#tw work stress

[thelightsandtheroses]

The fun of applying copious amounts of cicapair before starting any work calls to hide the fact I’ve been crying.

On the plus side, it’s definitely working at covering the redness there! I do look a lot paler but less upset so …

[universitypenguin]

Vent Post Alert 🚨 ‼️🔔

This is just me feeling sorry for myself and grumbling about life. That’s it, that’s the whole post.

I’m ready to leave the healthcare industry. I’m sick of having so many things dumped into my workload and feeling like I’m drowning. My efforts are never enough.

My boss is wonderful, I like my coworkers, and they absolutely do their best to help out… it’s an issue with the hospital’s administration. They’re not staffing our department with well trained people, and they don’t care about anyone without a clinical degree. That said, my coworkers with clinical degrees don’t feel terribly cared for either.

It doesn’t help that several of my friends, who are in the same role as me at other hospitals, make $20,000 more than I do. The worst part is my boss has recommended us for raises but administration denied them. I’m so tired of being underpaid and over worked. My motivation is gone.

Another factor is mental engagement. I’ve been doing my job for almost 5 years and nothing surprises me anymore. If it’s a traumatically inflicted injury, I’ve seen it, studied it, and researched it. Now days, I can sit at my desk and zone out half the day and still look like I’m productive. I feel like an animal in a zoo enclosure where the enrichment activities haven’t been rotated in years. I can see why they’re so depressed.

Writing is the only thing that gets my brain engaged and excited anymore.

[nipuni]

Casanova sketches!

[cubbihue]

Does Mr. Turner like rubbing his “son’s” successful career in Dinkleberg’s face??

He does! He brags about Timmy's success to every person within the neighborhood's vicinity. Mr. Turner loves how successful his son is! It really secures his reputation at the neighborhood HOA meetings they host at their house.

Timmy's worked very hard to gain more successes than failures. The more successful he is, the greater his family's social standing!! And the less he gets to overhear his dad ranting to the neighborhood about his failures.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[axolotluv]

DON'T GIVE UP

DON'T YOU DARE GIVE UP

IT'S NOT "JOEVER" WE AREN'T "DOOMED" THIS COUNTRY ISN'T "GOING UNDER"

WE ARE THE PEOPLE AND WE HAVE THE POWER TO CHANGE THIS COUNTRY!

DON'T LET THE NEWS SCARE YOU OUT OF ACTION! DON'T LET PESSIMISM SCARE YOU OUT OF ACTION! VOTE VOTE VOTE!!

FIGHT FOR YOUR FRIENDS! FOR YOUR FAMILY! FOR YOUR OWN RIGHTS!

WE WILL NOT BE ELECTING TRUMP. DON'T GIVE UP!

[raineandsky]

#113

tw: kidnapping

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

“Um,” the villain says as he flicks the living room light on. “What are you doing in my house?”

The hero scowls. “Well, it’s not like I tied myself up and put a bow on my own head, is it?”

And in one of the villain’s own dining room chairs, no less. Couldn’t he at least bring his own? “I don’t know,” the villain says slowly, to the hero’s offence, “you might have.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I don’t know! Tell me what you’re doing in my house!”

“I don’t know either!”

“There is an alarming lack of information here, [Hero].” The villain steps forward to study the knot in the ropes on the hero’s wrists—just a plain, normal knot. Nothing extravagant, nothing telling. “How do you not know?”

“Well, unfortunately, [Villain], I have spent most of this experience unconscious,” the hero snaps a little harsher than necessary. “I woke up, like, five minutes before you got here.”

The villain tuts, moving his interest onto the comically large bow on the hero’s head. This would’ve been a perfect chance to laugh at him if it wasn’t somehow happening inside the villain’s house.

The villain’s just about to hit the hero with a barrage of questions—with the inevitable “I don’t know”, of course—when answers present themselves in the form of the supervillain.

“Ah, you’re home,” they say brightly. A pair of stout glasses are in their hands, generously topped up with what is undoubtedly whiskey. “How do you like your gift?”

The villain throws a glance at the hero. He looks as lost as the villain feels. “My gift?”

“You’ve been working hard recently, [Villain].” They offer him a glass and he takes it without question. “I thought I could at least acknowledge the positive impact you've had on our little business. On me.”

The hero scoffs but they both ignore him. “What…” The question’s going to sound insane, but this situation is insane enough to warrant it, the villain thinks. “What am I meant to do with a… person?”

The supervillain hums thoughtfully, casting a glance about the room. “Well, I was looking around your place and thought you could use a maid.” They laugh at the scrunch of offence in the villain’s face. “Oh, I’m kidding, [Villain]. Maybe they could be target practice, a pet, a plaything.” A sip from their glass. “Anything your mind can conjure.”

The villain tries to look at the hero like he’s thinking on it. The hero watches him back like he’s trying to read his mind.

The supervillain takes another swig of their drink. The villain copies them before they can notice that he’s avoiding it like it’s poison. It sure tastes like it; it burns the whole way down.

“Any ideas?”

The villain taps the glass to his chin with a tut. “A dog would be nice.” The supervillain snorts a laugh, and the hero’s desperate expression turns flat with horror. “I’m sure I can find a nice collar for him.”

“A shock collar, I hope,” the supervillain suggests with a grin. “Oh, I’m so glad you like it, [Villain]. You deserved a little something for everything you’ve done for me.”

This is more than a little something, but the villain doesn’t bother correcting them. “I love it. Thank you.”

“No darling.” A smile; soft, affectionate. “Thank you.”

The supervillain gives him a pat and sets their glass down on the coffee table. “I have business to attend to. I just wanted to see your reaction.” They make for the door, though the villain’s not convinced that’s how they got in. “I’ll see you tomorrow—keep me updated on how you train them.” And with a wink and one last smirk, they disappear outside and off into the evening.

The hero’s gaze snaps to the villain the moment they’re gone. “A dog?” he demands.

The villain carefully unties the bow on his head, collecting the ribbon in a giant red bundle in his arms. “Yeah,” he says brightly. “Are you going to bolt if I untie you?”

“You called me a dog. I’ll goddamn make like one the moment that door’s open.”

The villain shrugs nonchalantly. “Binds stay on, then.”

“Wait, no—” The hero’s voice is bordering on a cry. The villain doesn’t hate the sound of it. “No, sorry, I just— you want me to be your dog.”

“I do.” The villain smiles innocently. “My guard dog.”

That gives the hero long enough pause for the villain to take his knife to some of the rope. “… Guard dog.”

“You’ll be my bodyguard.” The first wisps break free under his blade. “You’ll work for me, cover my back, whatever I need you to do.”

“You want me to… defend you?”

The villain can’t help but smirk. The ropes split, freeing the hero’s hands. “If you don’t like it, [Supervillain] had plenty of good ideas.”

“No!” It comes out faster than the hero seems to have thought it. “No, I– I can do that.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” The villain sighs contentedly, giving him a mocking pat on the head as he gets back to his feet. “Good boy.”

(next part)

[elderwisp]

[jiraisupportgroup]

[crybaby-bkg]

tw: mention of incest role play, mention of fear kink, mention of cum inflation????, scummy gojo, also I have no idea how to word this????

gojo who gets paired up with you for a college project, and you’re fucking reeling for a few reasons. one being; he’s extremely attractive and damn near everyone on campus knows who he is. and also, you’re intimidated by his beauty and popularity, especially since you’re only known for giving out the answers when people ask nice enough in classes.

but he’s so…friendly, when you guys meet up to start on the project. he’s all smiles and helpful answers, bites at the people who come up to him and pretend you’re not even there. he listens to you with this dumb (cute) little look on his face, with his lips slightly parted and his brows raised and his white lashes peeking over the roundness of his glasses whenever he nods.

he’s kinder than you expected him to be. funnier, too, with his shitty jokes that you find yourself snorting at in the quiet library. and when you guys are finished with the project, he still keeps in touch. moves his seat to be next to you in class, texts you and asks you out to coffee, even invites you on a date after a few weeks.

and everything is perfect—until it’s not. until he beds you one day and it’s not as special or magical as you were anticipating it to be. he’s kinda…strange, in a sense, when he fucks you. oddly quiet, like he’s holding back, his hands just a little too tight, his eyes too focused on random parts of your body.

but you sleep with him again and again, until he starts becoming real comfortable with you. almost too comfortable, let’s how weird and strange and almost scummy he really is start to shine through, let the mask he’d be unknowingly wearing this entire time slip away.

“What if we were siblings?” Gojo asks you one night when he’s fucking your brains out. he’s gotten better over these few months, gotten looser and more comfortable. too fucking comfortable.

“Satoru, what in the ever loving fuck are you on about?” you ask him in a gasp as you reach a hand back to keep your head from hitting the headboard. but he’s undeterred, his eyes wild and unseeing as he grips your hips tighter, thrusts becoming sloppier.

“No, I mean in a role play way.” He explains, as if that makes it sound any better. “You know? You’re my sweet lil sister taking big bro’s cock so I won’t tell mom and dad about you sneaking out.”

“You’re a sick fuck.” you tell him plainly, frustrated that your tone doesn’t carry the same bite because his nimble fingers started playing with you at the same time. “Fuckin’ weirdo.”

“Incest role play doesn’t turn you on?” he asks, cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy that you wanna kick in the chin. “Maybe, hmm,”

he pretends to be lost in thought, thrusts slowing down and you let out an irritated huff as you slump back onto the bed. but your back arches up when his hips pick up pace again, suddenly slamming into you as he looms over you. one hand cupping your cheek, the other returning in between your thighs as he grins madly.

“Maybe you’d like some fear play, yeah? How’s that sound?” Gojo bends over you until his nose skims yours, his pupils entirely too tiny, makes your breath hitch in your throat. “Me, chasing you around the campus with a big knife, scared that I’ll catch you. You know I would, right?”

he forces you to nod with his big hand cupping your cheeks, pouting your lips at him as you whimper. he kisses you, breathless, chuckling a little under his breath as he mutters something incomprehensible, his cock carving its way deep inside you.

“Maybe even cum inflation? That one’s not the realest thing out here, but I could figure out a way to make that work. You’d like that, right?” he sounds like he’s off the deep end, like every single twisted thought that’s been running through his mind these past few weeks have finally come to the forefront. started spilling out between you two like a cracked dam, like he’s been bottling this up ever since you met him.

you cum only a few seconds after his last inquiry, scared of the way his smile widens, as if your body told him an answer he’s already known.

[themadknightuniverse]

The Passenger (2023) : COMPOSITION, ENVIRONMENTS & PARALLELS ANALYSIS

In this couple of post I'll share all the things I noticed and conclusions I came to while watching and re-watching The Passenger (2023).

[Find part 2 : "color theory" here.]

disclaimer:

I will not go too deep in the story per say, but rather point out things about the imagery and what it tells us about the characters, their mental state, and the events past and present. This is all a very personal interpretation of this movie I found to love the more I watch it, so of course you make what you will of all the things I'll develop under this post.

Warning: Spoilers ahead!

-

One of the things that is absolutely impeccable about this movie is the photography. Colors, composition, lights, environments, treated with so much care I can only see symbolism and meaning through it all. And once I started to gather some elements, I also started to discover some kind of patterns. Of course, I'll say it again, but there is a chance this analysis will eventually go too far, so please keep in mind that all this is just the result of my mind drifting back to this movie again and again and finding some sense where it probably wasn't intended. I also didn't dive into the numerous tumblr posts analyzing this movie much, so I'm sorry if all this is just a repeat of what's all been already said.

-

I only wanted to point a few details I found interesting and/or fun through the movie. It won't be as heavy as the color theory section, but I thought these to be interesting to bring up still.

The first element I'd like to bring up is the text panels.

The firs tone we encounter is “No trespassing; the violators will be shot. Survivors will be shot again.” over Benson's head. So, of course we can make a direct parallel with Benson's mass killing a few minutes later. And what are Benson and Randy if not survivors? And they both get shot by the end of the movie.

Second one is “thank you” written on the bin, perfectly captured along with Benson right after the kills. A friend of mine said it looked like a literal thank you from the restaurant itself, which I found hilarious, but it also may be interpreted like a thank you from Randy.

Third we have “it's not just wrong, it's illegal.”, like a statement to what's happening throughout the whole movie, all of Benson's choices. Bonus for the EXIT on the back, with Benson standing between it and Randy. Nice.

Fourth one is my favorite. “Pick your pal” on the plushies store wall got me laughing a bit. It's a cute sentence. And what is it if not a complete summary of how Benson's and Randy's relationship evolves? Benson chose to take Randy under his wing, to help him, to fix him without giving him a choice (like they're about to pick the plushy they want and decorate it as they wish to make them look like actual plushies? Like so far Randy was all but a bland plushy? Like Benson picked Randy's change of clothes in his desire to start his change to make him look and be more human? (I told you this would stretch too far at some point)).

The last panel, or rather panelS, that caught my eyes on second watch were the ones I spotted in the mall. Every single other shops are closed, empty. Panels indicating “liquidation” everywhere, “rent this place”, and so on. This mall is also in a poor state, like you can see how damaged the ceiling is. The only other people we see are ghost like presences sitting in the background, in a place were there is literally nothing to do but sit there.

Besides the liminal places vibe that brings the uncanny feelings with it, I see this choice like such a significant one. This is a deserted place were only one thing still stands in a splash of colors; the plushies store. This feels so much like a visit to their childhood, like some sort of transportation in a mind palace. A return into an abandoned place, where they felt so alone already, and the store stand like the materialization of their childhood. And there is so much green everywhere (it makes sense with the color theory, just keep it in mind for now). If we see this as the materialization of childhood, all those empty stores being memories or missed occasions to spend a nice time, avoided after the trauma (am I pushing this too far? You tell me (no don't, I already know)). Not to mention it's the first time we actually get the first clue to Benson's trauma thanks to his plushies customization skills. All of this, among faceless and bland plushies that I find quite uncanny. And that giant teddy bear, damn, well I would rather sit next to Benson. Also, big up to the green girafe on the wall.

There is an interesting thing regarding the places. They are all in some degree of deterioration. The burger fastfood's facade looking old and worn, sitting next to a ruin on the other side of the road (At first I thought it was a boat, which would have been a damn nice metaphor for Benson and Randy). Benson's home. The mall with all its empty shops. The school with its deserted cafeteria. Benson's car interior a mess. The restaurant they stop by is in a okay shape, the facade is a bit dirty, but the inside is just fine.

Speaking of Benson's house, we don't see much yet it's such an interesting set. The only pictures we can see are all behind the glass of the dresser, memories tucked away, barely discernible. Then we have the hallway leading further inside the house. Of course we have that very pretty shot of Randy standing there, alone, caged. And a detail that I especially love about this shot is how we cannot discern any of the frames hung on the walls. It gives such a special feeling about the place. I can't really pinpoint how it makes me feel, but there sure is uneasiness.

And finally, we have miss Beard's house, which is impeccable, and being renovated, clean and in order. This is SUCH a smart detail. She could only have been chilling at home, but no, she's painting the walls inside of her perfect house. And she's painting them in green, which takes a bigger meaning with the color analysis (to say it quick here, it could be interpreted as her being fine enough with her trauma to live with it. It's tamed, even brought her happiness, she feels lucky as she said it). I like to see places as characters and/or a representation of the state of mind of the people living in it. Here, seeing miss Beard -also being the victim of a heavy past trauma- being incredibly sweet and nice to the very person who rattled her life, recovering from this past event (and all it unfurled) so well, living a nice life, is such a huge contrast to all the places we visited before and Randy and Benson state. She's the embodiment of recovery. She's a spark of hope.

In comparison, the restaurant they go back to at the end is the perfect place, the perfect middle ground for what will happen. A bit worn but clean and nice. A place where change can happen.

A detail I enjoyed too, was the way Benson and Randy look at themselves in a mirror to gather themselves after a short breakdown. It tells us yet again, how alike they can be.

Quick rewind ! I also don't know what to do with a short shot at the beginning of the movie. Benson looks our way for a few seconds. This is the kind of choices that sets my brain in overdrive a bit. This is so eerie. Is it a break of the 4th wall? Are we too, being seen and judged by Benson?

The last scene gives us some interesting things to see too.

Randy is doing better, the contrast is so vivid. I only noticed that Randy kept Benson's jacket on my second watch. It's showed to us with no real insistance, and I love it. I address this more in the color theory section.

A parallel that I did love a lot was the very last shot with the two plushies. Look at them, enjoying tea together. Just like Randy and miss Beard earlier. I see it as a return to peace of mind between Benson and Randy after all that happened, Benson the “necessary evil” in Randy's life to change it for the best, like Randy was for miss Beard.

And this will end the first part! I hope you enjoyed and all this wasn't just absurd or lacking sense.

Check part 2 -> Color theory

[caliburn-not-calculator]

Soooo...

Guess I have the honour of posting the first robot smut fic in the fandom? As someone who's never written something like this before I think I'm the last one who saw this coming but hey! I have a thing! I literally have no idea if it's good but it... exists?

Rest in peace VR-LA you will be remebered for... Whatever happened here

This is an alt ending of the Captain's quarter's fic I posted the other day! I'd recommend reading it first for context.

[screechingfromthevoid]

*clenches teeth and fists* it's fine no one comments on how Dorian is more "lithe" than before. It's fine that he's not "nearly as bulky". It's fine that he doesn't sleep well then has to wake up just to be the sunny optimist the next day. It's fine that his strings are wound so tight that he's ready to snap.

It's fine that Dorian's health is being ignored. He's the new guy, right? Fresh faced? Not burdened by the trauma of the last few months, right?

[buttercup-barf]

Tried imitating those cool portrait poster thingies with my two faves to celebrate my one hundred hours of having played the game. More doodles of lesser quality under the cut.

I just. I like them both so much. They are so sick and twisted, with such messed up implications in the lore, and they're also just silly little guys... :-)

[flowerakatsuka]

either i've gotta watch the ososan movie or play fields of mistria tonight, i need a freaking distraction rn.

[natasha-in-space]

hi:) um can i ask a slightly angst fic where the reader don't have a job because of her social anxiety and so she's v embarrassed when talking with people and when she joins RFA even more so cuz they're all successful and busy. Can you make it slight Seven/MC? I hope that's okay 🙃

"You feeling okay?"

You jolted, feeling like your heart was just about to jump straight out of your chest with how hard it was pounding against your ribcage. Really, it was silly of you to react like that. The party venue was full of attractive people dressed in fancy evening attire: dancing, laughing, drinking, and networking. As a party coordinator, it was a given for someone to eventually start up a conversation with you. And yet... No matter how hard your brain tried to rationalize every little thing around you, it never truly helped.

You didn't belong here. All of these people... Hell, even the rest of the RFA! They held themselves up with such confidence, they talked with such grace and they didn't have to worry about their standing at all. And, who were you? Just an anxious mess who couldn't even function properly in a completely normal social interaction. What were you even doing here-?

You swiftly turned around, meeting a pair of golden eyes staring right at you behind his signature glasses. Seven... Speaking of, you didn't even see him since the party started. Did he notice how pale your face has gotten? How tightly your fingers gripped the champagne glass you didn't drink from even once ever since you first took it from the tray to busy your trembling hands with something? How your breathing was too shallow and quick to satisfy your desperate need for fresh air in your lungs? You hoped not.

Say something-!

"I- Uh-" You barely managed to choke out, your throat closing in before you could utter a single word, your mind feeling like it was too overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time. There were too many eyes, too many people, too many voices. It was too bright, too loud, too crowded. Your clothes were too tight, the fabric was too itchy, and your skin was too clammy. It was all... too much.

"I- I'm fine."

You were obviously not fine.

Seven's brows furrowed, though you barely registered it through the panicked fog that took over all of your senses. And, even if you did notice it, you'd probably think that he assumed you were weird and off-putting or something. That's what you would have thought of yourself in his shoes, anyway. You knew you were failing this, and failing this miserably... You knew you needed to get out of here, you knew you needed some peace and quiet to ground yourself, and yet-

And yet, you were too damn frozen to do anything. Your body and mind were begging you for an escape, but they didn't let you do anything to achieve that escape. What kind of sick joke is that?

"...C'mon." You didn't even detect Seven's voice in your ears. You just gasped as you felt someone gently nudge your arm and start leading you away. So, you stumbled along, your breathing shallow and your legs tripping over themselves as you were being led down the dimly lit corridor somewhere you couldn't see. He was quiet as you two walked alongside each other, his grip on your arm tightening from time to time to keep you steady, making occasional small pauses for you to regain your footing.

You wouldn't notice any of these small details until much, much later, once your mind had cleared up again.

Finally, you briefly heard the sound of a door opening, before a rush of fresh air hit you right in the face, almost making you choke on it from the pure abruptness of it. You didn't even notice how stuffy it was on the inside until you got a taste of what it was like on the outside. Two warm hands lightly pushed you down, and you let them, feeling yourself being seated onto a small wooden bench. It felt so good to no longer have to stand and keep your weight up. You let your head lean back as you closed your eyes and let yourself finally breathe.

God, each breath of fresh night air felt like true paradise right now.

A few minutes passed by until you felt yourself slowly coming back to earth, more or less. You still felt anxious and incredibly tired, your heart racing on the inside of your chest. But, at least you could move again, albeit shakily. You could speak. You could see. You could breathe.

Speaking of... You quickly turned your attention to a fellow redheaded RFA member that was sitting beside you, his gaze turned upwards towards the night sky.

"...Seven?" You decided to say something, your voice weak and raspy.

He turned his attention back towards you, a warm smile gracing his features. It was strange. You knew Seven wasn't all jokes and laughter, but you also weren't expecting him to be so... caring once you finally met him face-to-face. It made your heart race for a different reason from before.

"Are you feeling better now? I can bring you some water if you want." He replied, holding your nervous gaze.

Why are you so nice to me...? You wanted to ask, as you hang your head low, starting to anxiously fiddle with the ends of your outfit. Instead, you just shook your head. "A-A bit later. I'm... Uh..."

"You're not ready to go back out there. I get it." He finished your train of thought for you, returning his gaze toward the sky. It made you breathe a small sigh of relief, grateful to be free of any kind of attention right now.

Wait... Did he do it on purpose-?

"I... I'm sorry." You mumbled, biting onto your lower lip. "I should be there right now, talking with our guests and making sure the party is a success... And yet, here I am. Some kind of party coordinator I am."

Your words were laced with bitterness and frustration, centered around nobody but yourself. All you wanted was to be... normal. To stop feeling like every single person in the room hated your guts for simply existing. To be able to function properly. Why was it so goddamn hard!?

Seven sighed, glancing at you briefly before looking away once again. He seemed to be thinking about what to say to you. You never thought you'd see him not knowing how to reply to something. He was always so energetic and all over the place in the chatrooms or on the calls with you... But, this side of him was... new.

You appreciated seeing it.

"It's... terrifying to try and act tough when you feel like there is danger waiting on every turn. You have to pretend that everything's going great when all you really want to do is to run and hide yourself away somewhere nobody could ever find you." He started slowly, carefully. Almost like he was thinking over every single word he spoke, cautious not to say too much. You wondered what it was that he was avoiding so meticulously. "I saw that look in your eyes, and I knew what you were feeling on the inside. It's a look I... Well, let's just say, it's not something unfamiliar to me."

You were surprised to hear that. Seven? Being familiar with such anxiety? The same Seven who would laugh the loudest out of everyone in the group, or make a fool of himself with a confident grin on his face? You found it hard to believe.

He continued his line of thought before you could question it, though.

"Listen... I know you feel like you don't belong. And, I mean... I can understand that." He chuckled, shaking his head a little. "Practically everyone in our group is impressive in one way or another. Some, in ways a normal person couldn't even imagine. It would be pretty overwhelming to anybody to get thrown into your position."

You furrowed your brows, your fingers stopping their fiddling as you got too focused on your own thoughts. "A normal person wouldn't freeze up at a party that they themselves are supposed to be responsible for. Or fail at keeping a job for any longer than a month without completely breaking down."

"None of this could be possible without you joining the RFA, Y/N." Seven replied, now looking straight at you, his expression oddly serious. He just continued to surprise you the more time you spent together. "I know more about you than I should. I'm not... proud of it, but the least I can do is use this knowledge to help you. I know you struggle with some things. And yes, you did get too overwhelmed there. But, everything's okay now. The party is a success. Thanks to you. Thanks for your efforts. Nothing is ruined. The guests are happy, and we raised a lot of money that will be used for a good cause to those who are in need. Rika's legacy continues. None of this could be possible without you. Don't belittle yourself for this."

You just stared at him, not knowing what to say. Not knowing what you could say. You could feel tears welling up in the corners of your eyes as you swallowed the lump forming in the middle of your throat. "But... But I-"

"You're a member of the RFA, Y/N. Whatever struggles you're going through... We're all going to be there for you when you need it. In fact, I'm sure everyone is very worried about you right now." He gave you a small reassuring smile, patting you on the shoulder. "Don't be afraid to rely on us. Just like everyone relied on you. We're here for you. And... I'm here for you, too."

You would hold onto those words. Just like you found yourself holding onto his arm for the rest of the night, finding his warm presence warming and reassuring.

You weren't alone in this. And, even though you had no idea what you were doing, you knew you had people who would always be there to catch you when you fell.

[raineandsky]

#73

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10) (part 11)

tw: blood

The late shift was never particularly kind to the villain. It’s when villains are the most active—and so the heroes are more so too. The cover of night is meant to make crime easier, but the heroes are out in droves at this time and the cover of night turns out to, actually, not cover shit.

Their front door clanks shut behind them, a relieved sigh slipping from their lips. Their eyes trace down the hall—to their bedroom, hell yes—and catch their kitchen door swinging shut.

The evening’s tiredness is evaporated in a second. The villain’s hand is inside their coat on instinct, the feeling of the well-loved knife hilt in their hand a much-needed comfort as they start down the hall.

They push the door open slowly, wishing that they oiled its hinges last week. They peer inside from the safety of the hallway—there’s… nothing in there. It’s just as they left it this afternoon. Except, no, wait—

There’s a handprint on their windowsill. Shiny, still wet, and crimson red.

Invisibility is a habit by now. They glide through the kitchen quietly, their footsteps practised, their coat blending them into the gloom, to glance down at the blood staining the wood. They look outside, back in, across the kitchen. What the– this bitch has been in their fridge.

They open it, letting the light blind them momentarily. Well, there’s a lot of food they’re going to have to throw out now. Specks of blood taint most of this. They glance back, the yellowing light brightening the room and their face, and they hear a very muffled, presumably very unintentional, “shit”.

The fridge slams shut and sinks the room back into darkness. There’s a red trail trickled over the tile floor, leading straight to their pantry.

The villain adjusts their knife in their grasp, creeping towards the little cupboard. They pause outside, heaving a heavy sigh in preparation before tugging the door out and thrusting their blade into the darkness beyond. 

“This is no place for a petty thief,” they say whilst their eyes adjust. It’s darker in there without the streetlamps outside invading. “I’m giving you a chance to get out before I cut you to shreds.”

Someone squeaks from inside. “P–Please don’t!” they cry, and the villain squints suspiciously. They can just see the figure of the person pressed into the back of their pantry.

They fumble for the light switch, showering the tiny room in dull light. Of all people the villain expected to rob them, well, they weren’t really expecting to see—

“[Hero]?” they demand incredulously, and the hero winces. They squeak again when the villain gets the mind to shove their knife against their throat. “How the hell do you know where I live?”

“I– I don’t!” the hero cries. “I didn’t know you lived here, I swear!”

The villain narrows their eyes disbelievingly. “So, what? You break into people’s houses now? Doesn’t sound very agency-friendly.”

The hero’s eyes nervously slip to the bloodstained fridge behind them. “I– I’m hiding.”

An admission of weakness. They’re hiding.

Sirens shriek outside. Blue and red dance merrily on the ceiling. “From what?”

“From [Superhero].”

From the superhero. The villain doesn’t doubt that they’re hiding. The hero looks terrified—though they do have a knife slowly drawing blood at their throat, they suppose. But from the superhero?

“Why?”

The hero swallows nervously. They won’t meet the villain’s eye. “I did something wrong,” they say quietly. “Really wrong. [Superhero]’s practically out for my blood now. I can’t be trusted.”

The sound that comes out of the hero is either a laugh or a sob. It’s hard to tell. “So you’re hiding from him,” the villain finishes.

The hero nods before they remember the blade resting on their skin. “Yeah.”

“And so you’re hiding… in my pantry.”

“... Yeah.”

“And you helped yourself to some of my fridge.”

The hero has the decency to flush in embarrassment. “I’ll replace it. I was desperate.”

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you right now,” the villain says lowly, “or throw you back into the street.”

Clearly the hero didn’t think this far. They lick their lips, their wide-eyed gaze finally meeting the suspicious squint of the villain’s. “I can– I could do something for you?”

“You dying would do me a great favour.”

The hero swallows again, and their stare turns nervously outward again. “I– I don’t know. I don’t have any of my weapons, I’m not dangerous.”

“You get in fist fights.”

“I usually lose those.”

The hero laughs, the sound taut with anxiety. The villain leans away from them slightly, letting their blade sit a little lighter on them. “I have an idea,” they say flatly.

“Yeah,” the hero says instantly.

“I need a maid.” The hero’s face falls slightly at the wording, and the villain grins ecstatically. “I have the clothes. You work on my whim, without snooping, and you can sleep on the sofa.”

“Isn’t there anything less humiliating I could do?” they ask quietly. God no, the villain thinks. The humiliation is part of the fun.

“I could let you stay in my basement,” they offer pointedly, and the hero grimaces, “if you’re so attached to the clothes you’re wearing.”

Sirens whoop outside. The villain glances at the blood trails on the floor. “I’m going to clean this up before your friends inevitably bust the door down,” they say. “We can talk business when I get rid of them. Stay in there. If I so much as hear from you, they can have you. Got it?”

The hero nods numbly. “Yeah.”

And with that, the villain flicks the light off and slams the door on them.

Cleaning is easy enough, though they’ll need to mop later—or the hero will. They turn over a few pieces of furniture, drag a few drawers open, and then they casually let themself out the front door with a giant, full backpack.

The police are exactly where they wanted them. They spot the villain halfway out of the garden.

“Thief!” one of them cries. “Stop in the name of the law!”

The villain turns on their heel and bolts for the back of the house.

This part is easy. Lose the police in the city, wait for them to clear out from their house, loop back home. They’ll never suspect that the villain lives there. God, they’d have some problems if they did.

The next part is the fun one. They have a hero to blackmail—and by god, are they going to use that to their advantage.

Next part