplease!" sparkling eyes begged without ever losing contact, "You didn't want to do it at Rhys' place, it's just us now."

Amber hugged his waist tight, holding him close for a minute. Elliot knew what she wanted and also how it would end: with her winning, like she always did.

"Alright, alright," he pressed a quick kiss on top of her head. "But only one!"

Kicking his shoes off at the carpet's edge, Amber made him sit down on a dusty velvet stool to warm up to the old box. Elliot thought about playing some ethereal overture, an hour-long session that would only impress his conductor; or maybe the Faerie's Aire...

Let's hope I still got that ready on call.

Through his tipsy courage, he remembered a gift he prepared weeks ago, before their first big fight-

Why not, actually?!

Slender fingers pressed carefully down on the black and white keys, forcing the first notes of the evening out from the mahogany.

"I know you like this one. I had to secretly google the lyrics first, though," he admitted through a whisper.

A few wayward sounds proved what he had already worried about: that thing hadn't been tuned in forever. What a waste of art in this suburban ivory tower.

"But you know I can't sing for shit, so save your jokes for later. And if Sahra ever gets wind of this, she will not let me live it down," Elliot continued to sigh dramatically, "I mean, should I flop at the next auditions, maybe they can use me as a choir boy instead."

"You would get one of those pretty white robes, so think about it!" Amber too settled down on behind him, arms wrapped in sequin rested around his neck.

"You'll definitely need a safeword when this gets too sappy."

His hands practically danced from left to right now, filling the whole room with bone-deep warmth.

"How about something creative; like: Please, Elli, stop! My ears are bleeding!"

An amused scoff was everything she earned and unable to hide his smirk, Elliot cleared his throat one last time. As the familiar melody began to match the gentle hum in the back of her sweetheart's chest, Amber got more than she bargained for:

"True that I saw her hair like the branch of a tree

A willow dancing on air before covering me

Under cotton and calicoes

Over canopy dapple long ago"

Elliot must've had a few more drinks than expected, she wondered, giving how calmly he let the words bubble from his lips; usually she had to press up against the bathroom door to catch a taste of it.

"Must be felled for to fight the cold

I fretted fire, but that was long ago"

With a sudden spark, the pace picked up intensity, fingertips now slamming out the melodies from inside the wooden frame.

"And it's not tonight

Where I'm set alight

And I blink in sight

Of your blinding light"

How lucky could a girl like her be?

"Oh, it's not tonight

Where you hold me tight

Light the fire bright

Oh, let it blaze, alright"

To meet someone like this?

"Oh, but you're good to me

Oh, you're good to me

Oh, but you're good to me, baby"

To wake up with hands around her shoulders, holding her close. Not on her chest, ass or in between her legs. No hard, needy pressure rubbing against her back.

"With each love I cut loose, I was never the same

Watching still-living roots be consumed by the flame

I was fixed on your hand of gold

Laying waste to my lovin' long ago"

No, he never used her like this - even when she asked him to.

"So in awe, there I stood as you licked off the grain

Though I've handled the wood, I still worship the flame

Long as amber of ember glows

All the would that I'd loved is long ago"

The drone of the strings still reverberated deep inside them, as the last echo died down somewhere between these walls.

Meanwhile, Elliot was grinning like an idiot because of the puns and if not for free video tutorials, he would've missed out on this inviting opportunity. He really overdid it with the shots this time, even made him miss some dazed notes, but he couldn't say no to a shot of Apple Pie.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the glimpse of a teared-up Amber. Her head rested on his shoulder, shaky hands petting his back.

"That terrible? Oh god," he whispered against her hairline with a small chuckle. She dyed it honey-yellow this week, very pretty, like always.

"Shut up." Amber kissed a line down his neck.

He hoped the embrace they were caught in would last forever. It did, for a moment, until they both noticed a shape leaning against the doorway to the kitchen.

"Cute," Chase nodded, munching on his midnight snack of dry high-protein cereal, "if that didn't make you wet, I don't know what will!"

Lovely like always.

"You're so fucking gross," Amber hollered with an earring in hand, ready to be thrown. "No wonder that Taylor didn't screw you without getting paid first. Piss off!"

Elliot decided not to get in between the twins when they were... mediating. God knows he never had to bother fighting any sibling off, but all they got was the dirty "Make me, bitch!" Chase made on his way upstairs anyway.

Public Amber was back, it seemed. Not that she wasn't herself when they had company, just... different. Elliot wondered when he would get used to it.

Walking back to him, she let the grained lid lower itself down onto the keys: "Should've eaten him in the womb, honestly."

Besides her irritated huffing, one question remained, though: "Can you stay? I don't want to be alone tonight."

Of course he did, but the only downside threatened to ruin this too.

"Practice?"

Amber melted into the hands that slowly stroked over her forearms: "I wake you up, promise!"

As if that ever worked before.

"Okay then," he blinked towards the full bags that still leaned against the door frame, "just need to get this into the fridge first."

If it meant he would always be like this for her, Amber could wait for him. And if she let herself be herself with him, Elliot could learn to love all her other sides too. Together.

Always.

---

"Mr. Ribera?"

"Mhh?"

"Are you still with me? Just this exercise and you're done for today."

"Yeah, sorry..."

The off-white walls of the hospital room had grown homelike during the weeks he spent in and out of feverish delirium. Fahim from OT, more than an angel in his turquoise scrubs, patiently let his pen rest on the clipboard. He had been here every day since the fog inside his head had lifted, but today, Elliot wasn't sure if he liked the company.

Sitting together at a small table, only a bit of equipment and a glass of water between them, this suddenly seemed too familiar in the worst way possible.

Yes, he needed the exercise, be it a walk around the corridors or a quick game of catch, but after all the training, he knew he was still where he started. And Fahim seemed to finally recognize this too.

Elliot had offered to be on a first-name basis, but even after agreeing to it, the OT was too polite for his own good. Elliot could try to read the annotations that waited to be shared with the doctors and nurses, long upside-down medical babble was all he could make out right now, ready to be filed.

Did he really want to know what it said?

The sudden beep of monitors around them reminded of the fact that he was still wired up like the Christmas tree in the foyer, just less joyous. The tube of a catheter snaked up to his left collarbone, making Elliot accessible for whatever they wanted to shoot him up with. Liquid relief, if only for a few hours. He didn't press the friendly red button at his bedside often enough, especially not before therapy, to not alienate the outcome, Fahim insisted.

And why not so? He already hit rock bottom.

"Let's go, then," Elliot said, and his voice cracked weakly.

"Okay!" Fahim quickly picked up and let his attention rest on the board between them; nine holes in it, waiting for the unlucky patient to fill them up.

"Now I’d like you to switch and use your left hand. You can use your other to stabilize the board. Ready?"

Only one at a time and neatly placed, surely. How thrilling my life is.

"Same order as last time?"

"Exactly. Whenever you're ready." With his thumb steady on the stopwatch, Fahim waited for Elliot's left to start moving. It was still wrapped up in tidy white gauze but left his fingers free to move. His first three ones, that was, the rest stayed tightly screwed together.

At the click of the watch, Elliot had already picked up a peg between his thumb and pointer finger to carefully maneuver upright into the first hole. With this one placed securely down, the second made his whole forearm shake so badly, it nearly slipped out of his grasp in the first few seconds. With the iron grip back, the always present burning decided to let itself surface from under the chemically induced numbness. Quicker than anticipated, the flare shot up from his hand all the way to his neck, meeting where the thin plastic tube had been shoved in.

His face was on fire now too, from pain or humiliation, he couldn't tell. The white-hot prickle gouged itself deeper and deeper into his flesh, dancing around the wires that held the bones in place, making Elliot feel them straining the tight stitches ever so horribly. A pressure that didn't belong inside him.

The wooden peg fell down onto the board, rolling back towards its box.

"Take your time."

He despised Fahim for these calming words and hated himself instantly for it. The poor man was doing his job, wasn't his fault that Elliot was as strong as a bundle of lettuce.

Despite all efforts, he couldn't get a grasp on that little stick again and with another click of the timer, this chance was officially over.

The therapist gave him a reassuring smile, just as empty as his words: "Great work, I think you can rest for today."

I performed Beethoven, you know?

Enjoying his prescribed rest, he watched Fahim move the pen on the paper, probably documenting every failure of the day. A peek could do non harm, Elliot supposed. He thought of how his music teacher made him play with the sheets turned upside-down, as a fun warm-up. What a cruel blessing this turned out to be.

Thumb opposition (✔, Kapandji 6)

Inferior+superior pincer grasp (✔)

Radial palmar grasp (✔)

Closure of fist (✗)

9HPT: r= trial 1 (16s), trial 2 (14s), l= trial 1 (✗ after 120s). Elliot could make out a big thunderbolt scribbled behind that, probably the first note he understood. Weakness, P unable to complete trial due to physical limitations.

Physical limitations. That sounded so nice; much more harmless than molten iron running down his arm and turning to ants under his fingertips.

"Let's try that again soon," Fahim finally looked back up to collect the arsenal of tools and elastic bands, "until then you need to take your walks and train your hand." His head bopped toward a small foam ball on his bedside table. Elliot had stomped on it a few times, to give it that well-used look the therapist needed to see.

"How long will it take?" he mumbled with a thin smirk on his lips.

"My colleague will be here tomorrow, so-"

"No, sorry. I mean...how long will it take?"

As he leaned back into his chair, Fahim was visibly trying to hold back a sigh, his ink-black beard rustling against the hospital's uniform. He let his view rest on Elliot for what felt like the longest five seconds of his life, warm and patient. Elliot hoped he wasn't a 10 on the annoying-patient-scale, but he just had to know-

"One day at a time."

Yeah, they were definitely on the same page now.

"Thanks for your time," Elliot tried to sound at least a little bit motivated as he walked with him as far as the tubes allowed, "See you on Monday."

--------

The first thing Elliot remembered was screaming at the doctors. How they had gotten him into the hospital was lost to the feverish heat of the first week, just as any questions or treatments he endured. Thank god he kept his stupid mouth shut, even though that didn't stop anyone from asking over and over again.

Elliot hadn't been lucid enough for a good enough excuse, so none ever made it across his lips, he didn't own that cheap lie to anyone. Any injury had to be self-inflicted then, more or less officially because nobody intended to get the police further involved. Too much paperwork, they had whispered.

Now, everybody knew it was his fault; that's what they believed, and he didn't intend to convince anyone of the opposite.

Elliot's mother had told him about how terribly he lost it when they brought him in for the first surgery. Embarrassing, really, but he couldn't think of what he went on about or why he would ever be so aggressive.

They treated him to some extra medicine, making him stay quiet for even longer. He recognized that weirdly trusted feeling after a while: whatever had kept him down during his time in that crack house bathroom was also flowing into him with a press of a button, conveniently placed in reach.

He was behaving himself since, of course, after that aimless fury got out of his system. They gave him a splint and biweekly counseling and OT... as a treat, he supposed.

The man in the bed to his right went home after a day, "Just carpal tunnel," he said with an apologetic smile.

Elliot was alone again, only surrounded by an ocean of flowers with some cards swimming in between:

"Get well soon!"

"All the best! "

"Visit Fleming Beach!" Huh?

In the short time living on his own, he wasn't able to make many friends around town; his parents visited nearly every day, but that only made it harder. Between her shifts, Elliot's futility had practically forced his mom to pack up everything on her own: the ultimate offense to the woman who had nothing but helped him.

They were all safe now, but somehow the relief about dodging his worst fear didn't show itself. It was just pain now, every day for every minute.

Two more weeks in here, according to the latest prognosis, and then straight into the unknown. Ambulant rehabilitation maybe, workplace retraining - something like that.

Alone again, until another blood sample or change of dressing became necessary.

Couldn't it have been something else? Elliot would rather be living with his ankle smashed to pieces... or skull, he didn't use its contents anyway, right? Otherwise, he wouldn't be in that fucking bed with a piss bottle on its side.

How much healing to get his life back?

It would only get harder from here on out, that's for sure; although he didn't have to feel all of this right now, therapy was over. So Elliot pressed the big red button down, letting the rush of numbness take him away, if only for a moment.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

9 notes · View notes

sullivanjsue · 2 years ago

Text

Little Howard Phillips Lovecraft lives in Providence, in a gloomy house, with mother and granny. His father is going crazy, and Howard... No, no, wait. That will be tooooo boring.

Ready to mindf*ck for 83 minutes? Go!

And the first film of the trilogy:

Sarah, Howard's mom, doesn't make the best decision when she takes him to an insane asylum to visit his father, Winfield, who screaming in agony of madness, and still haunted by nightmarish leads and bad trips. He alleged traveled through nightmarish worlds and learned something forbidden that corroded his mind. The psychiatrist - Dr. West (not Herbert, but his father), tries to help, but seems to be unsuccessful.

At home, Sarah makes an even worse decision: she gives Lovecraft the diary of Winfield. "Oh, Howard, I'm so worried about you! Here's a notes that made your dad crazy as f*ck, by the way!" And who would have thought!: hell diary takes Howard to Canada other world! All frozen and snowy, no sign of life. He has to find the way home. But the big monster, similar to Cthulhu, attacked on the kid. This scary thing wants to deal with the future writer, but almost falls off a cliff, and Howard saves him. This is Cthulhu Tuthumon, or simply Spot, as the Lovecraft called him, and now they are best friends.

Spot brings Howard to his friends. Don't be fooled like me, these heroes are not deep ones! I don't know what Squidward kids they are. Moderately annoying characters - four orphans, not only take Howard to spend the night, but bring him up to date. His father had previously visited this place, in search of secret knowledge. This could help Howard return, but at the same time, there is a risk of not only going crazy, but awakening the dark lord of Cthulhu, sleeping in R'lyeh. After ominous dreams - the storyline for the following films, in the morning, taking all the risks, the boy and Spot go to the city.

Once green and prosperous, R'lyeh now stands frozen and desolated. But what happened? The new character, queen Algid Bunk, tell about this. At first, she received Howard and Spot not very warmly in her castle, but then softened. And, yes, find the main villain of the film? Found? Good. The children's movie could fool me, but it can't fool you - she's the main villain. Don't think that I'm completely stupid (only half!), but here everyone, except for Howard and Sarah, looks like potential villains. Moreover, all of them (well, except the squid family) are actually villains. This is not a spoiler. If character creepy and/or ugly, he/she is villain. Or if he/she is sexy. The queen's assistant is sexy, and just try to say no: Nyarlathotep is always sexy.

By the way, R'lyeh looks like Bruma from Oblivion. And ghouls live there. Which is logical.

Algid Bunk explains that Howard is part of a prophecy that speaks of saving R'lyeh. A long time ago, everything was awesome in R'lyeh, but everyone relaxed, someone began to worship the dark gods, awakened Cthulhu, and everything turned upside down. Cthulhu was put to sleep again, but failed to restore the glory of the city. (During this story, we are shown a cartoon within a cartoon, so follow the details. I didn’t do this the first time, and then I was in "wow da hell is that" condition). Abdul Alhazred himself wrote about arrival of Howard! He just need to take the second diary from the shoggoth, and Howard himself, as a bonus, will be able to return home.

By the way, about Alhazred - the characters treat to him differently. With fear, respect, disdain. But he certainly was and is. Poet, "not a king" and wizard. And in the future one of the most important figures of the trilogy.

Shoggoth lives deep under the mountain (of madness hehe). His "tekeli-li" will follow you everywhere. Sounds like a sex effender, so you'll be doubly uncomfortable. (And umm I googled the voice actors and shoggoth has Ronald Perlman voice... ups).

Spot stay at the descent, and Howard, confusing a penguin with a shoggot (looks funnier than it sounds), go down into the depths. Shoggoth tries to kill Howard, in parallel, telling that Spot is not Tuthumon at all, and not a friend at all. This is a sleeping Cthulhu and he will definitely wake up. Moreover, Howard, without knowing it, launched a cosmically large mechanism: everything will get f*cked up. The old and dark-dark gods will rise, chaos will begin... Spot comes to the aid of a little friend and almost dies. They are saved by the Elder Sign given by father to Howard. The sign is a medallion that emits light and undermines all the villains. The Shoggoth bursts, the diary is taken, the friends return to queen Algid Bunk.

She, meanwhile, babble with Nyarlathotep. It turns out that there is a plan to please Azathoth (no, not in that sense) but if you want then I won't mind mmmkay, I mean who don’t). But Howard himself might die. Algid Bunk is more optimistic than Nyarlathotep, believing that the boy will manage and later we will understand why. And we also find out that these two have been hanging around here for centuries. This is also important for history. In general, you know, I don’t like to scatter unnecessary words. That is why I am joke about a shoggoth-sex-efender in a review of a children's cartoon.

Well. Little Lovecraft brings the diary to Algid Bunk. And the veil of secrecy has fallen! She is not the queen Algid Bunk, but Abdul Alhazred! And Abdul actually a woman, which no one guesses abought. Cool stuff!

A fight ensues: Algid Bunk (already Abdul) with nightgaunts and ghouls against Howard, Spot and the squid family that came to the rescue. It was possible to win again thanks to the sign of the ancients, frying everyone like grilled sausages. The power of friendship also helps: Spot resists Abdul's spells and doesn't wake up like Cthulhu. The villains are defeated. Abdul, crawling along the walls, escapes. What did she want? Reign in all realms and dimensions. What did she get? She was p*ssed off by a seven year old and seafood.

The portal to home is open! The path is clear! Little Howard says goodbye, but promises someday to return to a city R'lyeh, free from Abdul Alhazred. Now Lovecraft have maaaany friends.

Returning one of diaries to Winfield, Lovecraft gives him a little joy. Psychiatrist West reports that Wilbert is getting better. And also makes it clear that there will be a sequel. Well, well, well…

I would say that the film has more flaws, which the next two films highlight. And as an independent, and together with them - it is not very good from the technical side. There are stretched scenes just for the sake of timing. They can cause a slight cringe, but for children they will do just -fine-. The background is empty and lifeless, and it’s striking. Dialogue sometimes sounds like the characters are not following each other's speech, and many conversations are needed for the same purpose - to stretch the time. And if Lovecraft really saw people and the world like that - oh my God, I can understand his "misontropy". By the third film, you get used to it (no!!!), but the first minutes of the film... they are all scary as sh*t. Except for Sarah, she is like an angel. Little Howard is incredibly cute, sweet boy! Design 10 of 5 Tuthumons. But the designs of the rest of the characters are also cool, here creators tried to come up with an original and good taste. They just... mhhh...

The characters themselves are all surprisingly likable. Even those who are supposed to annoy are not annoying. The main characters evoke empathy and interest, the main villain... Algid Bunk is simply awesome! In this interpretation, Abdul Alhazred is a woman, which pleasantly struck me. She's registered. The design of her two forms is cool, especially the "real" form. And try to argue with me! Do I want this figurine? Let me get my credit card. Will she come to me in nightmares? Oh yeah! But I will let her do with me whatever she wants (and in the following parts I will greatly regret these words, but everything has its time).

By the way, disclaimer, I'm not judging low budget movies for bad animation and stuff like that. These are not Disney movies, so "I knew what I would watch." This is purely for information.

There are jokes that I really laughed at, like the one where Lovecraft calls a penguin from the Necronomicon The diaries are an unfinished Necronomicon (the diaries are an unfinished Necronomicon, didn't I say? well now i said) and it actually appears.

The story won't be boring. You will be carried away for this hour and twenty minutes, whether you are a child or an adult. It is better to know the world of Lovecraft in advance in order to better understand what is happening, but even without this you are able to penetrate and enjoy the chthonic madness, friendship and popular interpretation of the writer's life - he described what he himself experienced.

I give the first film of the trilogy 5.5/10 Tuthumons.

#lovecraft #lovecraftian #movie review #hpl shitposting

19 notes · View notes