#this is an exaggeration he's only 'died' twice

[woollypoison]

Bedroom warfare: part 1

Itzy Yuna x m reader A/N: Angst, smut is for the next part! Word count: 2,434 words.

You’re looking forward to this. A rare night off, some drinks, catching up with your best friend, and finally meeting the girl who has him acting like she hung the very stars in the sky. He talks about her constantly, non-stop bragging. How she’s different, how she keeps him on his toes. You can’t remember the last time he was this into someone, so yeah, needless to say you were curious.

The roads are getting bad, snow already piling along the curbs. You should’ve come earlier, but fuck it, you made it.

You step up to the door, stomp the snow off of your boots and knock twice before letting yourself in. The second you touch the handle, time stops. The cold hits you, but it's a different kind of cold from the snow. A voice in your head screams that opening this door will certainly lead to doom.

The feeling is so sharp, so visceral, you freeze.

A warning.

You ignore it. This is ridiculous. Staying outside any longer might actually make you freeze. You push the door open.

And then you see her. The voice was right.

Yuna. 

She’s curled up on the couch, leaning casually into the cushions like she’s not a demon wearing human skin. Like she hasn’t detonated a nuclear bomb just by existing in this room. There’s no flicker of shock on her face, no moment of hesitation. Just a perfectly practiced smile as she glances up at you, eyes alight with smug confidence and feigned warmness. She was prepared.

“Hey, man!” Your friend’s voice cuts through your brain’s searching for an escape route as he claps a hand on your shoulder. “Glad you made it. Roads are getting bad out there.”

“Yeah,” you manage.

Your friend smiles that big, dumb smile of his, completely oblivious to the way Yuna’s gaze hooks into yours like a knife. “Come in, man. Get comfortable.”

You step forward on autopilot, hanging your coat by the door like you’ve done hundreds of times. Yuna watches without a single crack in her facade, her body language relaxed, deliberate. As if she’s making sure you understand—play along. Do not fuck this up.

“This is Yuna,” your friend continues, gesturing proudly. “Babe, this is my best friend. The one I told you about.”

The one she already knew. The one whose hands were once all over her, whose voice whispered filth into her ear, whose name she moaned as he took each hole of hers as his, whose life she set on fire and walked away from without looking back.

Yuna smiles, tilting her head just slightly. “Nice to finally meet you.”

The fucking nerve on her.

Emotions swell inside you, a festering wound ripping open, but your face doesn’t betray it. You match her smile with an empty one of your own. “Yeah. Likewise.”

You sit across from them, forcing yourself to ignore the way she’s curled into his side, the way his hand rests on her thigh like a claim. It’s all too much.

Your friend, completely unaware of the hurricane tearing through the room sweeping up only you and Yuna, leans back with a content sigh. “She’s incredible, man. Like, seriously. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like her.”

Yuna meets your gaze, and you’d have died if looks could kill, then smiles at your friend. “You exaggerate too much.”

“Not even,” he laughs. “I told him you were different. I mean, look at you.”

You do. She stares back at you. Right at you. Like she’s daring you to say something.

You force a smirk. “Yeah. I’m happy for you.”

The night stretches on, a slow suffocation wrapped in forced pleasantries and underlying malice.

Yuna brushes past you as she walks to the kitchen, her nails grazing your wrist just enough to feel like a scratch. It’s intentional, a silent reminder that she can still reach beneath your skin whenever she wants.

You let your expression remain neutral, but when she returns and settles beside your friend, you decide to push back. You swirl your drink in hand, voice casual but with deadly precision. “You ever think about loyalty?”

Your friend laughs, oblivious. “Deep question, man. What, you been betrayed by someone?”

Yuna knows. Her grip on her boyfriend’s hand tightens, her jaw flexing for the briefest second before she smooths it over with a small, cutesy sound. “Is that something you’re struggling with?”

A sharp retort, coated in molten sugar.

You grin, eyes transfixed on hers, where her soul would be if she had one. “Nah. Just thinking about how rare it is these days.”

She tilts her head unimpressed, expression unshaken by your taunt. “Guess it depends on who you’re with.”

Your friend laughs again, oblivious to the daggers flying inches from his head. “Damn, this is getting deep for a casual night.” Bless his stupid heart.

Yuna goes on to laugh a little too hard with one of your friend’s jokes, her fingers running over his arm as she throws a glance your way. It’s like she wants you to know. See? I can be happy without you.

While your friend isn’t looking and off to get another drink, you lean in slightly, whispering just loud enough that only her ears catch it. “So how long will it be before you cheat on him, too?”

Yuna’s smile doesn’t waver, but her eyes flicker with something dark. “Didn’t know you were still this bitter. Having a hard time getting over me?”

Your friend is none the wiser, sipping his drink and rambling on about something you aren’t even listening to. He doesn’t see the silent war happening right as he returns, doesn’t feel the tension stretching thin enough to snap.

And Yuna? She sits there, composed, graceful, effortlessly charming. Like she hasn’t spent the entire night digging her nails into old wounds just to watch them bleed.

You can’t wait for this night to end.

Your friend’s phone buzzes against the coffee table, cutting through the forced, suffocating conversation. A moment of relief. He barely looks at the screen before answering.

“Hello?”

A pause. His expression shifts. It’s subtle at first, then tightening with concern.That big, dumb smile evaporates.

“What? When?”

Yuna straightens beside him, her fingers curling slightly on her lap. You watch the way her entire body goes rigid, instinctively responding to the shift in energy. The room tilts, like the balance of power is about to change. A ceasefire is called, as your common concern grows ever more concerned.

Your friend exhales sharply and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. No, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He hangs up, already moving towards the door.

“I have to go,” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter. “It’s my mom. She’s in the hospital.”

Yuna blinks. “Oh my god?”

The snowstorm outside has only gotten worse, and the roads are probably a nightmare. You’re sure he knows that, but there’s no hesitation in his movements. You can’t blame him, you’d be much the same. He’s already halfway to the door, shoving on his coat.

“I’ll be back soon,” he says, then glances between you and Yuna. “You two will be fine, right?”

Like hell you will.

No. No, you won’t be fine. Not alone. Not with her. Anything but that.

You clear your throat. There’s not enough time for an excuse, and you’d feel even worse using one in this situation. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, man.”

He frowns, halfway into pulling on his other sleeve. “What? Are you serious?”

“The roads are bad. You shouldn’t be out in this. Or I could come with you?”

“It’s my mom,” he says, like that explains everything. And in a way, it does.

You swallow any goodness you have left in yourself, attempting one final protest. “Still—”

“Please, stay here, just in case something happens. Yuna doesn’t know what to do if the power goes out. It’d make me feel more at ease.”

If only he knew half of it. But this is not the time to be selfish. He’s your best friend.

Your jaw tightens. Yuna doesn’t react, doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say a damn thing. She doesn’t need to. Everything she wanted to say, you already did. She wants you nowhere near her. But your friend was right. This was the better solution.

Your friend claps a hand on your shoulder. “Just stay, alright? Keep each other company.”

You nod in reluctant agreement. “Yeah. Sure.”

And just like that, he’s gone. The door slams behind him.

A rotten silence taints the air.

The performance shatters instantly.

The false smiles, the polite distance—it’s all destroyed the second his car pulls out of the driveway.

You exhale sharply, rubbing a hand over the back of your neck as you peered over to Yuna. “Fucking hell.”

Yuna scoffs, her arms crossed. “Yeah, I’m not happy about this either.”

She walks past you, and you hate that you recognize every little sway, tilt and strut her body makes. The controlled tension in her shoulders, the barely concealed hostility humming in her eyes. She’s coiled tight, inches away from snapping.

You don’t give her the satisfaction of speaking first. If anything you’d prefer to just sit in silence, minding your own business until your buddy is back.

“Guess it’s just us now.” She laughs. Fuck. So far for silence. It’s sharp, bitter. Venomous. “Like old times.”

Your hands clench at your sides. “Not fucking funny.”

Yuna turns to face you fully, her lips curling into something devious. “Never said it was.”

A charged tension crackles between you, thick with unresolved filth. You can’t look at her without the memories flooding back. The way she felt beneath you as you pounded her down to where she belonged. The way she used to moan your name, confessing her filthy desires and so-called love. The way she made you feel like the only person worthy of her in the whole world—before she tore it all apart.

And yet, despite it all, despite your veins burning with hatred, you can feel it. You know she’s thinking the same thing. Seeing the same memories.

The past isn’t dead between you. Far from it. It’s alive, thrashing, screaming, demanding to be acknowledged.

Yuna tilts her head, breaking your introspection. She’s studying you like a bug nailed to the wall. “You look like you want to say something.”

You exhale sharply. She’s wrong. You don’t want to say something. You want to stay silent. You have to say something. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then fucking say it.”

Your hands tighten into fists, your venomous glands activating. “You cheated on me.”

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look guilty. Just crosses her arms and raises a brow. “Yeah. I did.”

The sheer lack of remorse in her voice sends you over the edge. You expect her to at least soften, to at least pretend like it wasn’t that bad, saving her own skin. But she doesn’t. She stands in it, owns it, like she’s daring you to throw it in her face. Daring you to do something.

She knows just how to press your buttons. It never works out in your favor, but you bite back.

“And yet I’m still the villain?”

Yuna steps forward, voice razor-sharp, knowing exactly what you’d say. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, right. I forgot. Because you think what I did was worse.”

She doesn’t agree, and the snap in her scowl all but confirms it. “It was.”

You step closer too, closing the distance between you until there’s barely a foot between your bodies. She won’t get the best of you. “You spread your legs for another guy, Yuna.”

“And you turned me into some sex trophy to fucking show off,” she spits.

She’s right, both your words serving as the flame used to light a fuse burning toward an explosion neither of you cares to stop.

Yuna’s voice drops lower, more venomous. “You think fucking me over behind my back was okay? At least I had the decency to keep it private. At least I didn’t—” She cuts herself off, centering herself before continuing. She knows her strikes will land harder if she’s calm to deliver them. “Do you have any idea how it felt?”

You don’t respond. You can’t respond, and she doesn’t stop.

“I found out months later,” she says, voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “Randomly. Just—stumbled across a conversation between you and your drinking buddies. ‘Look at her tits, isn’t she fucking unreal?’” Her eyes are burning now, the reflection of the impending explosion clearer than ever. “And they agreed. Told you how fucking lucky you were. All while I had no idea you were passing those pictures around like a fucking trophy.”

She had you dead to rights, but you didn’t care. “I was drunk.”

Her laugh is pure ice. Unamused and willing to kill. “Oh, fuck you.”

You began forming something that barely resembles an excuse. Against your better judgement. “I didn’t think—”

“That’s the fucking problem,” she snaps, stepping forward until she’s practically in your space. “You never thought. You never cared.”

You snapped back, your version of the truth different from hers. “That’s not true.”

Her head tilts again. It’s her tell for being in disbelief, her eyes dark. “Isn’t it?”

Silence. You wanted it not long ago, but now it’s suffocating.

You don’t have an answer.

Or maybe you do, but you don’t want to say it. Maybe there is some truth to you being an asshole.

Yuna scoffs at your lack of response, then turns away. You expect her to storm off, to put as much distance between you as possible, but she doesn’t. Instead, she walks to the counter, grabs the bottle of whiskey sitting there, and pours herself a bottom. She knocks it down without effort.

You frown, knowing what kind of omen this was. “Drinking already? That’s a bad idea.”

She scoffs, pouring herself another. “Yeah, you’re famous for being good with alcohol.”

You don’t respond to her accusation. There’s no point. What she did was worse anyway. “Alcohol makes you messy.”

She smirks bitterly, raising her glass in mock salute before taking a slow, deliberate sip. “Yeah?” Her eyes drift to yours, heavy-lidded and absolutely unimpressed. “And whose fault is that?”

You don’t answer.

Because you both know exactly whose fault it is.

And now, there’s nothing left between you but impending destruction. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if’, it was a matter of ‘when’.

[ooooo-mcyt]

While I get people's desire to draw parallels within the final four of Secret Life, I really feel like a lot of fanon attempts to juxtapose Gem killing Scott with Scar sparing Pearl are unfair to either Gem or Scott.

I see people imply that either Scott or Gem did something wrong in some way- either Scott unfairly pressured Gem into killing him or Gem devalued her ally by agreeing- and attribute this as the reason they lost in the end while Scar and Pearl- Pearl being 'less pushy' and Scar 'caring more' about his allies- won. The thesis seems to be that Gem made the 'wrong' choice, Scar made the 'right' one, and that's why Scar won over Gem.

Which. No.

The truth is that there was no 'choice' to be made.

At the point where Gem killed Scott, both Pearl and Scar individually had more hearts than Gem and Scott did combined (this is not an exaggeration. gem had 6 hearts, scott had 2.5, pearl had 15, and scar had 17), Scott was an easy one-shot for whoever took the first swing at him, and he had no way to regenerate health at that point. Scar chose to spare Pearl, yes, but Gem didn't "choose" to kill Scott, there was no real choice in the matter. Scott was, practically, already dead, and Gem was close enough if she didn't take the final swing (honestly, even the hearts from scott probably never would have been enough to save her).

I've said this before, but I genuinely believe that Gem and The Scotts were doomed, probably starting from the fight with Grian (who took a frankly shocking amount of health from them all things considered). That fight just spread them too thin, took too much of their health. Impulse died shortly after, and what health Gem and Scott did have was whittled away fighting a team twice their size. Gem and The Scotts were a powerful and competent team with ample resources, but they took a hit the mechanics of the game wouldn't let them recover from, and everything from that point was them desperately fighting against the odds trying to get one of them to the end, even if they must have known how bleak those odds were.

People have called it poetic. 'Gem lost because she didn't value her ally enough, Gem ironically died to a 2v1 after killing the one who would have fought beside her, funny that she's so bitter about the 2v1 when she 'chose' to kill her teammate while Scott didn't, etc. '

And it drives me insane because Gem didn't choose to kill Scott out of some callous desire for an advantage, Gem killed Scott because the latter half of their finale was a slow steadily worsening case study in helplessness and Scott gave Gem everything as an act of love, in the desperate hope that she could find a way despite the odds, (only for it all to be wasted, because it was two against one, and they didn't give gem the chance, and of course that left her bitter)

I'm just so insane about this.

[wheres-mylove]

died in your arms | declan o'hara x fem!reader

Summary: It must have been something Declan said. Or done. Maybe both. You'll be dying inside, but at least in his arms.

Word count: 1.3k

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Falling for your boss was a very, very dangerous thing.

Especially when he was older. Married. With a family.

Especially when he had those sad, beautiful eyes.

You could lie to yourself, pretend his gaze lingered on you in a way that was different. Special. Not like you were some naïve girl who’d drop everything for him.

You would, of course.

It was foolish. But foolishness had a way of compelling you. That’s how you found yourself standing outside his house late at night, the cold seeping into your bones. The sound of your restless shifting on the wooden steps could be heard from a mile away.

Taggie’s voice had been trembling when she called. “Can you come? Please?” she’d said, words rushed, and just like that, you were here.

You raised your hand to knock again when the door creaked open. The faint glow of a lamp spilled out, and your chest tightened.

The day had already been chaotic. Declan had swept through the office like a storm. He’d tossed a curt, “I’m taking leave. You should too,” over his shoulder as he walked out. Before you could respond, Tony had strutted in, telling you that Mr. O’Hara’s throwing one of his tantrums again.

He’ll cool off eventually.

“I’m worried about him,” Taggie sighed when she let you in, her words tumbling over each other. “And Mom…” She hesitated, eyes darting away as if she could evade her own thoughts. “Mom doesn’t care.”

“Hey, Tag,” you said gently, wrapping her in a hug she didn’t ask for but desperately needed. “How bad is it?”

“He locked himself in the study to watch that stupid interview with James...” 

You crouched to scratch behind Gertrude’s ears. 

“Interesting form of punishment,” you’d tried to joke, but the attempt fell flat against the worry etched into her face.

Taggie’s eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “I’m scared this time. Something’s wrong.”

Something was always wrong. Maud cheated. Maud left. Maud returned. Declan picked up the pieces, only to watch her break him again. It was a cycle you’d seen too many times, and yet here you were, stepping into its center.

“It’ll be fine,” you lied, the words tasting fake. “I’ll try to fix it.”

“He’ll listen to you,” Taggie said, her voice almost inaudible. “You’re the only one he listens to.”

And now, as you stood in the threshold of the room, that burden of responsibility weighed heavy on your chest. The study was suffocating. Heavy curtains cloaked the windows, and the faint scent of whiskey hung in the air. Declan lay sprawled on the worn leather couch, his shirt half-unbuttoned. 

The flicker of the television bathed his face in pale light. James Vereker’s smug expression visible on the screen, Thatcher’s practiced responses echoing faintly. That was before you came closer and turned it off.

Declan’s bleary eyes slowly turned toward you, the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. He blinked once, twice, as though trying to place you in the haze of his mind.

“Turn it back on,” he rasped, his voice a whisper that scraped against the stillness.

“No chance,” you replied, moving to pull a chair closer to him. “What are you doing to yourself? I wouldn’t let my worst enemy watch that shit, let alone you. Enjoying the torture?”

“Torturing myself has always been my specialty,” he muttered. A bitter smile graced his lips, but his eyes remained dark. “I’m an expert, I’m-”

“You’re drunk,” you observed, your voice firm but soft.

He lifted his glass, swirling the amber liquid with exaggerated care. “And?” he asked, his tone teetering between defiance and despair. “Will you take this from me too, love?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you said, lips twitching.

He laughed, short and hollow, shaking his head. It was the laugh of a man who’d stopped expecting anything good.

“Why are you here?” he asked, voice low, almost a whisper.

“Taggie called me,” you said simply. “She’s worried about you. And so am I. This interview meant so much to you. And when you left, I could see that...” You hesitated, the words heavy in your throat. “Declan, are you alright?”

His only response was to push himself to his feet. His movements were unsteady, restless, as though he couldn’t bear the weight of standing still. He paced the room with the agitation of a caged animal, his fingers running through his hair, tugging at the strands as if trying to wake himself.

“Leave,” he said finally, his back to you. His voice cracked, fragile. “Please. Just leave. This is torture. Not the interview. You.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but you stayed seated, your gaze steady. “I’ll leave when I know you’re okay,” you said gently. “Right now, you’re just rambling.”

He turned to you then, his expression unreadable, his eyes clouded with something that might have been pain or might have been fear. “Do you want to hear something funny?” he asked, his voice hollow, devoid of humor. “Tony blackmailed me with photos of Maud. You know the kind. Documenting the affair.”

Your throat went dry. You had no idea.

“My hands are tied because of my wife’s betrayal. And oh, how beautifully it’s been photographed,” he laughed bitterly, the sound cutting through the room like a shard of glass. He took another sip of whiskey, the amber liquid trembling slightly in the glass.

“I’m so sorry, I–”

“Of course you’re sorry. With your fucking compassion and damned understanding,” Declan said, his words tumbling out in one breath, raw and jagged. Then, as if the weight of everything became too much, he sank to his knees by the chair where you sat, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. “Maybe that’s why I’ve sinned in my thoughts. Because you’re kind to me.”

Your head was spinning, the walls of the room seeming to close in around you. You looked down at him, the tears that welled in your eyes blurring the edges of his face.

“Declan–” you whispered, your voice unsteady, the name barely making it past your lips.

“Do you think if someone took a photo of me when I look at you,” he began, his voice low and shaking, “they’d have proof of an affair? Because I have so, so many thoughts. And I think you can see them. If you look close enough.”

His fingers brushed your jaw, a touch so soft it felt like it might shatter you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Your heart raced, the beat of it a deafening drum in your chest.

“You won’t remember this tomorrow,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “You’re drunk. You’re married.”

“And you’re good to me. Even though you’re not mine, I feel like I have you, like you’re with me, like you’re for me.”

Then he kissed you. His lips were warm and tasted of whiskey, salt, and something achingly desperate. The kiss was messy, filled with everything he couldn’t say.

And yet you couldn’t tell if he truly meant it. In the way you wanted him to mean it.

That’s why you pushed him away.

“We can’t. Maud–”

“Maud doesn’t give a shit. She has been unfaithful, love. From the very beginning.” His voice cracked, the admission heavy in the air between you.

“So you want to make it even?” you asked, the words sharp despite the tears sliding down your cheeks.

He looked like you’d struck him, his eyes wide, the pain in them unmistakable.

“I don’t want to be some twisted sense of comfort and justice to you, Declan,” you said, standing quickly, the chair scraping against the floor. The movement felt like the only way to keep from breaking entirely. “This means more to me than it does to you. It’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, rising unsteadily to his feet. His face was pale, his voice thick with emotion. “My sweet girl, I’m so, so sorry.”

When his hand reached up to wipe the tears from your face, you froze. His touch was tender, almost reverent, and it felt like it might undo you entirely.

At that moment, you knew.

You wouldn’t be able to say no to him, no matter what you were to him.

Consolation, revenge, or love.

It didn’t matter, as long as you were something to Declan O’Hara.

[ikkyfics]

Sweet Temptation

Peter Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: "You really don't have any idea, do you?" He leaned in even closer, so close that you could feel his heat enveloping you, stealing any breath you had left. "Do I have to show you?"

Warnings: Peter being a lovesick idiot, and themes of insecurity and self-image

A/N: It was my third request - anon, I hope you like it! 🩷

Masterlist

When Peter saw you enter the basement, he knew something was wrong right away. He didn’t need words or gestures, just that little frown and the way you avoided looking directly at him. Peter became an expert on you, recognizing the slightest changes in your face, as if each expression were a clue in a puzzle that only he could decipher.

Without thinking twice, he was already running to the other side of town, to his favorite bakery. It was a small place, with shiny windows displaying sweets that looked like true works of art: pastel-colored macarons, éclairs with sparkling icing, tiny cupcakes decorated with flower petals. Everything there was delicate, perfect.

He paused for a moment in the doorway, holding his breath. It was impossible not to associate you with this place. Those refined pastries had the same elegance as you, as if the baker had created them with you in mind. And Peter, with his thoughts always racing, found himself once again wondering what it would be like to take you there on a real date. He would make some silly joke to get a smile, then insist that you try the chocolate éclair. When he finally kissed you, it would taste sweet with vanilla and sugar.

"Stop daydreaming, Maximoff," he muttered to himself, shaking his head before going in and ordering a selection of the best things in the display case. It was expensive, but that didn't matter. He just wanted to see you smile again.

When he came back, you were still in the basement, pacing back and forth. Your hair flying in every direction, a consequence of when you were too absorbed in your own thoughts.

And, man, he loved seeing you like that, it was one of the reasons he was always annoying you. Your hair whipping in all directions was a sight to behold. Simply fantastic.

Cyclone. That was how people knew you.

But they had no idea that someone with such destructive powers could work wonders on especially hot days. Peter would melt against your body when you summoned a gentle breeze, driving away the heat with a simple movement of your fingers. He would sigh when he felt the cool air blow against his hair, and then he would go all limp until his body returned to a normal temperature. What could he do? He was especially sensitive to heat.

He stopped at the entrance, holding the box of sweets like it was some kind of trophy.

"I'm back!" he announced, with that smug smile he always used to hide any vulnerability. He waved the box in the air. "And look, I brought something that suits you perfectly."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "Oh, yeah? And what would that be?"

"Pretty, delicate… and very expensive." He winked at you, walking into the basement and placing the box on the small table in the corner.

You laughed softly, but not as lightly as usual. There was still something different, and it made Peter's chest tighten. He opened the box with an exaggerated flourish, revealing the perfectly arranged sweets, and picked up one of the macarons to offer you.

"Go on, try it. This one tastes like strawberry or something. It looks good."

You hesitated. It was an almost imperceptible movement, but enough for Peter to notice. "What is it?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

"It's nothing." You shrugged, looking at the sweets as if they were some kind of trap. "It's just… not everyone has a super fast metabolism like you."

"You're kidding, right?" Peter laughed, but the sound died quickly when he saw the way you looked away.

"No kidding," you said, crossing your arms defensively. "Those things are fattening, and… right now, I can't dream of gaining any extra weight."

He fell silent, waiting for you to continue, but what came next was a whisper that hit him like a punch. "I'm already huge."

The words hung in the air, heavy, and something inside him snapped. He'd never heard you speak of yourself so rudely. How could you see yourself that way? To him, you were everything. Perfect.

"You're not serious," he said, his voice lower than usual, almost a whisper. "Huge? Where did you get that from?"

You snorted, but didn't look at him. "Peter, forget it. You wouldn't understand."

"Wouldn't you understand?" he repeated, taking a step forward. "I understand more than you think. And honestly, you're wrong."

"Wrong about what?" You finally looked up at him, but there was something vulnerable in your gaze that completely disarmed him.

"About you. About all of this." He gestured to the box of sweets and then to you. "You know what? I paid a fortune for this, so you're going to eat one of these macarons, even if I have to lecture you to do it."

You laughed nervously, but Peter wasn't kidding. He stepped closer, standing so close that he could feel your heat. "You have no idea how I see you, do you?"

"Peter…" you began, but he shook his head, cutting you off.

"I see someone amazing. Someone who makes me laugh even when I'm having the worst day. Someone who makes me want to be… I don't know, a little less of an asshole." He laughed, but the sound was strained. "And seriously, you are beautiful. Like, absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, beautiful. So stop saying such horrible things about yourself, because I can't even process how you could think that."

Peter didn’t look away, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of your face, the way you avoided looking at him, your nervous fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. There was a tension in the air, something that made the space between you seem even smaller than it was. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, husky, as if the words carried something greater than he could admit.

“You don’t understand, do you?” He took a step closer, close enough that you could feel the heat emanating from him. “You think it’s all in your head, that no one notices… but I see it. I see everything. And you… you’re exactly how a woman should be.”

He paused, letting the sentence hang in the air for a moment before continuing. His gaze ran up and down you, slow, intense, as if he were discovering something that left you completely breathless. When he spoke again, his tone had an almost devotional reverence, but still with the characteristic touch of humor that was so much his.

"There are no lines, you know? No straight lines. You're all curves, succulent, perfect. There are no sharp edges, just… a softness that seems divine. Like, honestly, it's unfair." He laughed, but he didn't look away, and the intensity in his eyes was almost disconcerting. "You're living proof that some things in this world were made to be admired. And if you can't see that, I think I'll have to spend the rest of my life trying to convince you."

He took another step, now so close that any movement from you would be enough to close the distance between you. The smile he gave was small, almost shy, but his eyes shone with something you couldn't define, a mix of desire, admiration and vulnerability.

"So, stop saying those horrible things about yourself, because, honestly? It drives me kind of crazy." He laughed nervously, running a hand through his silver hair, but his eyes were still fixed on you. "Like, how can someone look at you and not think they're looking at perfection? It doesn't make sense. Not to me."

The silence returned, but it was different now, heavy with everything he wasn't saying. His eyes were still locked on yours, but there was something else there, a hesitation, as if he was waiting for a sign, anything, to finally cross the line that seemed to separate them. And deep down, he knew he was already completely lost.

You didn't look away, even when you felt a blush heat your cheeks. It was as if you were trapped in the intensity of those dark eyes that seemed to see every part of you, dismantling any facade you might try to put up. His name escaped your lips in a low whisper, hesitant, but filled with something that not even you could name.

"Peter…"

Your tone hit you like a punch in the chest. The world seemed to have stopped spinning in that instant, leaving only the two of you, so close it was almost painful. You looked like a deer caught in the headlights, your lips parted and your breathing fast, almost panting, as if you were running.

"What does that mean?" Your voice broke the silence, fragile and uncertain, as if you were risking something that could change everything.

Peter closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to find some strength within himself before taking the next step. And then he did. He approached you, so slowly that the air between you seemed to vibrate, charged with something undeniably electric. He lifted his hands, hesitant for a split second, before cupping your face between them.

The touch was a perfect contrast of firmness and delicacy. His thumbs brushed the warm skin of your cheeks, and the sigh that escaped Peter's lips was almost imperceptible, but so full of emotion that you felt the impact like a thunderclap. He gently brushed away a strand of hair that fell over your face, his fingers lingering a little longer than necessary, as if he wanted to capture the feeling forever.

"You're so…" He began, but laughed, a dry sound, filled with something that seemed like a mix of frustration and self-mockery. He shook his head, his eyes shining with a heat that seemed to steal the air from the room. "You know what I'm good at doing?"

You couldn't answer, but he didn't expect you to. The closeness was unbearable, his breath mingling with yours, so hot you could feel the slightest difference in rhythm. He tilted his head, his face now so close his lips almost brushed yours.

"I ruin things, love." The word slipped from him in a whisper, low and husky, filled with something that made every nerve in your body throb. "It's what I always do. Always."

But there was a hopelessness there, a vulnerable glint in his eyes that didn't match the tone of his voice. It was like he knew he was crossing a line he could never come back from, but he couldn't help himself. He swallowed hard, and his touch on your face grew firmer, like he wanted to anchor you in that moment.

And then he leaned in even closer, the tip of his nose brushing yours in a way that was almost innocent, but held a promise that made your heart hammer in your chest. His gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there for a moment that seemed to last an eternity. The desire was palpable, barely contained, overflowing in the way his eyes almost begged for permission, even though he knew he had already lost himself completely in you.

"Peter…" You whispered again, your voice a little hoarser, filled with a heat that seemed to melt any barrier between you. Slowly, your hands rose, hesitant, as if you were trying to contain the overwhelming wave that threatened to swallow you. But the moment your arms wrapped around his waist, something inside Peter gave way, a rope already so tense that it finally snapped.

He shuddered under your touch, his muscles contracting beneath your fingers, as if your every movement had the power to set him on fire. A curse escaped his lips, low and hoarse, more to himself than to you. "Fuck," he muttered, almost as a rant, his dark eyes sparkling with something between frustration and pure desire. "You really have no idea, do you?" He leaned in even closer, so close that you could feel his heat enveloping you, stealing any breath you had left. "Do I have to show you?"

His hands slid down your back, warm and firm, and before you could react, he pulled you in a movement too fast, almost careless, pressing your body against his. The impact made you gasp, and the soft sound only fueled the determination that burned in Peter’s eyes. His fingers found the curve of your waist, squeezing it with a mixture of reverence and desperation, as if he were trying to engrave that feeling into every fiber of his memory.

He knew he was ruined. You were too close, so unbearably close, making any rational thought impossible. All that existed was you—the way you molded perfectly against him, the heat of your body against his, the way your scent seemed to cloud all his senses.

And then he gave in.

His lips met yours with an urgency that bordered on desperation, as if he had been waiting for this moment for so long that he couldn't bear to wait even a second longer. How many times had he dreamed about this? How many nights had he spent losing himself in fantasies where you were his, where he could kiss you like he always wanted, without fear, without hesitation?

But no dream could compare to reality.

You were sweet, so sweet that he felt like he was drowning in a sea of ​​sugar and heat. Your soft lips moved against his in perfect synchrony, as if you had been made for this, to lose yourselves in each other. His hand rose from your waist to the base of your neck, holding it with careful firmness, while he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, seeking more of you, always more.

The world around him disappeared, as if nothing else mattered but that moment, that kiss that seemed to be the peak of everything. Peter felt intoxicated, every part of you burning against him like a living spark that set everything in its path ablaze. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t want to run. He wanted to stay right there, with you, feeling you. Living you.

When you finally spoke, your voice was barely a whisper, but it was firm enough for Peter, who could barely breathe, to understand. “Me too, Peter,” you said, and the word “love” seemed to fill the space between you, as if the world had stopped to listen. He couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across his face, a smile that was pure, innocent, and full of joy that he could barely contain. It was as if all the pieces of the puzzle, that he hadn’t even known were out of place, finally fit together.

“You,” he whispered, and his voice shook. The words he wanted to say were trapped, because reality surpassed even his wildest dreams. He leaned toward you again, with an urgency that made your heart beat too fast, as if it wanted to jump out of your chest. When your lips met, it was as if the world exploded in a color and intensity he had never experienced. The kiss was more than passionate; it was a carnal and sweet desperation, a promise and a concession, as if he were trying to convey everything he had kept to himself.

His fingers explored your back, feeling the warm skin and the vibration of each sigh you took. He separated from you only for a moment, his breathing still rapid and his eyes fixed on yours, to make sure that this was real. With a gesture that was almost a ritual, he took one of the sweets, holding it at the level of your lips.

“Eat,” he said, his voice husky and filled with a kind of adoration he barely knew he possessed.

You didn’t hesitate, and your eyes lit up as you accepted the candy from his hand, the sensation bittersweet and sweet all the same, in a play of flavors and smiles. But before you could settle into that moment, with a mischievous movement, you bit Peter’s finger, and the surprise turned into a shiver that ran down your spine.

“Do you really think you can tease me and get away with it?” he asked, but the laugh that followed was a promise. He tilted his head back, a mischievous glint in his eyes as you laughed, and he pulled you closer, without another word. The kiss that followed was intense and uncontrolled, a meeting of souls that burned with every touch and every murmur. Peter was no longer in control; the excitement, the desire and the happiness overflowed, and he wanted more, he wanted everything, and that was what he needed.

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

A horned protector

Warning ⚠️ ; Cursing, mention of past character death, abuse of alcohol, blood.

Pairing; none, reader is inside a male body

Summary; You don't enjoy it, and neither do the brothers, but the three of you are stuck together because of their father. John Winchester outsmarted you, binding you in a deal to watch and protect his sons. Well, only Dean. And tonight, you are doing just that.

Ps; I did not mean for this story to be this long. Hope y'all like a long read!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Being a demon wasn't always easy or fun. For example, you were stuck with two hunters who despised your existence and wanted nothing more than to kill you! So why stick around? Because their father had outsmarted you on a deal. You were still mad about it.

You had known and tormented John Winchester for years. You used to have fun stalking him during his hunts or just following him and messing around. You could remember that time you followed him on a vampire hunt, exaggerating everything; the sneaking around, the search for clues. You even put on a Sherlock Holmes costume!

Oh, how John hated you! He even once tried to run you over with the Impala. It was good memories. Well, until that night when John summoned you specifically on a crossroad. It was shocking and unexpected.

You could still remember the seriousness and solemnity in his eyes as he made his deal with you. That upon his death you would watch and protect his sons against Azazel. Well, mostly Dean. For some reason, John had put an emphasis on protecting his eldest boy. But there had been a trick; that he could still make a deal with another demon if its meant protecting and or saving his sons.

You hadn't believed it would happen. It was so precise!

And then it did.

John Winchester had died and the deal had to be followed.

It had been a few years and you had failed not once, but twice. Sam had been stabbed to death and Dean had made a deal, ending with his soul being dragged into hell. Yes. You had failed miserably and it was pitiful. You had given your all even when the boys had tried to kill you, you stayed around to watch over them, but it was as if an outside force had been against you.

It intrigued you, especially now that you had learned about the so-called ‘prophet’ the brothers had met and who was a writer. That Chuck had written about their life, even about you, which had been both a surprise and shock with how accurately he had been describing some events. It also made you wary. What other capacity did that man have? Could he hurt Dean and Sam?

Those thoughts were on your mind as you walked toward the brother’s motel room. The Impala was parked in front of it, guiding you in the right direction. The boys were hunting something, you didn't really pay attention to what, for the past week. They were lost in the middle of Texas on a full moon and you could tell it impacted them differently.

Sam, bless his heart, stayed happy and festive researching their monster restlessly. You hadn't seen him for the past two days but knew he was fine thanks to Dean.

Dean who was the one taking it the worse. While he kept smiling for his little brother you saw the emptiness behind his eyes, the way he clenched his jaws and how his nights were filled with nightmares. Dean didn't know you knew as you came only when they slept by fear of either getting shot or stabbed.

Well, except tonight.

You had gone out of your way to get the boys more supplies for their hunts after seeing they were getting low. Silver bullets and knives, salt and you even braved the Church to get some holy water, burning your hand on the process. But it was a small price to pay if it could help keep the Winchester brothers alive.

The bag hanging on your shoulder, you moved your free hand to unlock the door the the brothers’ room, calling for Dean.

- “Hey pieface, guess what I got for y'all!”

You barely finished your sentence when a shadow mover in front of your eyes. You barely had the time to duck, dropping the bag, before pain exploded in your face.

Hand clenched tightly around Dean’s wrist, your demonic eyes stared at the eldest brother with both amusement and pride. You chuckled as you forced Dean to remove the knife from your cheek. A few inches more and you would have dropped death.

- “My, my! Look at the mess you are making Dean.” You said, your demonic eyes turning to the blade as blood poured out of your opening cheek. You could feel the flesh hanging against your jaw, exposing your teeth. “Better clean it up before Sammy comes back.”

- “What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean asked, snatching his wrist out of your grip.

- “Bringing you some gift!”

You bowed down, grabbed the bag and shoved it in Dean’s arms. You watched him walk to the table and drop everything on it. You could smell the scent of alcohol clearly, almost as if you had the bottle right under your nose. You frowned, watching closely as Dean examined everything.

The eldest brother was clearly tipsy now that you watched more attentively. You clicked your tongue annoyed with how careless Dean was. You knew how he had a lot on both his shoulders and mind, but the bottle wasn't the answer. Yet, you said nothing, your eyes looking around to see the bottles of beer and other alcohol around the room.

With a wave of your hand, you moved them all together before proceeding to clean. You felt Dean’s gaze staring holes in your back and almost laughed, but didn't. You just remembered what day it was.

Today was the anniversary of John Winchester’s death.

You sighed softly as you put the last bottle in the trash back before turning your attention to Dean. He had dropped down on the bed, feet hanging from the mattress and his back turned to you. For a second you imagined him as a small pouting child, which he kinda was. You didn't want to know just how bad the situation would turn out when Sam would come back…

You left Dean pouting on the bed and went to take care of your face. Grabbing a needle and some thread you stitched your cheek back together before taking off your shirt and washing it in the sink. You didn't want to trigger Sam with the smell of your blood, knowing how hard the boy had worked to get ride of his addiction.

Clean, you walked out of the bathroom to get ride of your blood that had fallen on the ground. Still on the bed, Dean stared at you, eyes clouded by the alcohol. You clicked your tongue like a disappointed father before looking at him.

- “You are on a hunt, Dean. Why are you drinking like that?”

- “Fuck you. Get out of our room.”

You rolled your eyes and threw away the blood-soaked tissues before making a knot in the bag.

- “Yeah, I will. For five minutes. I’ll be right back.”

Carrying the trash bag, you went outside. The air was heavy and humid and there was no breeze. You saw no one else outside and yet still felt like you were being watched. Frowning, you hurried to throw away the trash. Looking around you, you couldn't see anything alive. Not in the trees or on the ground nor in the sky.

But the feeling was still there.

You weren't alone out there.

Grinding your teeth, you went back inside and locked the door. The sound had Dean sitting on the bed staring at you angrily.

- “What the fuck are you…” Dean tried to ask before you interrupted him.

- “Shut up. We are not alone and something was outside watching me.” You said, grabbing a shotgun and throwing it at him. “Get ready, I bet its about to get messy.”

That was enough to sober up Dean who grabbed the gun and got up, joining you in the middle of the room. Your eyes were glued to the window even if the curtains were closed. Next to you, Dean was calling Sam to tell him to come back as quickly as possible.

He didn't mention that you were there.

Outside you heard the gravel crunching as something walked around in front of the door and window. Immediately Dean raised his gun, ready to shoot if anything tried to enter. You waved your hand, turning off the lights, trying to make you two as discreet as possible. You could still see clearly, unlike Dean.

The sound of footsteps became quieter until then silence was all that was left. Dean’s breathing was the only thing you could hear and neither of you moved nor dropped your guard. It wasn't over, you knew it. Whatever was outside had watched you and saw where you went.

It knew you were in there.

You moved, ever so slightly, keeping Dean behind you. Whatever that thing was, you didn't want to take the risk for Dean to be hurt. Not only because of your deal with John but also because Dean had been drinking. His reflexes weren't going to be as fast as normally.

- “Oi fucker, what are you doing?” Dean asked, voice barely audible.

- “Honoring my deal with your father, pieface.” You replied with a chuckle.

The next seconds passed in a blur.

The sound of broken glass filled the room as a growl broke the silence of the night. A shadow jumped between the curtains ready to pounce on you and Dean. Without thinking you raised your hand and sent the thing flying against the wall. Dean didn't lose a second and immediately shot at it.

The monster moved before any bullet hit it.

Knowing what was to come, you turned your attention on Dean. With the same trick, you sent Dean flying out of the room by the broken window. The young man screamed and you smiled as the creature tackled you to the ground, fangs and claws digging in your flesh. You didn't scream, fingers finding the thing’s eyes and pushing them deep.

Warm blood pulsed and rolled down your hands and wrists as the creature howled in pain. You didn't let go and kept digging, feeling the eyes break under your fingers and nails scratching the bones.

You gasped and coughed as blood and brain matter splashed all over your faces. The sound of a gunshot echoed in the room and the corpse fell on top of you. Groaning, you pushed the carcass off top of you and sat, disgust painted all over your face. You turned your attention toward the window where Dean stood, shotgun still pointed on the dead creature.

- “We need to go, now. Cops won't be long to get here and I don't want to have to explain this mess. Grab everything, I’ll get the car ready.” Dean said before walking away.

Not questioning him, you did as told. Within a minute you had gathered all the brothers’ belongings and the things you had gotten for them. The next, you sat next to Dean as he drove you away to go get Sam. The silence was heavy and even you didn't dare say a word. There was something, like a fragile balance, between the two of you. So fragile that a single sound would brake it and make Dean snap.

Which happen even if you didn't said a word.

The eldest Winchester hit the break and before you could ask what he was doing, his fist collided with your already injured jaw. Then another fist followed and another. It took you a few seconds to realize that Dean was crying, his whole body shaking with each sob. You couldn't make out what he was saying, but guessed he was cursing you like always.

You didn't defend yourself, allowing Dean to just let it all out until you finally caught a few words. Your fault. Didn't do enough. Abandoned us.

He wasn't hitting you.

He was hitting what you represented.

No.

Who you represented.

His father who hadn't been present. His father who had been so hard and rough on him and who, in the end, had died before they could talk about everything. John had died leaving Dean without ny closure.

Dean hadn't been drinking because he was sad, but because he was angry.

After a few minutes, you gently grabbed Dean by the shoulders and he stopped. In your hands, you could feel his body shaking with every sob. If you could still feel emotions, the sight would have broken your heart. But you were a demon. You had lost your humanity a long time ago.

You both kept quiet. Dean by shame, you because you didn't know what to say. Dean drove away until you came across a familiar car; the one Sam had used to go to the library. You stopped again and Sam jumped in, abandoning his car. The door was barely closed that Dean was off again.

- “What the fuck happened to you?” Sam asked you, leaning between your and Dean’s seat.

- “Got a visit from your friend. I don't think he loved me much!” You said jokingly, waving your hands to show your wounds. “Sorry for the smell sweetheart.”

- “Anyway. What are you doing here?” Sam asked after a few seconds of silence.

- “I came to give y'all a bag of ammunition and other things y'all could use during your hunts. I saw how low you were on your inventory.”

Sam looked at you in surprise and suspicion. Of course, the youngest would wonder if you were doing it for another reason than to help. He looked at his brother, expecting Dean to deny what you said, but when his brother said nothing, Sam simply nodded and thanked you.

Slowly, they were learning to trust you. After all, you never lied to them, not even once. And in the future, you would be the only one to do so. Unknown to you three, there would be even more tragedy and danger to come, but you would be there, always.

You would be their horned protector until it killed you.

[annabelle--cane]

mag 03 across the street relisten number [loud sound of a bus driving by] thoughts:

I think about this every time: who threw amy into the street? why? was the not-them trying to engineer a situation where she would become obsessed with graham and watch him get replaced?

there's a nice little bit of foreshadowing in the first appearance of the web table. we're led to believe it's spiral-affiliated for a while because it's described as having a fractal design, but it's first description goes: "It was an ornate wooden thing, with a snaking pattern of lines weaving their way around towards the centre." weaving, babey.

rip graham and whatever the fuck was wrong with him. he was gay he was weird his parents died his diet was just pizza and notebooks.

people have speculated about jon's fanon design and ethnicity a lot, and I wonder if any of it subconsciously comes from this episode? amy is 100% a fledgling beholding avatar of the "obsessive and nosy but also extremely paranoid" strain, and also she's (presumably) indian. I just wonder if people at all associate her with jon.

I've seen a bunch of people over time say that fans exaggerate tim's flirting with people for information and that it's only mentioned one time, and I would like to gently push against that, as he does it in this episode, too. if he's mentioned to do it twice over a fairly long period then I think it's safe to assume this is a regular tactic of his.

as always, this statement's dates remain completely incompatible with the dates in oliver's mag 11 statement. I 💖 the incoherent tma timelines.

[tainted-liquor]

'Fuck Around and Find Out٠ ࣪⭑

e42!Miles Morales x BlackFem!Reader Ingredients: Sugar, kisses, n a lil bit of smiles! TWs: Miles being a dumbass, sassy men, N-word usage, probs incorrect spanish so pleaaase lmk! W/C: 695 A/N: BERLEEZY REFERENCE EUUUUGHHHH!!

It was a peaceful Saturday, and you and your boyfriend Miles were hanging around in the living room when you got a sudden idea. You were going to make Miles play phasmophobia. "Hey Miles? Can you c'mere for a sec?" You called to his crouched form that was 'miles' deep into the fridge as you powered on the TV. He made his way over to the couch, a mix of confusion and amusement as you slid the headset over his head. "Whatchu doin', ma? What's all this for?"

"Shhhh, just play the game. I wanna see what you think of it," You persuaded as you slid both controllers into his hands. "It's...a new game! Yeah! We're experimenting with genres today. Just follow the instructions aight?" You booted the game from your TV and patiently waited as Miles hoisted himself up from his slouched posture, standing in the middle of your living room as you watched the screen. He looks around the electronic space, muttering a confused "The fuck is...phasmophobia" as he begins toying with the various objects in the van.

You explained the game's goal as he nodded in what he thought was your direction, giggling silently as you grabbed both of his wrists, gently guiding his hands to the necessary items and showing him how to pick them up. "Mami, you know I don't fuck with them fuckass ghosts. Why do you have me playing this?" he chuckles as I show him how to move. "Whaaat? Who said anything about ghosts?" you teased, trying to hide the main enemy of the game to get his raw reaction. "I swore I saw a cross over there, so it's either ghosts or demons...n ion rock with either of 'em. The spirit of the lord is HEEEREEE" he exaggerated as he began to play the game. He spent 30 minutes stuck in the van, debating what he should bring to the farmhouse.

When he finally got into the flow of the game, he was scared as bitch. "Why's it so dark in here? This shit got me tight like why am I doing alla dis in the dark?" He spat as he descended the dark halls with his flashlight. He was already antsy as he took out the EMF reader, watching as it spiked to about four with an annoyed fearful groan. But you decided to take it a step further and taunt him just a little bit more. You snuck up to his side with an absolutely evil grin on your face and breathed cold air on the side of his neck.

He unleashed the most unhinged, barbaric, high-pitched, off-the-rails fearful scream as he swung at his side blindly. He would've knocked you clean out had you not already gotten yourself out of the way as soon as you saw his muscles tense. "CHILL, NIGGA DAMN!" You giggled as you watched your boyfriend fearfully run out of the house. He faded in and out between English and Spanish, losing his shit as he desperately tries to explain to you what he felt, not realizing that the ghost can actually...hear him.

"MAMA BICHO! AAAH- MAMI, SENTÍ SU COLD ASS BREATH DE MI LADO!! NO ME DIJISTE IT COULD BREATH!" He practically yelled as he lifted the headset slightly. You laughed manically at his reaction, watching as he scowled and lowered the headset back to his eyes, only to be scared right back out of his headset by the entity. You watched as he jolted backward, hitting the back of his head rather aggressively on the wooden coffee table. You couldn't help but laugh twice as hard, face turning red as you rolled around on the floor, silently crying and clutching your stomach for dear life. "Shit...! Oh my god, Miles, baby are you okay?" You muttered in between harsh giggles, reaching your hand out towards your boyfriend's crouched form with both hands behind his head. "I will KNOCK. yo ass out." he enunciated as he subtly shook on the floor.

"I'm sorry my love!" you cackled as you scooped what was left of a man into your arms, tears coursing down your face from laughing too hard.

[alphabetletterj]

Thinking about the RORS when they’re drunk.

Chip is the type of guy to just fall asleep when drunk. And he wakes up with marker all over his face like

Reggie is a party drunk and has broken and will break shit. Definitely gotten into fights before. She/he wakes up in a tree and nobody knows how he got up there.

At first Randy wouldn’t drink but eventually he tries it and gets wasted. The others make sure to get plenty of pictures of his first drunk night and laughing at him. Chip ends up having to take care of him.

Johnny actually doesn’t get drunk that often (he doesn’t want to not be in control of himself or do anything to smear his reputation)

Chet’s just depressing. He guts drunk and makes a lot of self deprecating jokes that aren’t funny and are just sad, and then he gets even more upset because he hates himself and wants to di-

Then Johnny swoops in like “Haha okayyyyy, why don’t you head upstairs buddy” once he starts to bring the mood down and make people uncomfortable

Javier prefers weed to alcohol but when he does drink he just gets a lot less “quiet abt mysterious” and gets all smiley and stuff

I finally deigned to do the drunk hcs (i'm sorry 💔)

Btw i'm using this as an excuse to post this cuz my ask box is full 🔥🔥🔥

Always starting with fucking randall...

Randy doesn't drink and if he does it's because of social pressure. In the hypothetical case that he was drunk, I think he would sit there with his eyes even more squinted than he already has them, laughing at anything no matter how boring or bad it is, give him 15 minutes and this stupid ass will already be telling you anecdotes about when he was 5 years old that nobody cares about 😭

Reggie doesn't change much - he starts out crazy, he fights with a couple of people for the slightest stupidity, he gets tired and falls asleep wherever he is (he will sleep for 12 hours without the possibility of anyone waking him up) (whoever wakes him up is dead)

Chip is relaxed, he stays calm and maybe while he's drunk he smokes a joint, he also laughs twice as much (and very loud) at everything. Then he falls dead💀 he falls asleep in a sleep so deep that it seems that this mf is in a coma, he is usually the first to fall asleep and the others take the opportunity to draw his entire fucking face (javier draws dicks near his mouth ❤️)

Chet is one of those drama queens who tells you tragic past experiences (very exaggerated) about things that maybe aren't as bad as he says - Sometimes he cries like an abandoned dog 😭 and starts singing sad heartbreak karaoke songs with some girls (that bitch has never had a heartbreak in his entire life, who does he think he is??? /j) then as if nothing had happened he calms down and goes to his room

Javier likes beer (he learned to drink it since he was little because his dad was a "bit" addicted 💀) he has a high tolerance for alcohol, he can drink 30 bottles and nothing happens to him, he doesn't usually do much so after a while his antennae act "weird" but his face is still the same, sometimes he smiles for whatever reason even though no one has told him anything. As he is usually the last to go to sleep, he reflects a lil bit, drinks water and goes to bed (the next day he wakes up with a headache).

Johnny is a spoiled bitch, he only drinks wine or expensive drinks, he annoys javier by saying "how could you like that thing🤓🤓🤓" accompanied by the shitty face he always makes. But the times he is drunk, let's say he looks "normal" but his eyes look super tired and his tone of voice is slower. Like the best guy in the world, he gets up early the next day without any side effects (I hate him)

[host-hubliminal]

>>START_LOG:

HostLog_10:

Subject: Host 2.6

Name: Clock

Species: Alarm Clock(?)

Source: It’s Time For The It’s Time For The It’s Time For The It’s Time For The It’s Time For The For The For The For The The // Channel 57

Gender: Unknown

Pronouns: he/him (source needed) ANY (source info from commentator on this post)

Description:

Clock is a mint-colored, traditional-faced alarm clock. Clock is notable due to having heavy algebrien features; much like Host 2.7, despite their dimensions not being near one another. Clock’s limbs are slim, lighter than his body color and resemble that of a mouse in structure, despite having notable paw pads. Clock has a cord plug tail.

It is worth noting that Clock’s current appearance differs from his (possible) previous appearance, which lacked the distinct algebrien features and instead was fully an object, implying that this transformation could happen to any ordinary object under the right circumstances. His past object appearance had more accurate mouse-like limbs. It is unknown if his past object appearance had a tail.

Surprisingly, his behavior is more like an algebrien in mannerisms than that of an Object. His speech is quick, choppy, and will sometimes seem to layer out of nowhere. Clock does not mess around when it comes to being quick about things and is very time-oriented.

[Addendum./ Wow. Like. Who the FUCK comes up with the names for these guys. Clock? Being a Clock? And being time oriented? What is this, a kids show? Next thing we know he’s going to get up and sing a song about time. Wow. Fuck man. My life feels like a joke knowing that this fucker is real, alive, and exists. Don’t even get me STARTED on Four and X being a number and a variable who are both obsessed with MATH. The most obvious fucking shit on the planet. I mean who just gives birth to a child and goes ‘oh yeah let’s call this one Clock because he’s a clock’. The only somewhat normal one here is Airy. He’s the only one whose name ISN’T the same as his object, but I’m also 80-90% sure he’s a ghost or something because he barely talks and has said he’s died twice. God. I don’t get paid enough for this bullshit.]

Clock is unpredictable. Unlike Host 2.9, his chaoticness is not out of violence, but at the same time he is proven to be capable of doing heavy damage. Like Host 2.8, Clock’s chaoticness is emotionally tied, but stronger and more exaggerated. 

Known Abilities:

Clock’s abilities mirror that of a standard algebrien. Only things worth noting is that his tail can extend long distances and he can ‘abstract’ objects much like Host 2.9. Whether or not this is due to their dimensions being in close proximity to one another is up for debate.

Another thing to note is his… ‘quality errors’. Static, bursts of sudden form changing, and the like. Sometimes these will get violent but so far they only seem to affect Clock and nobody else around him. Whether or not this is an ability or more of just a condition Clock has is up for debate.

Procedures to take:

A mix of Algebrien and Object power hindrance protocols will be put into place. Force may be applied if deemed necessary.

END_LOG.

[gaykarstaagforever]

FREE ON YOUTUBE

...YouTube, I feel like your free animated movie recommendations have declined in quality a bit since the halcyon days of Osmosis Jones.

Yes, it is a blatant Kung Fu Panda knockoff, with an American voice cast that is clearly whoever was home at 11 am the week they called.

This is bad. Like, unfinished, I think I'm missing like half the movie, they forgot to resolve the main plot and it just stops, bad. There is a scene where the only character on screen suffers an animation error, and no one fixed it. The framerate of the movie drops every time the action picks up or the camera swings around too fast. Like...you made a computer-animated movie, and you don't have the hardware or time to do...you know...computer animation? The stones on the Chinese producers of this mess.

Not everything has to be Pixar or DreamWorks. CG is hard. I get it. But you gotta work to your strengths. In this case, the computers you are using can't even render the movie properly. Like...I don't know how you get around that. That's kind of a major issue.

Technical incompetence aside, this suffers from the usual bad CG animation problems of every character looking like they come from a different artistic universe, and most of the action is generic mocaping that doesn't take into account how any real bodies shaped like these bodies would move. And there are just things they didn't bother capturing. Like none of these dough monsters ever stands up on screen.

Shot composition is a disaster. Most scenes are a mob of creatures standing in a pack in an empty space, doing exaggerated facial reactions to someone else talking. It's like bad machinima made in the Skylanders games engine, except all of the character designs are way worse.

The plot, such as they attempted it, is supposed to be about a small, incompetent warrior who looks like Jackie Chan who gets transported to the mystical realm of Merryland by a magical jade necklace his grandfather gave him. There, he transforms into an anthropomorphic panda, for reasons that are never explained. There is a prophecy that a Panda Warrior is destined to save the realm, and our guy is apparently it, except there is a flashback to like a couple of years ago when the ultimate evil took over, and...there is ANOTHER Panda Warrior who was just there and sort of stopped it? But then didn't? Who the hell was that guy?!

Also the ultimate evil is one of the two sky-whales who guard the Dragon Ball (yes, literally) just turning evil because it absorbed too much power. Why did this happen? How are you going to stop it from happening again? Then that whale turns into a nine-headed snake after an evil mouse from the real world just...is there, and merges with the Whale. After the snake is defeated the mouse just crawls out of it and runs away, and no one says a damn thing.

Our panda warrior and his 7 legendary warrior friends kung fu fight the snake at least 3 different times, and never get close to stopping it. And the panda doesn't do anything special or lead them, he is just there, and then at the very end his necklace glows and that...helps? Somehow? The true hero here is, and I'm not joking, Jimmy Ginseng, a tiny ginseng man with an erhu who shows up whenever the warriors are losing, plays the erhu, the enemy gets soothed by the song, and then Jimmy gets tired and leaves. EVERY BATTLE ends like this, including the final one.

So...?

The panda has that cool green sword in the picture. And he does have it. It is just...a sword, thst someone randomly gives him. I think he ends up dropping it and it never comes up again.

Also all the warriors are animals, except for the one who is a talking tree stump...filled with lava. And he dies at the end by setting himself and the snake on fire. Because his master, a purple fox, told him to do that to save everyone. ...Except the SNAKE SURVIVED IT, and they had to fight it again, lose, and wait for Jimmy to show up.

The bull character also sacrifices himself, TWICE, to save everyone else, and both times that doesn't work, either.

The movie ends with Merryland being restored from the devastation of the snake...BEFORE the snake is defeated. It just...gets better, after they resuce an elf girl princess who does...something...? And then the regrown flowers shoot the snake with missiles of some kind. Which ALSO fails to defeat it.

The panda doesn't go home and become human again and nothing is explained. But during the credits there is a fight scene between the little human warrior and his general, in which they get drunk and wrestle and tons of fight animations repeat in a loop for 3 minutes. Is this part of the movie? Are these outtakes? What does this have to do with anything? If this is what happens after he got home, I don't know why or what it means.

...My guess is that the first panda warrior we see was supposed to be his grandfather, as a panda? That was probably the idea? But no one ever says that. The movie doesn't remember to explain that.

This was translated from Chinese. Perhaps the translation is terrible. Or they did a massive reedit of this for the US release. That could explain some of this. ...But then why didn't they cut out the glitch scene, or some of the shots with the bad framerate? There are literal 10 second sequences in this movie where there is no dialogue or music, just a camera sleeping over a scenery to ambient nature sounds. Who reedits a movie for the foreign market and cuts out vital plot scenes, but leaves in shit like that?

...Unless all those vital plot scenes had even worse technical problems. Jesus. That's a terrifying thought.

One positive here. While nearly all of the voice work is as boring and bored as you'd expect, the immortal Tom Kenny is good, with what very little he is given to do, here. The man is a professional.

And here is the weirdest thing: Rob Schneider is really good here as the panda man and Jimmy Ginseng. Like, shockingly good. Like, this is without exaggeration the best performances of this man's miserable life. He is funny, charming, nuanced, he feels like he is reacting properly during what were probably one-sided conversations recorded on different days in different places. It is shocking how good he is in this awful, stupid movie. My only guess is that he was somehow involved in bringing this over and it was going to serve as an audition piece to get him more voice work. In which case, like, fair enough, dude. You nailed it. He is genuinely very good in this very bad movie.

What an odd artifact from 2012. What a waste of time. Why did YouTube recommend this? What do any of us gain from being shown this? I am just flabbergasted.

You're on time out with these movie suggestions, Google.

Also there is a pig who flies who looks like this:

Those aren't ears, they are just gross misshapen tendrils that bob around as she moves. It's like someone was playing with a stretch tool and then...stopped.

I was gonna end with "Now let's have Jimmy Ginseng play us out," but I can only find this one bad picture of him, and it doesn't show his erhu:

Here is some nice erhu music from someone else. Something redeeming in this godforsaken post:

[bellysoupset]

Not sure if this is a fic request or just a question. I know you wrote Bell not believing Luke when he was sick once and I'm trying to figure out if that trope would work with any of your other pairs? I know Vince would probably believe Wendy right away because she tends to keep it private - if she admits she's not feeling well, then he knows she really isn't. And Vince is so open, I can't see her thinking he's exaggerating or faking it. So that leaves Jonah and Leo - any possibility one might somehow think the other is exaggerating or something, and drags them along somewhere, only for them to get sick? They are such dramatic worry worts about each other, it's hard to picture, lol.

Hi Lis!!

This seems to be the vibe rn, I got two other requests also asking for "character is sick, but caretaker doesn't believe them". I went with Luke/Bell again, because like you said Wendy/Vin is very unlikely and Jonah/Leo are in a state of pure bliss right now, I doubt they wouldn't believe each other.

Warning that the first part is smutty!

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

Bella rolled over, pressing her face to Luke's bicep and sighing heavily, "you're gonna be late," she mumbled, but didn't pull back even an inch.

Her husband let out a small huff, to indicate he had heard her, but didn't move at all either and Bella promptly slipped back to sleep... She was having the weirdest dream, when suddenly the bed movement woke her up.

Lucas had just sat up and he was taking his sweet time stretching, so Bell rolled on her back and watched him through her heavy lids. She opened a dreamy smile at the sight of his back muscles and Luke's crazy bed hair. Without leaving the bed, he stretched until he touched his toes, head hanging between his arms as he counted and yawned and Bella scooted closer, draping herself on his back.

Luke let out a snort, "good morning to you too," he said, as Bell planted a kiss to his shoulder blade and nibbled on his earlobe, without saying a thing.

"Morning," Bella sighed in his ear, then wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled Lucas over her in the bed, kissing him. He muffled a chuckle against her mouth, letting his hands slide down Bella's oversized shirt and pushing it up her thighs.

"Aren't you gonna be late?" she asked, breathing happily as Luke's kisses moved from her mouth to her neck and down her chest, over the t-shirt.

"It's a Saturday, baby," he said, sliding down the bed and kissing her now exposed tummy, all but purring as he felt Bella's fingers in his scalp. He bit the elastic hem of the boxers she was wearing, stolen from him, of course, and let it slap back against her skin, causing Bella to let out a giggly noise, "nowhere to be but here."

She let out a pleased noise as Luke grabbed her thighs, planting them on his shoulder and then opened a hand flat on her chest, keeping her put, back arched and entirely at his mercy.

Bella threw her head back against the pillows, hands clutching the mattress as she felt him kiss the inside of her thighs and slowly make his way inwards. Luke opened his mouth to plant a wet kiss over her pussy, a cheeky spark coloring his eyes as he made visual contact and raised his eyebrows in pure mischief.

Bell groaned, using her hands to push herself on the bed, since he still had his hands on her legs, keeping her from head locking him down as she desperately wanted to.

"Luke... Please, please- Just-" the whiny tone was probably his favorite thing ever and Bella saw as his cheeks turned red, not out of embarrassment, but from excitement, "god, just eat me out already, would you?"

He probably heard the impatience in her voice, because Lucas didn't need to be told twice and Bella's next words died in her throat, as she all but arched in the bed, squeezing her eyes closed at the pleasant sensation.

She was in cloud nine, lower belly and pussy all but throbbing as she climbed closer and closer to climax, when suddenly Luke pulled back and caused her to come crashing down. Bella opened her eyes, annoyed, "Lucas! Don't you dare-"

"No, sorry, sorry-" he wiped at his mouth, looking distraught and only then did Bella realize there was knocking on their front door. Knocking and Vince's booming voice as he said "WAKE UP GUYS!"

Bella glared at her husband, "what is Vin doing here?!" she whispered briskly and Lucas grimaced, pulling her boxers back up and sitting on the bed.

"I forgot I promised him and Leo we would go to the community game today..." Luke jumped out of her reach just as Bella let out a scoff and tried to slap his arm.

"Lucas!" She whisper-yelled, glaring at him, "well, I don't care. Make them go away and get back here. Say you'll meet them at the camp, I do not care-"

"Yeah, uh-"

Across the house they heard as Leo's voice said, "we can tell you're there Luke, c'mon! I'm gonna use the spare key if you don't come out!"

Bella's face turned red and she glared at her husband so much, he'd have dropped dead if looks could kill.

"I'm sorry," Luke whispered, jumping from the bed and then cringing at the situation down his pants, "I promised them-"

"You can't be serious-"

"I'm going, just give me a minute!" He yelled, so Leo and Vince could hear and Bella's blue eyes squinted at him, annoyance written all over her face.

"Get out of my sight, Atwood," she hissed and Luke had no choice but to obey. He rushed to the bathroom for a 30 secs cold shower, then back into the room, where Bella had curled up on her side and was angrily staring at him as he got dressed.

"I'm really sorry, baby-"

"Get. Out," Bella ignored him, grabbing his pillow and putting it over her head, blocking his view. He let out a sigh, but squeezed her calf in a loving manner, before rushing out of the bedroom.

Bell was absolutely the type to hold grudges — especially when she tried to finish up his job, but it didn't compare —, so she spent most of her morning sulking, catching up with her virtual friends. However, as pissed as she wanted to be, Bell made up her mind halfway through the day that she better enjoy it on her own and that Luke could make up for it once he was back.

It was after sunset and she was fresh out of the shower, after taking her sweet time with lotion and exfoliating, applying curl cream to her hair when she saw the headlights outside and the noise of Luke's keys.

The effect was immediate, annoyance blossomed, but Bella bit it down and went back to the bathroom to wash her hands and try to salvage their morning encounter. She smoothed over her cheeky babydoll and rolled her eyes at her own reflection. It was rare the day Bella dressed up for bed and it almost felt like a costume.

A noise down in their tiny house let her know Luke was inside, but it was much too loud and he hadn't called out for her yet, which already caused the frown from before to come back.

He was leaning over the sink drinking straight out of the tap, with the lights off, and Bella sighed as she could immediately tell Lucas was plastered.

"Really?" She groaned, leaning against the doorway and watching him drink greedily, "you can't be for real, Luke."

"Uhhhmmm," was his simple answer, head hanging, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste, crossing her arms to her chest.

"At least move to the bathroom," her voice had an annoyed, cold edge and Bella was fully aware she sounded like a bitch, but really? It was one thing to leave her high and dry to hang out with his buddies, coming back home drunk as a beaver was where she drew the line, "don't puke on the dishes, that's the bare minimum."

When he didn't move from the hunched over position, Bella let out a huff and crossed the room to grab his arm, "I can't believe you, Lucas," she scoffed, tugging him away from the sink, "how much did you drink?"

She could smell the alcohol on him and her anger was steadily climbing. He hadn't even noticed her cute outfit! Luke shook his head, bracing against the kitchen doorway and refusing to move.

"Didn't- Not... not drunk..."

Bella rolled her eyes, "yeah, I can tell," she squeezed his arm a little more strongly than necessary, pulling him to walk, "a couple more steps, c'mon."

It was a huge hassle, given Lucas was half a foot taller than her and much larger, but eventually they stumbled inside the bathroom and he immediately sunk down to his knees in front of the toilet, bringing Bella down with him.

"a tomar por culo," Bella swore under her breath, fighting to remove Luke's arm from her shoulder and free herself. He reeked of stale beer and she felt another pang of anger, successfully escaping his arm and falling flat on her ass on the ground, "okay..." she breathed out, sitting up, "okay. I'm going to bed."

"Bell," Luke whined, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to the seat, germs be damned, "Bell, I don't feel well..."

"I wonder why," Bella scoffed, getting up and filling up a glass of water, because she was angry, not a monster. She planted it next to his knee, then shook her head in a displeased manner, "puke it up already, Lucas. You'll feel better in a second."

"My head hurtsss... Ssstay..." Lucas groaned, leaning on his arms and spitting in the water, his whole face scrunched up. Bella's heart squeezed, she wasn't immune to him whining, far from it, but she sobered up quickly when he retched loudly, bringing a large gush of vomit in the bowl, which smelt heavily of beer.

"I'm going to bed," she said coldly, turning and leaving the bathroom. If Bella thought she could sleep, she was sorely mistaken. She was wide awake and sulking, listening to Luke's horrible retching in their shared bathroom and telling herself it was his own fault, for probably trying — and failing, as always — to outdrink Vince.

As if the universe could tell what her thoughts were, Luke's phone started ringing inside the bathroom and he let out a loud groan. It was incessant and Bella waited for him to pick up, but after five minutes passed without the noise diminishing, she got up from the bed and stomped back in.

Luke was a sight to behold, he had somehow managed to puke down his shirt despite being right in front of the toilet and was leaning against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, face white. She frowned, a twinge of worry starting to blossom.

"Luke," Bella crouched down next to him, "your phone is ringing."

"Uhm," he groaned, wincing at her voice, "makeitssssstop."

She rolled her eyes, avoiding the sticky mess in the front of his shirt and fishing his phone out of his jeans pocket. Bella glared at the screen as it lit up with another call and a silly picture of Vince appeared, both middle fingers up and tongue sticking out.

"What?" Bella picked it up without thinking, her sharp voice causing Luke to groan and curl up more.

"Oh hi beautiful," Vince's voice was unbothered, accent thicker as it always was when he was drunk, "how are you?"

"What do you want, Vince?" and then before he could continue, she kept talking, "you've done enough for the night."

"Uhm...HIC!" Vince jumped with a giggly hiccup, "what did I do, Bells?"

"You know what," Bella scoffed, just as Luke convulsed right next to her and she was forced to squeeze the phone between her cheek and shoulder, grabbing his shoulder to pull him to lean over the bowl.

He had never been a quiet puker, so Vince definitely could tell. He let out a whine, "aww, Luke's sick?"

"What do you think? You know he can't keep up with you!" Now she was lashing out, Luke was a grown man and it was his fault for always getting so competitive, but whatever. To hell with it, "I swear if he's got alcohol poisoning, Vince, I'm hunting you d-"

"Bella, Luke didn't drink," Vince cut her off sharply, sounding much sober, "he was our designated driver, he had maybe a single glass before we drew straws, but that was hours ago."

Bella's heart sunk and she glanced down at Luke, shoulders trembling as he continued to heave, tears streaming down the corner of his eyes, "I- I don't believe you, he's reeking of beer, Vin..." now her voice was small and hesitant and a knot formed in her throat as Vince chuckled at her.

"Yeah, because Leo dropped his beer all over the car," Vince's voice elevated and in the far background she could faintly hear Wendy's voice saying something, "anyway, I just called to let him know I found his wallet. It's in my bag, I'll drop it off tomorrow."

"No," Bella shook her head, "no, I- I'll go get it tomorrow, I- Shit, I have to go," she hung up the phone and planted it on the sink, scooting closer on the ground to Luke, who had finished being sick but had no energy to flush or do anything else. He was breathing heavily, forehead pressed to the porcelain and eyes squeezed shut.

"Lu," Bella cringed at the nickname, feeling like she didn't deserve saying it, "babe, I'm so sorry-"

Lucas' face scrunched up in pain and he let out a groan, causing her to wince in sympathy and guilt.

"Sorry," Bella mumbled, rubbing his back, "let's get you out of this shirt, c'mon."

"Stop," his voice was strong and pained, "stop talking."

Bella nodded, snapping her mouth shut and gently rolling up the hem of his shirt. She pushed him back slowly, then stretched the neck of his shirt in order to pull it out without getting sick on his hair. Lucas curled up against the wall as soon as she was done and Bella grabbed the glass of water, that he had left untouched on the ground.

"Here," she said quietly, holding it up to his lips with one hand, the other one pushing his hair back and trying to inconspicuously feel for a fever.

Luke drank greedily, all but chugging the water and his frown cleared up slightly.

"Lights," he grumbled and that simple word caused Bella's stomach to sink. He wasn't sick, this was a migraine and somehow she hadn't been able to tell despite being present for a million of those before.

Bella jumped up to turn off the lights and heard his relieved sigh, so she carefully crawled closer to him once more.

"Luke," she whispered, barely making any sound, "baby, how can I help?"

"Hurts, Bell," he groaned, turning towards her voice and pressing his forehead to her clavicle, "it's like someone's drilling in my head..."

She wrapped her arms around him, getting on her knees to get some height and planted a kiss to his temple, feeling the pained shudders running up her husband's spine.

"Let's go to bed, Lu," Bella whispered, voice straining as she felt him slump more against her, "c'mon, it'll be more comfy."

He didn't nod, only let out a humm that she recognized as a positive noise and Bella clutched their sink in order to pull herself up while half holding him.

The minute he was upright, Luke let out a horrible wet noise and bent in the middle, vaguely turning in the direction of the toilet, but probably missing judging by the noise of liquid splashing against tiles, not water.

Bella cringed, but didn't jump, hugging him closer as he sobbed once again.

"Fuck, I'm-I'm sorry, I-"

"Shhh, it's okay," she kissed his shoulder, rubbing a hand up his naked back, "it's okay. Don't even worry about it," she tugged him back slightly and Luke stumbled, almost causing them to fall.

"It'samesss..." he slurred and Bella ignored it, pulling him to bed rushing to pull the covers from under him, before Lucas could collapse on top. He let out a huff as his face met the pillow and Bell sat on the edge, stroking his hair back.

"Try napping, I'll wake you up for meds in a bit," she whispered, guilt washing over her. Luke let out a noise in affirmation, not bothering to speak or nod.

He slumped further in the bed and she tucked the blankets around him, before getting up to deal with the mess in the bathroom. Once she finished cleaning everything, Bella grabbed Luke's migraine medication in the kitchen and a glass of water and slipped into the bed.

"Lu," she touched his arm, but didn't shake him, "baby, I need you to take your meds. Just a sip and you can go back to sleep."

He blinked blearily, having been not truly asleep, just dozing off. His eyes were a light, nearly grey shade of green, thanks to the bloodshot cornea and Bella sighed, stroking his cheek with a thumb, "I'm so sorry for not listening to you..."

Luke only gave her a minimal shrug, turning his face so he could press his nose to the middle of her palm and pressing a kiss on the inside of her wrist. Bella's heart squeezed even more, she didn't deserve this guy.

"Yell at me," she pouted, "be angry. Please."

Lucas let out a scoff, "shut up, Bell."

She draped herself over him, folding in the middle, arms and chest, all but shielding his head away on her lap and pressing a kiss to his shoulder, "I'm really sorry."

"Uhm... You should be," he yawned, his voice coming out muffled by her thigh, "don't move, this is nice."

"Okay," Bella whispered, hugging him closer, "not moving."

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 17

Cut Cliffs

I woke once the quarry men started loading stone into the storehouse, not too pleased to find a Nora tucked into the corner. The foreman had blood on his hands—five dead workers were found mutilated in the quarry earlier that morning. He was confident no machines could have broken in, but no person could do that to another. I offered to investigate. I suppose I could call it payment for my stay. 

In the middle of the quarry I found a strange mound of rock spouting dark purple crystals that looked like they’d been dredged from deep underground. As I got close, I felt the earth shake, and a huge machine burst up from the ground, maybe even larger than a Thunderjaw. That first blow knocked the wind out of me and scratched up my back with a shower of stones. I almost ran, until I scanned it. Many exploitable weaknesses. I frosted it up and pierced the claws it used to churn through the earth, then set off the blaze sack under its belly to finish it off. The foreman paid me more than a little extra, which I figured was well deserved.

After that, I headed out to Lonesome rock to pick up Nakoa’s trail. My suspicions were raised immediately. Only three guards, no one else, and they were watching me all the while. I didn’t mention why I was there, but as soon as I started investigating a cart loaded with chains and manacles, they attacked. And then they died. 

I followed the cart tracks. Zaid’s base of operations wasn’t far: some huge old Carja estate sitting in the shadow of a cliff. I crept through a hole in the wall and took out a few of the Carja inside before I was spotted, picking off the rest in a skirmish. They weren’t guards, just plain old citizen slavers. I found a key on one of them and used it to unlock a basement shelter where Nakoa and two other prisoners were chained up, all badly beaten. 

Nakoa seemed strong despite her ordeal. Zaid’s men had ambushed her at Lonesome rock and taken her to the estate where she’d been for about two weeks. I should’ve come sooner. Zaid had caught wind of the attack somehow, and returned to the compound with a platoon of Carja guards, touting a Firespitter. I took him out first, downed but not dead. I figured Nakoa would want to deal with him herself. The guards were easy pickings from the ridge. 

Nakoa confronted Zaid and stuck a spear through his heart. Just like I did with Olin. A quicker death than he deserved. The expression on her face was coarse and animal. Did mine look the same?

Nakoa helped the other captives, setting off toward Meridian to rehabilitate. She never even considered returning to the Sacred Lands, seeing as the Matriarchs would cast her out if they ever discovered her return. I guess I’ll have to deliver the news to Yan and Solai myself. 

Back to Meridian village. I stopped off on the fringes of the jungle and salvaged myself a Charger heart to pay for some Carja armour I’d been eyeing up last time I was in Meridian. 

In the village, I delivered both lenses to the bickering pair of merchants. I rightly received twice the pay, and they went on arguing. I can’t tell if the jibes are friendly or they genuinely detest each other. 

I picked up that armour. It’s similar to Talanah’s—colourful, showy, and with no protection whatsoever in the gut region, but it’s good for the heat and, I’ll admit, it looks nice. The armour plating is strong too. I just wish it were more strategically placed. 

I came across well-dressed Carja man arguing with a vanguardsman, begging him to save his family from their estate beset by machines. Ranaman, he was called, and after describing the many enviable qualities of the estate’s luxuries, he told me about the people trapped there, where machines had attacked without warning. It sounded urgent, so I agreed to take a look. It wasn’t far; just beyond the village.

Once there, it was clear that Ranaman hadn’t been exaggerating. Corpses everywhere, and dead machines. A Ravager and a couple Watchers still stood. Tried and true method for the big guy, tore off the canon, lured it away to pick it up, then open fired. 

Inside the ransacked house, a woman was screaming from the larder. After freeing her, she told me more about the attack. Her name was Daradi, and she was the only survivor. Her father lay dead on the floor just outside where she’d been trapped. Once I knew she was as okay as the situation allowed, I searched the property for the source of the machines. 

In a shed at the back of the grounds I found a machine lure, just like the one the Oseram used to call in Ravagers at Dimmed Bones. 

When I returned to Daradi, she revealed a nasty twist to the situation. Ranaman was her father’s greatest enemy, and she was confident that he would stoop even to murder to gain his inheritance after being cast out of the family. He arrived right on cue to gloat, machine lure in hand. The Glinthawks flocked right to him. One snatched him in its claws and dropped him dead to the ground. 

Again, I’m carving out a proven method for Glinthawks. Tie and strike; no use shooting at them while they're careening around spraying chillwater blasts from their gullets. I didn’t bring any freeze rime potions with me, making it all the more important to ground them as soon as possible. Daradi paid me for my trouble, but said she’d be moving away from the family estate. It’s for the best. The machines are growing wilder, encroaching closer and closer to Meridian. She’ll be safer on the mesa.

I stayed with her the rest of the night in the house, in case other machines wandered onto the grounds. I didn’t think I’d be able to fall asleep in there with the body of Daradi’s father on the floor. Proves how much the day took out of me.

[darkmaga-returns]

He will get rid of 10 regulations for each new regulation

Tariffs, whose amounts are not yet established, will be imposed on foreign goods

Federal tax breaks will be given for companies that make products within the US: he will lower it from 21% to 15% if products are produced in the USA.

He will reduce interest rates and inflation

The US is becoming a merit-based country

He (of course) talked about the border

There are only 2 genders. Transgender surgeries will be rare. Transgender athletes will not compete with women.

The United States is a sovereign country

We are returning to freedom of speech, no misinformation/disinformation labels to suffocate Americans’ free speech

Asks nations to increase their defense spending to 5% from 2% (this was a US request to NATO nations under Biden last fall)

It is time to end the Ukraine war, it is a carnage. He said millions are dying. He wants to talk to Putin soon about this. Hopefully this is an exaggeration.

There will be no support for electric cars. People can buy whatever car they want.

Prolonged delays for project approvals will end

With AI, we will need twice the energy in the US as we use now. (!). He suggests electricity generating plants be built next to AI plants, avoiding need to use the grid.

President Trump spoke about the use of “clean coal.” Does this mean we will use better scrubbers? RF Kennedy sued coal-burning plants for releasing large amounts of mercury into the air, generally harming low income communities where they were located.

President Trump said “debanking” is wrong and told the big banks to stop doing it.

President Trump said we don’t need Canada for wood, for making our cars, etc. He pointed out that essentially everything Canada has, the US has. This presages some tough negotiations on tariffs.

The President said President Xi called him. We have a 1.1 trillion dollar deficit with China that needs to be corrected. Hopefully China can help stop the Ukraine war. We’d like to see denuclearization of our two countries (Russia and the US) and China could come along. President Putin really liked the idea of reducing our nuclear capability. Xi did too.

The Ukraine war should never ever have been started. A lot of stupidity all around. “Far more people have died than is being reported.”

[theanomily]

Regarding the H.I.V.E. birthday bundle, specifically my less-than-satisfactory contribution to it:

(Under a cut because I estimate this to be about 1000 words).

The shortest way I can say this is "sorry."

In a longer form, I acquknowledge that Wing is a beloved, respected character of the H.I.V.E. series, becoming a favourite of many, and ranking highly in the minds of everyone else. If anyone deserved better treatment in this event, it was undoubtedly him, not to mention the real-life disappointed H.I.V.E. fandom.

I also acquknowledge that this was probably the largest communal event since the release of Bloodline three years ago and that the date on which it was announced was long enough ago to counter any explanation I could possibly give, especially since I, as a minor, have more time to commit to any one project than an adult burdened with full-time employment and more significant responsibilities than I. Yet I shall offer one regardless and leave the perception of my character at the mercy of your own individual judgements. It is as follows:

Some of you might remember me directing a post to an "anon" threatening me in January, which I have since deleted. This is actually not a recent or isolated issue- not even for my blog, although I doubt that anybody remembers her posting so-called "edgy" stuff on it back in like 2019. But if you do, fun fact: it was the same person. This person used to be my friend, then a "girlfriend" and is now something of an enemy. As well as threats, there has been blackmail and cases of physical violence committed against both me and my other friends. The reason I bring this up is because she followed me to the store I worked at sometime mid Feburary and provoked me there too. I was stupid, I shouted at her, and I was rightfully fired as a result. And the reason I mention this at all is because it has been hell finding a new job, eating up the time I had specifically set aside for this project.

Then, the entirety of March I more or less dedicated to finally reading bloodline (I read it twice more after my initial "live react" posts so I could actually get the juice out of it).

On the 23rd of March, my cat died, and to be brutally honest, I spent the entirety of April not doing anything that wasn't complete brainrot (hence the surge in my blog activity 💀).

May brought with it UCAS exams (UCAS points being what you need in the UK to get into university).

June brought the results, one of which was a C in physics, a grade that my school, family, and peers viewed as an unforgivable failure. As such, I had devices as well as other "distractions," including my books, taken away until the end of July so I could focus on resitting everything. Additionally, I was forced to go to school two hours early for extra lessons, given hour long detentions until the end of the academic year and had to have random meetings during my breaks to really rub in how stupid I am (no exaggerations are being made here; my head of year managed to drag calling me the r slur into a forty minute rant on one occassion).

Then, in August, my uncle got into a car accident and requested that myself and my parents fly over into Zimbabwe to help him. Fair enough, but in the time it had taken us to get over there, the man had gone off-grid (as he has a habit of doing) and we still have no clue of his whereabouts.

I promise I will make amends, and the only path I can see heading towards this objective is completing and redoing what you have seen for this project alongside a few other elements I had planned to incorporate into it. To be more specific, I will:

- Finish the birthday bundle.

I'm sure you've noticed that the "playlist" and "prompts for you" categories are missing from my offering. This will be rectified, and I will add these to the original birthday bundle post so it can be completed. I had elected to avoid those categories as I figured that having a few tasks done to a "rushed and painfully mediocre" standard would be better than having a small amount of awful content for each element of the bundle. The reasons why those two categories were chosen to be neglected were that a) no music I know at all aligns with Wing and b) I had not noted that the "prompts for you" was an existing section and only remembered when reading through the example Otto post, meaning I had not left myself enough time to sit with and revisit ideas to see if they really were any good. Additionally, that fanfic is nowhere near finished. I do plan to edit the published chapter and then continue it, and I shall try my best to stick to frequent, regular updates of a higher quality and quantity than I have presented you with thus far.

- Improve what I have given you

I plan to drastically improve my digital art for each "mini" picture that's in my work- you can see that there's a very, very good reason why I kept them all mini. When I'm done, they will be transformed into something that can at least be posted at their full size without risking the health of your eyes.

- Add to what I've given you

I know I've done very few headcanons, so I'll be sure to focus on Wing for future ones that I'll publish on my blog. In all likelihood, the next post of mine will be a much longer list of Wing headcanons. And even if it is not next, it will still hopefully be in the near future.

My initial plan for the "Wing art" was to make a rudimentary physical model of him. I can't promise it'll be of high quality since the last time I did this, I was four years younger, working with better materials, working without keeping it a secret, and crafting the fox emoji rather than an entire person. I also can't see how the colour green, which is what I was assigned, will fit in. But I'll do it anyway.

Something that I played with a bit while waiting for the prompts to be given out was character art. Currently, I have WIPs for Shelby and Laura and have posted a Ms Leon. I want to do something for every character, and Wing will most certainly be included in that, so I promise I'll take extra care to do him justice when I get around to him. Consider it to be like a non-picrew alternative to the cover image.

I also have a physical drawing in the works, though I confess this too shall probably take a while in the interest of refining skills before applying them so I don't waste the one piece of sketch paper I bought.

Once more, I am so extremely sorry for what I have done, and I will ensure that never again shall this height of inadequacy be reached and inflicted onto people who deserve so much better.

Thank you for reading

[d3ad-h4nd]

DEAD HAND

An intro post for yours truly, the one and only! Me! :3

Call me dead! Or hand! It's whatever idrc. Is it a name? Is it not? You don't get to know that. Valence also works! (Or ▽4↳∋πϽ⋿)

I'm immature and I know it and I rock it. How old am I? Who give a shit! (24)

I'm not putting my interests and skills on a platter for you. You gotta figure that out yourself! Also I forgor.

I bite! Violently!

I'M NOT JOINING YOUR ONLINE FAMILY FUCK OFF.

I died but I got better.

OOC: ehehehe. silly general purpose fandom oc self insert thingy... Interactions open to anyone as long as they aren't a bigot. If I don't like your vibes for any reason I will just block you lmao. If anything I do bothers you please tell me incredibly bluntly. Also, if something bothers me OOC, I will stop and tell you. This is important to remember because Handy has... Issues. My name is Sigil by the way!! he/him it/its.

Please assume that any post without a [Title] is a blog post, and not in-person. I may ignore you if you decide to turn a blog post into an in-person out of nowhere- but if you want to do something in-person, please just ask?

In-person posts are going to have the start/first response from me tagged as against the skin (in person tag)

~

If you have questions or comments OOC, please feel free to dm me i LOVE attention lol.

Matching/connected to @t4ct1c4l-fluk3

Follow/like from @land-upon-the-moon-and-weep

~

To elaborate slightly on Handy's issues. Jealousy - Handy gets jealous very easily. Absolutely a fatal flaw. Isolated - Handy hasn't been the most included or liked throughout his life. Hope Crushed Romantic - Handy has never had a stable romantic relationship, and all of his past ones have ended badly. He no longer holds any hope of finding a stable one, and may try to avoid commitment. Mania - Handy's villain arc was a manic episode. He may or may not have more of those. They will all be exaggerated, because I think it's fun to write. Delusion - Also in his villain arc, Handy did end up getting a bit delusional. Not tiktok delusional (don't use the word like that this is a serious mental issue?), for real actually delusional. [NOTE! I do not experience delusions. I am trying my best to depict them with respect, while also having fun with it. I don't know how I keep ending up making my OCs delusional but this has happened twice so far. Please let me know if something's offensive or off, because I am running on good intentions, shitty medical articles, and a PDF of the DSM-5.] Attention - Handy wants to feel paid attention to. He wants to feel like he matters. He wants to feel cared about. ~ Handy is also autistic, ADHD, and he probably has Histrionic personality disorder, along with Borderline. I'm not a psych person though. i just have a PDF of the DSM-5. [Note: I am actually borderline, I'm just both very mild and learning to cope and regulate myself.]

~

Drawings of Hand (chronological order): Finga Guns Fallin' Valence's Introduction (villain arc) D3AD M4N'5 H4ND (death and resurrection)

Hand's voiceclaim - Sarah Rose (from band Sarah and the Safe Word)

Gravestone

[im-ovulating]

Demon brothers: MC, what kinds of videos have you been into lately?

MC: hentai

How do brothers react?

(A/n: I had to google hentai names for this... you guys better reblog this lmao)

(A/n: Also, I only went as far as to find titles so don't come at me with "Oh this one is so bad" or "Really? That one?" bc I couldn't tell you what a single one was about😂)

Hope you enjoy~

Summary- How the brothers find out/react to finding out you're into hentai

Word Count: 1,152

Warnings: Mentions of hentai (duh)

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Obey Me Brothers' Reaction to Finding Out You Watch Hentai

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

Lucifer:

Let's be real: he was probably snooping

It was probably during your first few weeks in the devildom as their attendant and he was trying to make sure you didn't have any malicious intent

He was going through your closet as one does when he came across a box labeled 'Private'

Of course, only a human would be so obvious about their secrets

What he didn't expect was to see a copy of Hentai Whores: Out of Control to be staring back at him when he opened the box

Surely, it's just a decoy meant to prevent anyone from digging any deeper

So, dig deeper he did

Only to find case after case of the animated porn

Discipline: The Hentai Academy, Hentai Express, The Pianist

The collection just keeps going

He's both unbothered and disturbed

Unbothered because even the most prude demons have urges

Disturbed because who watches porn on DVD anymore?

Mammon:

This man doesn't know the meaning of the word 'knocking'

He is constantly barging into your room unannounced and scaring the hell out of you

There was bound to be a time that he either walked in on you changing or masturbating

That time just happened to finally occur

As per usual, Mammon throws the door to your room open with more force than necessary only to stop in his tracks once he finally takes in the sight before him

You are on your bed, laptop next to you with your hand down your sweatpants

Your eyes fly to the doorway as you freeze like a deer in headlights

The only noise in the room is the exaggerated moaning coming from some big breasted anime girl getting fucked in a position that in no way could be comfortable

The two of you are frozen for a second, just staring at each other before you both spring into action:

You jump to slam your laptop shut as he rushes to leave the room, slamming the door behind him

Neither of you can look each other in the eyes for a while after that

At least he learned his lesson about knocking (Meanwhile, you learned the importance of this thing called a lock)

Leviathan:

Anyone who doesn't think this dweeb watches hella Hentai can go kick rocks

I mean, just look at him

The man's a freak deep down

he was most likely playing a game on his D.D.D and the battery died

Naturally he grabs yours

It was on his desk where you left it, having gone to grab a snack

You never minded him getting on your phone so he didn't think twice about it

He unlocks the device only to be met with a video paused halfway through

The screen displays a close up of tentacles being forced into an almost too small hole

He's shocked due to two things:

1) You also watch hentai? He would have never pegged you as the type

And 2) You watch tentacle porn too?? Porno twins!

He knows he should put your D.D.D down before you come back to him staring at your content choices

On the other hand, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen

With a glance to the door, he presses play

As the MC's whines filled the room, his cheeks got hotter and his pants tighter

He doesn't notice as the door opens

Doesn't notice as you creep up behind him

And lets out an unholy screech when you ask "Like what you see?"

Satan:

He's going through your bookshelf trying to find a book you told him about

"It's not here, MC."

You look at him from your spot on your bed

"Check one of those boxes, I haven't finished unpacking all my books yet."

And so he does as you go back to the book you're reading

It's not in the first box so he opens the second

He finds it

Only he finds something that piques his interest a bit more

The title he was searching for is nestled between a couple rated R mangas

Domin-8 Me and My Cute Crossdresser on one side and Pink Sniper, Embrace and Bloom, and Love Selection on the other

"Found it."

You look back to him

He pulls out the book and one of the mangas

"'My Cute Crossdresser' huh?" He teases

"What? You can't tell me boys in skirts aren't everything."

He slips it back into the box. "Whatever you say..."

Asmodeus:

You had let him borrow your laptop to work on some school work since Mammon had "accidentally" pawned his off

He eventually got bored and decided to go through the pc

While digging, he find a website you had bookmarked under a questionable title

So naturally he clicks it, curious to see what you do in your free time

The bookmark takes him to a hentai website

An amused smile stretches across his face as he scrolls through the page

"Naughty, naughty, MC~" he mutters to himself

You look up at him from your textbook

"Did you say something Asmo?"

He clicks off the site before you see what he was smiling at

"I didn't say anything, darling," He gives you an eye smile that's a bit too odd

Beelzebub:

You'd forgotten to exit the tab earlier that day, having favored simply shutting the laptop and going on your way

So when you handed it over to Beel to pick your first movie of the night, the first thing he was greeted with was disproportionate breasts and overly animated 'o' faces

Props to him for not showing his surprise

"MC? I think you forgot to shut this down earlier..."

If you're embarrassed, don't be

Beel is literally one of the least judgey demons you know

"There's nothing to be embarrassed of; It's there to be watched, after all. I was just expecting a home screen :)"

If you're not, then, again, he doesn't really care.

He just closes the tab and finishes picking a movie

Belphegor:

He had come to your room after dinner because he was too tired to make the trek all the way to his and Beel's room

He figured you wouldn't mind

You hadn't come up yet, still talking with some of the brothers, so he decided to let himself in

He noticed your laptop was open on your bed

You must have been watching a movie before coming downstairs

He plops down next to it, turning the laptop to face him

His eyebrow quirks up at the sight of an animated girl gaging on what was most definitely not a human cock

"Didn't know MC was freaky...."

With a final scoff, Belphegor adjusts his pillow and gets comfortable

By the time you come up to your room, he's asleep- your laptop still open next to him

If he isn't making a big deal out of it, why should you?

You power it off and climb into bed next to him after prepping for bed