#written by moi

[weirdo09]

mike: your boyfriend is hot. max: i know right? max: WAIT WHAT? mike: *evil grin* max: i forgot you’re gay as shit. mike: *scoff* you didn’t have to say that. lucas: what are we talking about? mike & max: HOLY SHIT!

[sergle]

I like a lot of horror podcasts, but what about horror novels? does anypony have book recommendations for me that you really enjoyed / that were super scary

[kumezyzo]

corpse x faceless streamer cause it has more plot...

anyway, enjoy! or dont :) m.list

as cliche and over-used as it is, you met bf!corpse in an among us lobby. but you two had heard of eachother before, seeing as youre in the same faceless community.

your followings seemed to have a lot of crossover, so when you met, it was a dream come true for your communites. and for you two, it was nice having someone understand what it was like to be faceless.

overtime, you two grew closer, hanging out outside of streams. and at some point, you got comfortable enough eachothers faces.

when your chat found out, it became the only thing they could talk about for a good two days on twitter.

"guys, corpse looks really cool," you said to your chat. you and corpse were streaming on your channel, just talking and catching up. his scoff made you giggle quietly. "im not joking, he's kinda... attractive."

"and yn looks nothing like how she described herself," he said, laughing at how much prettier he thought you were.

"and his hair is actually curly," you say.

then, you both went on anthony padilla's channel as a part of his 'I spent a day with...' series. and you revealed that you were doing the interview on the same day.

"i mean, corpse is the only other youtuber that knows what i look like," you state simply. "if im honest, the main reason im here is because this is the first time im meeting up with him in person."

thankfully, no one was suprised when they heard that in the video. but thats just because corpse posted a video of you two playing rock-paper-scissors.

it started off silent, you two doing the motions silently. corpse played scissors, you played rock. he sighed. another up and down motion. he played scissors, you played paper. you took a deep breath. another up and down. he played rock, you played rock. you scoffed and cracked your knuckles. one more time. he played paper, you played scissors.

"fuck!" he yelled loudly as you laughed manaically in the background.

during this meet up, you stayed at his apartment. and it just so happened you got to spend more time with him. slowly, you both started developing further feelings for eachother.

it showed itself in you two being cuddly, touchy with eachother. both of you tiptoeing round the topic of the weird dynamic. neither of you actually choosing to say anything or admit your feelings.

it really set in when he started unironically calling you "baby". it gave you butterflies and he felt his face heat up as the words left his mouth.

and when you had to leave, it was far more intense than you had expected.

"thank you for letting me stay here," you told him greatfully. he smiled softly at you, going in for a hug. you smiled and felt yourself melt into his arms.

you two pulled away briefly, looking into eachothers eyes. you dont know when it really happened, but the next moment, youre lips are on eachothers.

when you went back home, it was like you two know you were dating. but you never actually said it. it just felt right.

this is kinda like a prequel to this beautiful shit. i also know no one requested this (or at least i could find one when i went to check cause this was in my notes for way too long) -Nony

[thedarkmistress16]

A/N: The last two parts were mostly finished so thats why this chapter and future ones are gonna take longer to pump out btw. sorry in advance!

my schedule is still kinda inconsistent, lol. and i got sick, but I luckily kicked procrastination and writer's block in the ass to finally pump this chapter out! it's been too long, sorry for the wait! this one's longer so settle tf in chat.

Stalker!Yandere!Tony Stark x Fem!Reader- To Steal and Dote On (Same tags as prev. apply, plus: Camera stalking, Watching without consent, Listening without consent, Recording without consent, Tampering with private property, Tony the delusions of grandeur extraordinaire, Tony having perverted thoughts of Reader, Pepper's having none of Tony's antics, Tony and Pepper interacting like siblings? probably Ooc there sorry)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

Chapter 3: Give and Take

(source is unavailable; gif is not mine I promise.)

Taglist: (if anyone wants to be added for this fic just let me know!)

——————————————————————————————————

There’s another package.

You falter mid-step, keys loosely dangling from your finger. They lightly jingle as they continue to sway with the remaining momentum and ring together from impact.

It’s the only sound accompanying your thoughts as you stare at the wrapped present sitting in front of your door.

You almost feel like you’re sent back in time repeating the events of yesterday, but… no. This one is different.

A basket, not a box.

Decorated with all the bells and whistles, unlike the unassuming box of chocolates. Gift filler and bows galore wrapped securely in cellophane.

There is one similarity that mocks you: a thick cardstock folded in half, your own name staring at you in black ink.

And just like last time, there’s a message.

“Some more for you to try, (Name). The best of the best. Hope you like them. —Your knight in rose-gold armor ❤️💛”

Peeking through the contents basket for the first time, you saw various boxes stuffed inside with different signage and decals that hinted at something familiar.

…

More suspicious chocolate?

From the same sender?

Your head swivels back and forth, analyzing the halls on the off chance that whoever dropped this off was still lurking closeby to gauge your reaction.

No dice.

An exasperated exhale leaves your lips as you turn back to the basket.

Reluctantly, you haul the thing inside.

Unwrapping it leaves you more befuddled.

It's a slew of chocolate brands you've never heard of, and all from different countries. Each has their own origins with confectionery detailed in fluffy and exaggerated scribbles, too. You take a wild guess and figure they’re in the caliber of high-end decadence.

Despite your unease at the quantity, you highly doubt all this chocolate is poisoned.

So, at least your admirer doesn't want you dead.

Still, it is an excessive amount to go through, so you suppose the first step would be figuring out the ones you do like.

You limit yourself in testing the most basic flavor you can surmise out of the assortment; one brown morsel per box to test the brands in an effort of fairness and avoiding sugar-induced nausea.

Just like that first time.

Cut to you leaning against your kitchen counter swigging a glass of water with two piles of opened chocolate boxes on the granite surface of your counter, littered with crumpled up wrappers next to you.

Moving the glass from your lips, you breathe out a sigh as your eyes fall upon the last unopened one of the bunch. Scooting it closer with one hand as the other sets down the water, you peel open the packaging with practiced ease. Plucking out the blandest one you need to test, you pop the last chocolate in your mouth and chew.

Oh…

…

Oh?

You blink. Then blink again. Your tongue moves around, drawing out more of that taste as your hand lifts the accompanying chocolate guide card to your face. Upon re-reading the flavor profile of the confection it is that you're savoring, you realize you don't want to spit this out.

It's good.

It's really good.

Which is surprising, considering the rest of the chocolates were subpar or duds, at best. Gazing the said piles of opened treats over, you figure you'd share them with your coworker tomorrow, pawning off what you could to her and dumping or rationing out the rest as you discreetly keep the one good box to yourself.

This was given to you as a gift, after all.

There'd be no harm in that— in keeping just one… right?

——————————————————————————————————

To say (Friend name) was over the moon when you showed her your newfound chocolate stash the next day at work would be a gross understatement. She was practically fawning over them to the point of unhealthy infatuation. She had then briefly explained that she recognized them in a previous business trip she took, and something about the brands being the best of the best, alongside mention of another trip she was taking soon.

You had honestly stopped listening to the details at that point, her excitement over something that was disconcerting for you severely dampened your mood enough to confide in her about the first gift.

Judging by her initial reaction when you walked in today, you had a dreaded feeling that you would know how she would take your impromptu therapy session, and it went over about as well as you expected. Yet it didn't hinder the intensity of your emotions at her response any less.

“So… what’s the problem?”

You sigh, completely at your wit's end after explaining your dilemma in full a second time now and she still didn’t get it. (Friend name) was more content with sampling the morsels of cacao, sugar, and milk to really pay your worries any mind. Or at least with the level of severity that you did, anyway.

“Look,” you hear her roll closer with her chair as you busy yourself with planting your face onto the surface of your desk, your arms encircling your head as a cushion. “You’re getting gifts from this mysterious admirer, right?” You silently nod your head, still not looking up at her. “Right. And you don’t know why this person likes you?” She further questions through audible chewing, though it sounds more like a statement she's telling herself.

The air around the two of you falls silent for a moment.

“And you still don’t want them?”

At that, you groan aloud, muffled by your arms.

“Hey, all I’m saying is don’t look a gift horse in the mouth! If this person hasn’t threatened you at all, then what’s the real harm? And besides, it’s not like you can really do anything other than leave a report.” The comment hits you like a jab in your side, a sudden sharp sting of cold-hard reality dousing your brain cells. It unfortunately made sense, as much as you hated to admit it.

A shuffling sound of plastic can be heard as her fingers dive for another treat.

“Still, I mean if you don't want them…” She playfully ventures, gazing at your pitiful form, “I can always take any excess gifts off your hands.” Another groan escapes your lips as she laughs heartily at your expense.

You’re almost envious of how your friend is taking this all in stride before you remember that she isn’t experiencing this first-hand. Feeling the unease and caution that swirl in your gut with the first gift that was untampered yet clearly not meant for you. Not knowing who it's from and why it was happening to you, only to receive more even after trashing it.

Or maybe she's only saying this because gift receiving is her desired love language.

Regardless, your friend is clearly of no help in hindering this behavior. And despite her assurance of the harmlessness of it all, this mystery is eating you up alive.

Another miniscule part of you darkly recognizes that this all can become sinister in the blink of an eye.

You had to try something, you just don’t have any clue where this all begins.

And not only that, but…

It’s just— there’s just no way all of this stuff is for you.

——————————————————————————————————

“Seriously, (Friend name), this is ridiculous.”

Tony's ears perk up when he hears your voice through the surveillance feed of your apartment he's had opened in the background as he looks over schematics. Now, however, his full attention is on you as he spins his rolling chair for a front-row view.

“Silent lockdown, J.” The billionaire mutters, his eyes scrutinizing you through the camera as you flit about the kitchen and living space. You're on the phone as you carry a bouquet of flowers under the crux of your arm, almost like an infant.

The ones Tony sent over on his lunch break earlier today.

A pleased smile spreads across his face as you place your cellular device down and hold the tall glass in the sink, running the tap into the vase.

You want to keep them alive, he realizes with soft eyes.

“Oh, come on girl, it can't be that bad.” The call’s on speaker now, he notes, as he can hear your friend, her tone full of light teasing. It's too high pitched to sound anything short of shrill and it has the man cringing, vaguely reminding him of his past conquests. “Whatcha get this time?”

“Flowers,” you mutter. A dejected sigh falls from your lips that has Tony's heart feel a tiny bit heavier and his eyebrows furrow. Did you not like them? Were you not a woman who cared for flowers, then? That wasn't a problem, he could fix that. Tony’s eyes cut to another monitor, pulling up a document and using his finger to cross out the word in a bullet-pointed list. He peers back to observe your fingers gently stroking the leaves and the action has the stalker thinking about how soft your skin is. Your cinched expression, however, draws the man's focus as he peers at you, a plethora of inquiries running through his mind.

“What's wrong sweetheart?” Tony ventures in a hushed tone, as if whispering to you yet no one at the same time.

“I just don't understand. Why me?” Tony entertains the notion that you had just heard and answered him for a fleeting second.

“Uh, why not you, (Y/N)?” While the implication that you're dumb in her grating tone irks him, he can't help but agree with your friend’s statement.

“I mean, what did I do to deserve this?” You sound exhausted and saddened as you gingerly place the gift in question onto the countertop of your kitchen. As you run a hand through your hair, Tony's gaze falls down your body, humming at your cute business ensemble of a button-up dress shirt, knee-length skirt, and heels. He licks his lips as he spots a tiny slit cut into the fabric of your skirt that subtly gives him more of your leg to see. He runs his hands over his jeans, briefly acknowledging how clammy they are as he thickly swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth.

Could he get you to work for him?

Move into the tower out of convenience for your job and his spying?

Have you wear the same outfits?

…

More provocative ones?

…

Nothing at all?

“Are you still pouting about this? Girl.” Your friend deadpans unsexily, popping Tony out of his daydreaming. “And are you seriously asking why you don’t deserve flowers?” Your head shakes, and the way your hair flows with the movement has the man mesmerized again.

“I don't even know who would bother going through the trouble of—”

“You are more than worth the trouble, (Y/N).” (Friend name)’s tone is softer now, as if trying to be encouraging. “And it sounds to me like your little crush thinks so, too.” She sing-songs as your face burns, absolutely speechless. Then you’re indignant, chastising your friend as she giggles in the background.

Tony loves every second of witnessing your reaction, unexpectedly laughing from the sheer delight he’s feeling. (Friend name) took the words right out of his mouth. He mulls the thought over for a moment, then concludes that as long as your friend continuously acts as his wingwoman unknowingly from the sidelines, he could tolerate her presence in your life.

For now at least, until she does something to hurt you.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to further clarify her oh-so helpful sentiment…

As he stares at you, something else clicks in the brunette’s mind and he starts swiping and tapping away at the other screen again; this time perusing a new website for a little number he can't wait to see you in.

——————————————————————————————————

After the mysterious second chocolate bundle was sent to your door, many other random care packages were sent your way.

Coffee and tea pods and packets.

Sample meats and cheeses.

Party-sized chips and cookie packs.

Soaps, perfumes, and lotions.

The gifts kept coming with no sign of stopping. It feels like you're being pushed out of your own apartment by whoever’s responsible for sending them. It’s been driving you up the wall so much that you took advantage of the absurd amount of deliveries to exercise your best efforts into unearthing some answers.

All potential leads you followed resulted in absolutely nothing to show for. Anyone you could think of in close proximity to the occurrences— neighbors, landlord, the post office— were all of no help. No one in your apartment knew of or saw anyone dropping off these packages at your door. Nor did the establishments care to tell you who ordered the deliveries in the first place; it was “private information that couldn’t be released,” apparently.

That’s when you finally decided to report the incidents to law enforcement.

The only thing the police were good for was filing a report to build a case. But even without looking at the officers’ faces, you knew that what you provided wouldn’t lead to anything substantial. You barely had a complaint, really. You were just lucky they decided to humor you with opening a case instead of immediately shutting you down.

Luckily, you still had the notes that came with the gifts to hand over, proving they were meant for you and were referencing the deliveries.

Unluckily, it only helped to prove that someone had taken a shine to you; and because the contents were all printed out with a typed font, you couldn’t prove that it wasn’t just yourself who set this all up to cry wolf for attention.

Yes, that was a real speculation the officers had to your story.

Their assumptions confused you at first, but the more you thought about it on the walk home, the more peeved you got.

If this weirdo admirer wasn’t doing this to you in the first place, you wouldn’t have to deal with all this nonsense.

Pouting all the way back to your apartment, your emotions immediately turn to displeasure as your vision recognizes the slew of things piled up at your doorstep. You surmise that many of these were delivered as you were out just now, causing a pit to form in your stomach.

The clacking of shoes echo down the hall, and your head tilts up to notice a man walking in your direction. It’s an older gentleman; the hair on his head and chin are greyed out and he sports a long sleeve shirt and fleece vest combo in green, blue, and brown plaid. His dress slacks are devoid of wrinkles and are of a toffee color just like his loafers. The closer he approaches, the easier you can spot the round, thin wire spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose.

Compared to the neighborhood you resided in, the male was completely out of place— which was expected of him considering that’s who he was as your landlord.

He looks at the pile of stuff at your door before halting. He makes eye contact with you and nods, which you return in kind.

“Miss (Last name), I trust all is well?” Like with every question he poses, it comes out as a gruff statement or observation.

“Yes, Mr. Garrett, I’ve been fine.”

His attention noticeably shifts to analyze the stack of gifts once more and you shift your weight from side to side uncomfortably.

“Have you solved your little problem yet?” You know he’s essentially asking you if you’ll bother him again— his words— after questioning him on the matter a few days ago. Mr. Garrett claimed to be very irked by your insinuation that he was somehow responsible— you said nothing of the sort— and for you to kindly leave him out of your trouble. You had to end the call abruptly before you became more infuriated and did something you couldn’t take back, like yelling at him and unceremoniously granting yourself a one-way ticket to the streets. After that unpleasant exchange, you weren’t too keen on probing your landlord on the subject again.

“I already went to the police.” You announce resolutely, squaring your shoulders to steadily meet his eyes. “They’ll handle it now.”

“Good.” He curtly responds, turning to walk past you now. “Rent’s due in a few days.”

You nod in acknowledgement, reminding yourself to travel to the bank to pull the necessary cash out and place the money in an envelope, as your landlord preferred to do things the old-fashioned way “to ensure his tenants actually paid him.” Perhaps he was fooled one too many times in his youth to allow anyone an inch of leniency.

Mr. Garrett stops mid-step, turning to brazenly stare at your doorstep for the third time before locking eyes with you. “Don’t leave them there too long. A pileup like that is considered a fire hazard and I will have to fine you for it if it's not moved.” It takes a good chunk of your willpower to keep your frustrations at bay.

“Yes Mr. Garrett.”

He departs without so much as another word, and it isn’t until he turns the corner that you release the breath you’ve been holding in. You glare at the offending packages, cursing whoever they were for causing you this much of a headache.

Reluctantly, and despite your overwhelming desire to be petty and leave the gifts there, you begrudgingly bring them inside your unit and start opening and organizing the products like you had just gone grocery shopping.

You falter, almost dropping the box of coffee in your hands when a realization hits you.

This will help you save money, wouldn’t it..?

If you accepted these gifts?

You adamantly shake your head, placing the coffee where it belongs in your kitchen.

The last thing you need to do is encourage this behavior, no matter how convenient it makes your life in certain aspects.

When you finish putting everything away, you move into your living area and pick up the remote for your T.V. You thumb the power button and start walking back toward your kitchen to fetch yourself a snack. The familiar noise of the television powering up is cut abruptly short as a loud, electrical popping noise startles you before your unit falls silent.

Swiveling on your heel to turn back toward your T.V., you quickly discover that it had just decided to short out on you if the still-black screen was anything to go by. “Aw, hell. There goes my vegging out for the night,” you casually muse to yourself as you power the device down and place the remote back on your living room table.

Ultimately shrugging off your ruined plans, you really don’t have the energy to get worked up over something like this. You didn’t use the thing that much anyway, and when you did it was once in a blue moon for an indulgent night of nostalgia films. You could always watch them on your laptop or phone if you needed to.

You then resign yourself to start getting ready for bed, hoping that tomorrow will be a better day.

——————————————————————————————————

Watching over the recording of your little technical mishap last night was a wonderful reason for Tony busy himself in your space again in the heroic effort to repair your modest electrical box for you, free of charge.

And, well— Tony Stark was nothing if not an opportunist.

And possibly, a glutton for adrenaline-induced activities.

Because why else would he make another trip to your apartment so soon with the intent of modifying things in your unit when you could arrive home at any time instead of sending you a new smart T.V.?

Not because he wanted a chance to survey you in your element a lot closer than his cameras would allow at a safe distance.

Or for him to selfishly indulge in your natural scent lingering in your space and pretend he was a welcomed guest.

Definitely not Tony Stark of all people, and surely not because he was an antique restoring, sentimental man at heart.

Of course not.

But he digresses.

Dismantling and understanding the issue your television had was a fairly quick feat, repairing it even less so.

He then got a better understanding of your personal tastes as he rifled through your cabinets for the items he sent. He also took notes of the shopping reminders magnetized on your fridge for preferred products he wasn’t privy to before.

The only problem that came with finishing both tasks was figuring out what other excuse he could use to linger in your apartment without feeling more like a creeper than he already was. Tony had quickly decided to meander and poke around to find more unaware issues his mechanical prowess could easily solve.

He soon found himself half-under the pipes of your kitchen sink, various tools scattered around his body as he eliminated a pesky leak and improved the water pressure for your faucet.

Then he was tinkering with the electrical wiring in your lights.

And later, when he thought there was absolutely nothing else to do, he almost exited your apartment via the front door like he was actually supposed to be there. Tony recoiled quickly, fractals of icy fear nipping at his heart, and quickly turned on his heel to finally leave your apartment.

Maybe for good this time.

His brain, however, was bugging him about how horribly the doorknob jiggled in his hand, like it was about to fall off if given a good tug.

How easy it would be for someone to…

Tony’s face cinched together as his hands curled into fists, his nails biting uncomfortably into his skin as he fought with himself to continue walking.

He did, just in the wrong direction.

That is how the man ended up kneeling at your front door that had to be slightly ajar to be tinkered with, opened toolbox at his side while he played with the locking mechanism.

It was akin to a mantra as he continuously told himself he had to do this for your own general safety and not out of his own selfish need to deter any foul players from stealing you away from him. Reassuring himself that he was doing this because he was a superhero in Gold-Titanium armor looking out for a New York civilian in a shady neighborhood. That he was Tony Stark who did what he does best: taking precautions and countermeasures to avoid future complications.

Not because he wanted you all to himself.

“Sir,” Tony's A.I. drawls abruptly, too loudly for the covert operation he was attempting right now.

“Not now, Jarv, I'm almost done here.” The man chides to the robotic voice under his breath, frustrated over how long it’s taking to fix your finicky lock. His hand fumbles with the tool in his hand, and the billionaire grumbles before huffing in irritation. Thanks to his A.I., Tony’s concentration broke and caused his grip to slip and almost nick the metal handle of your doorknob. He's not too sure that little detail would go unnoticed, and leaving evidence like that is the last thing he needs to worry about right now.

“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. insists, and Tony grits his teeth as he wipes an arm across his sweaty forehead. “(Y/N)’s heat signature is rapidly approaching.”

The man freezes in place, his blood running cold.

Then his ears distinctly catch distant footfalls thumping against a hardwood floor, accompanied by a muffled speaker.

“Yeah, (Friend name), I’ll be free this weekend.”

“Shit!” Tony hisses, flinging himself away from your door like it burned him and his hands fly around to throw his supplies back in his toolbox at the speed of light. He all but sprints toward your window, hastily fiddling with the rusty latch. In his panicked state, he almost doesn’t contemplate how long it’ll take for him to climb up to the roof, and urgently commands J.A.R.V.I.S. to bring his suit down, now.

When your window finally unlocks, Tony uses all his strength to lift the frame and shimmy out in one fluid motion. He has to turn back and let the glass slide down gently with both hands, but then he hears a familiar whir behind him. Tony pivots himself in one fluid motion to lunge toward the peeled-open metal casing of Iron Man hovering just past your building's metal staircase.

He bursts off in flight when his body's fully concealed, soaring dangerously fast into the sky. Tony almost can't think when he's breathing this hard, yet his mind's in overdrive. It's a perpetual cycle that burns his lungs, quickly leading to tunnel-vision that is all-too similar to another experience.

Then he reaches the roof of Stark Tower, touching down on the landing pad. Mechanical arms help open up the metal armor as he walks further down the platform and Tony feels he can finally start breathing properly again, gulping in fresh air like water for his dehydrated lungs.

“Where have you been, Tony? I've been looking for you everywhere!” Pepper, clad in white and black business attire, speeds toward her boss with a binder and manilla folder clutched to her chest.

Releasing a shaky breath, Tony’s mask retracts and his head turns to grin dazzlingly at his secretary despite feeling accosted.

“Pep! I didn't know you were capable of missing me that much.”

She rolls her eyes at his double-edged-ness. “I think you’re confusing me with the world in that statement.”

Tony heaves a sigh when he’s out of his suit and the action draws his assistant’s eyes back toward him. Pepper gives the man a once-over and wrinkles her nose.

“You look awful. Where were you?” She presses tersely, and Tony's face falters. “I can't even count how many meetings have to be rescheduled, and that's if those prospects aren't lost now. You can't go AWOL like that without telling someone, Tony. I almost called Rhodney.”

“Ouch,” he remarks, striding over to the closest couch. “Straight to business as always, huh, Pep?” There is no verbal response as Tony plops himself down onto the cushions, letting his body start to relax. “It was nothing, just a little charity work. Some fixer-upper stuff.”

Pepper raises a brow.

“Okay,” Tony relents, his hands raised in a surrender motion before dropping, his brain calming down and beginning to think coherently again. “It wasn't exactly charity; more like a favor for a friend. I was repairing some things of theirs, and had to bring my tools with me since they’re not very mechanical-savvy.” It was the closest he would get to telling the truth, as unintentional as it was to reveal. But knowing Pepper Potts, she would poke until the answer was satisfactory or she got tired of his deflecting. If he went with the latter option today, she'd come back to the topic with a vengeance. And after the close call he had, the last thing he wanted was Pepper digging into this matter and being a thorn in his side over it. “Oh yeah,”  He continues, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with his hand for a moment. “While you’re over there doing nothing but lecturing me, could you be a doll and bring over that toolbox I mentioned?”

Silence ensues, falling over the pair.

Curiously, Tony opens his eyes to find a frown souring her pretty face— a detail Tony's about to comment upon when she speaks up.

“What toolbox?” She bluntly states, staring him down with an unreadable expression.

Tony freezes before twisting his torso to look around where he last was, and—

…

..

Oh.

…

Fuck.

——————————————————————————————————

This is bad, clearly.

The person sending this stuff hasn’t made themselves known and there’s been nothing more substantial you could submit to the police, either.

But it’s not as alarming as using your address as a drug delivery hotspot or something. And you checked them again— your cards had no outrageous or suspicious charges on them, so that info was safe. It was only your home address that was being utilized without your consent.

As far as you were aware, at least.

You shiver at the unspoken thought.

Bottom line, this could’ve been a lot worse.

You looked over at your doorstep, spotting another package greeting you from your long day at work as it lies there innocently.

But it doesn’t mean you want this to continue happening either, you solemnly think to yourself. Lifting the object up and clutching it against your chest with one arm, the other searches for the distinct ring of jagged metal in your purse.

Fishing out your keys successfully, you select your apartment key and hold it out in preparation as you continue to focus your gaze onto the cardboard box, peering at your name scrawled on top of the attached parchment. Stepping forward, you blindly thrust your arm out and feel the door impact the metal tool in your hand before it yawns in protest.

Your eyes shoot up and your breath stops.

You realized with growing panic that it had— indeed, gotten worse.

Someone broke into your apartment.

——————————————————————————————————

[augacity]

lots of good posts on this here webbed site about rotating your blorbos as you fall asleep, spinning out the next chapter of your fic and so on.

well!! i am here to rep those of us who absolutely, posiTIVELY should not be allowed within microwaving radius of blorbos after bedtime, lest the Visions and general impulse towards Solving The Plot impinge on any and all manner of Sleep.

signed, most sincerely, a tormented fic writer

[thisantithesis]

ch. 1 of my christmas fic!

it’s jegulus with some side of wolfstar <3

[thesmokinpossum]

(most of the ) books I read in 2024 ✨

[lithi]

An Athy mirror will be gifted to everyone who purchases a wmmap volume at Kbook’s stand at the Parisian anime convention Japan Expo!

[ofthesepulchre]

The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.

Montparnasse jolted awake, chest heaving and sweat soaking his fringe so that the hair plastered itself to his forehead. In the darkness, his eyes struggled to adjust, searching around for a source of light as a reference of his surroundings. His hands reached up to push the hair out of his eyes, grasping to have something to hold onto while he stilled his hurried breathing. The cell was empty, just as it was before. His eyes had finally adjusted to the dark when he gazed around at the lonely grey stone, a single blue-white square on the wall opposite of him assuring him that there truly was a world outside the walls of the La Force.

“Just a few days, just a little vacation. You like that, don’t you?” Claquesous had mocked, laughing behind the mask as he- unlike Montparnasse- had disappeared into the night. The youth had often felt resentment towards the older man, but now it had grown into a dark hatred- imagine leaving one of your own there to be shackled and imprisoned? The betrayal felt sour, though Montparnasse had always had a sense that the masked one had no intention of staying loyal- no matter how much he bet his childish whims on it. He clenched his jaw- imagined himself sinking his knife into what he thought was flesh - though some part of him was still convinced he would stab into pure air instead. It was not the first time he had ended up here.

Montparnasse had spent many a day of his life within these walls, awaiting the release that would eventually come once one of his patrons had heard the news and managed to send a letter- assuring that he was just a wayward youth- he would improve and “oh you mustn’t be so cruel to him!”

A wayward youth- corrupted. After all, was he not just that? Was he not just a lazy idler, a beast of burden in the team of Hell, as the old man once had told him? The speech had lingered for longer than Montparnasse had thought it would, the words burnt into his head that he will enter young and rosy- yet come out broken bent and wrinkled - his vain desires for finery and luxury creating a path he was unlikely to break out of if he did not address the desires for idleness and comfort. “The hardest of all work is thieving.”

What did he know of that, anyway? Besides, Montparnasse’s desire for finery was only the product of yearning for what he had never had, the thrill of doing what was undesirable- an act of rebellion against a world that had cast him as unwanted. After all, he had never known his father, hardly knew his mother. Perhaps that is where it had gone wrong? It was never of his own doing that he had become this way, he had argued to himself- no, it must be the world that was wrong. Or perhaps he was wrong himself- though he found that his own philosophy of idleness had worked far better than anything he had been told by any priest. No, the resentment of the hypocrisy of the church fuelled him more than anything else. He fed into each of the seven heads of the sinful beast that resided within him, rebelling against the rigid systems that had decided for him how and what he should be.

Montparnasse held no conscience that came to gnaw on his roots, saw no fault within himself, rather felt the fiery burning passion of hatred and resentment that had been sown by the seeds of his position grow into vines that twisted and bound themselves to him. All his acts of rebellion were justified, for they were acts upon which he showed himself as Lucifer speaking up against a God that never truly loved him. His eyes cast up at the fine light shining in from the moonlight. His lips had curled into a snarl following his train of thought and his brows had furrowed.

Now he sat there, much like a sour child, gazing hatefully at the light which in his mind represented the higher power that had obviously cast him here.He had fallen. He had fallen yet he welcomed the fall, for it was his own doing- and Montparnasse always had control- he always had the upper hand (so he believed), so they could take their words and their rituals and shove them up where the sun didn’t shine. The shackles placed on his wrists before he was tossed into the cell had reminded him of the imprisonment that was him inside his own mind, trapped in the labyrinths of thoughts and consciousness. He was writhing and fighting against the shackles placed there by the morality and the consequences of his fall into idleness, the morality that held him in place and was there to make him compliant. He had rebelled against it- fought against the shackles and broken free- it was his own doing! All he did was himself, and nothing else - the choices made were for him- and him only. A virus preying upon society.

If they wanted him to be this- had branded him to be this- so be it. He knew that he would be back again - no matter how many times they tossed him in. The sound of footsteps broke him out the rush of resentment that had imprisoned his mind, and Montparnasse averted his gaze to the door. A rustling of keys, keys entering the lock, turning - and the door opened. One of the prison guards with the sour face of a man who’d clearly never known the pleasures of flesh unless it was paid for under the table looked at him for a second.

“They are letting you out. Again.”

A smirk broke out on the youth’s face. The cogs began moving again, churning, turn⁷ing, watching Montparnasse leave the prison with easy steps, sauntering down to the sewers with the moonlight tracing the brim of his hat. Something that Claquesous once had said to him echoed within his mind, lines from something he never had read himself, though the words had burned into his consciousness: “And, when night darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons of Belial, flown with insolence and wine.”

[jhzhuxx]

"You're special, Ikuya," he murmurs, gently, absentmindedly rubbing my fingertips in his, my heart in my throat. "You're taking on the world alongside Haru and them."

He pauses, seemingly conflicted about how he should continue; whether he should continue.

Slowly, as if waiting to see if I would pull away, retreat, he lifts both of our hands to touch his lips to my fingers, eyes fluttering shut.

My breath stutters, and stops; air becomes unimportant as I stare at where our skin meets, uncomprehending.

"Sometimes," he continues, voice somehow even softer than before, "sometimes, I can't help but wonder if I can do anything for you. If I should even be by your side."

He lets out a quiet laugh; resigned, defeated. (I hated it - he wasn't supposed to sound like that.)

"Because, well – I'm normal, y'know?"

[memes-in-a-half-shell]

Villain AU - Deadlock, Part 3

Part 1 || Part 2 ||

Shorter chapter! Trying not to spend too much time on them :) I just want to go wild, ya know? Write some stupid shit!!! I'm having fun with this, so that's that 👏

She wasn't a nobody, he could at least give her that!

When going through her computer, he did find several emails, one of them consisting of an invitation to a party on this coming weekend - on top of a building close to where the 7th Avenue and Broadway were crossing. It seemed to be a social event for influencial people, may they be good or bad names. This would be the perfect opportunity for the broker to extend her name and services to some higher crowds! Donnie admired the hustle and entrepreneurship, but he knew that if she wasn't stopped nor steered, she could be quite a force to be reckoned with.

He disclosed his plan to his brothers, wanting to go meet her at that event. It was simple; take her aside for some talks, persuade her to hand over the information about the Foot investors, then recruit her for her services.

"Yeah, but do we have money?" questionned Mikey. "If that's what she does for work, we can't just have her empty her pockets for our cause. That's not fair."

"Although I'm not too keen on this whole situation, Mikey has a point," added Leonardo. "We have nothing."

Donnie sighed, knowing he couldn't keep his funds a secret anymore.

"You guys have nothing, I do."

"Watchu mean 'I do'??" questionned Raph with a frown.

The tall terrapin did unenthusiastical jazz hands: "Freelance work." He then brought a holo screen of his account. "I actually need to get some money back in ... that girl ain't cheap."

"Dude, fuck that, buy us pizza instead!" joked Mikey.

***

Vee wasn't usually enthusiast about social events, but she couldn't deny that this would be the perfect opportunity to seek out new clients and mingle around for some juicy gossip and any kind of information. She usually didn't mind dressing up for parties, her black dress simple enough and her gold necklaces a simple addition, but something about people's gazes during the evening made her wish she had dressed up more...

After conversing with points of interests, the woman decided to take a drink aside and headed towards a part of the rooftop that was more secluded. The much needed peace calmed Vee down, sipping her glass of wine as she looked over the city's lights and traffic down below.

"That's not very clever, you know?"

Vee was on high alert as she heard a voice echoing from the shadows to her left. Turning around, she finally spotted a form coming out and making its way towards her; none other than that turtle man she had seen at that Foot tower. She didn't say a word, slowly backing up as he kept coming closer.

"That tattoo of yours on your chest," he continued, still getting closer. "I clearly saw it that night, and now you're displaying it as well this evening. Quite recognizable, to be honest."

"How did you find me? What do you want?"

Vee finally bumped against a railing, feeling New York's hot breeze caress her upper back and hair. The tall mutant was now so close, she somehow considered jumping off the balcony … if only it wasn't way high above ground. The male finally got her calling card into view, an amused look on his face.

"I'd say you did good work with that for the average joe, but I was still able to get that fake tracer to link me back to its root. I'm suspecting you finally noticed my presence in your stuff last night, judging how quick I lost connection. Let me guess, you disconnected your router?"

Vee quickly got the card out of his hands, annoyed.

"Okay, you answered my 'how did you find me' question, now answer my next one."

One of his hands rested at the railing, right beside her, slightly towering the woman. He wanted to come out as intimidating, somehow, but he could also not dismiss his curiosity.

"… I wanna know who you are exactly. What's your deal?"

Vee left a quick chortle: "As if I'm going to lay all my information bare to you-"

"You seem quite capable with technology," he continued. "I'm just wondering why you're using it that way. … Selling information to the highest bidder can be a dangerous game."

Vee played her flirting card, taking advantage of the proximity. She slowly fiddled with his mask's tails, sneakily displaying herself in an enticing way.

"Money talks, turtle," she answered smoothly. "Taking leaps is what makes the world go 'round, I'm sure you know that. I do what I have to do in order to survive in here."

The mutant slightly gulped, taking a second to enjoy the view. He finally straighthened his stance, taking her hand so he could stop her motions at his tails.

"Until you land the wrong information into the wrong client's hands," he said. "… You don't have to play this kind of russian roulette. Your work could have way more worth in authority's hands."

The human puffed a quiet laugh, getting her hand out of his hold.

"I know how it goes, turtle. The police is slow and getting any freelance investigation their way can actually damage their precious work. They barely get anything done in reasonable delays. Meanwhile, my way is efficient for anyone who needs the information. I don't care where it falls – as long as I get paid, that's the only worth I'm looking for."

"Then why did you ask information about project Renaissance?"

Vee's eyes squinted: "... HookedOnCoffee?" she asked.

"You bet, smooth criminal," winked the terrapin. "I wanted to test you. I was there when you did your little escapade to the police station; you seem full of surprises."

Her gaze was now frowning, looking the mutant up and down.

"... H- How were you there and I didn't see you? You're a freakin' giant turtle!"

She stopped herself and the other before the subject was continued.

"You know what? Pause. ... I'm usually pretty alert to my surroundings when out and about, and the only trace I leave from time to time is my calling card, either for shits an' giggles, or for potential new clients. The fact that you found me and were able to hack into my computer in very little time is just ... " She next poked at his plastron with each words: "You're. Being. A. Creep. Right. Now!"

She next took a long sip of her wine, her eyes wandering and next noticing the shapes of three other turtles hanging and waiting on another rooftop.

"Great," she sighed, vaguely gesturing in their direction. "The whole cavalry's here..."

"You don't have to be freaked out," said the terrapin next. "We're here because we want your help."

Vee paused, half a smile coming to her lips.

"Let me guess.... you want the info I took from you guys at that Foot tower?"

"Primarly, yes, but ultimately I believe that your expertise could be beneficial to our cause."

"Which is?"

"Bringing the Foot clan down, once and for all."

That brought a laughter out of the woman, confusing the other for a moment.

"You do realize that I sometimes steal from them? They're often my main bread and butter," confessed Vee. "And if they were to vanish, another organization is gonna take their place. I'm talking about the Purple Dragons, mainly. I could be generous and think of other clans, but that'd be too generous."

"And you're okay with having potential crimes on the conscience when completing work that involves the Foot?" questionned the male, sourly.

"C'est la vie!'' shrugged the human. "Eat or be eaten. I do whatever I have to do and I'm okay with that. ... Why should I care about others when all they've done to me for the most part is spit on me?"

That seemed to garner some sympathy from the turtle, his traits now softer.

"Look... I'm not here to threathen you out of your work," he started, calmly. "I believe you have great potential and it'd be a shame to have yourself get in trouble because of some poor choices."

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know! I know... But I want you to consider being a better person in this."

Vee was silent for a moment, contemplating his words.

"... I'll think about it," she finally said, ligthly swirling her wine in a thoughtful manner.

"Good! If you ever have an answer, you know where you can find me." He next extended his hand for her to shake. "Name's Donatello, by the way."

Vee considered the gesture for a moment, ultimately bringing her hand into his. The size difference caught her off guard for a split second.

"Call me Vee," she replied. "... And I must warn you, monsieur Donatello; do not log into my computer again, or else I'll find you and it won't be pretty."

"I'll respect that warning," smiled the terrapin.

The woman next handed her glass to the mutant, starting to make her way back to the party.

"Enjoy the wine, I'm guessing you need it too."

Indeed he did, taking a long swig of the drink and then watching Vee walk away. He could still feel the ghost of her hand in his...

***

Vee spent the next few days carefully combing through the Renaissance project's files. One detail she did find interesting was in regard to that alien substance - nicknamed the "green ooze" - that was injected into four turtles and one rat subjects. Basic tests had been conducted, but it had never been done to full extents, considering that the lab burned down and the chemical had been lost. Final reports indicated that traces of the ooze could be found running through the animals' veins, meaning now that retrieving the substance could be possible...

Now knowing that this Donatello guy potentially had eyes on her online activities, she proceeded to create a thread all while making sure that the HookedOnCoffee account was blocked. She silently thanked the moderators for not including an activity feed for any created accounts, allowing for things to escape possible radars or lurkers.

Her post was clear and simple:

Potential retrieval of the lost ooze from Project Renaissance.

Possibility of getting my hands of some of the alien substance lost in the Sacks facility fire. Uses may range from medical to superhuman enhancements. Starting bids at 1 million. Serious offers only.

And so the wait started. Or at least it would give her enough time to actually figure out how to obtain such ooze in the first place....

Thinking back at Donatello's offer, that seemed like her only point of entry for such an opportunity. Sure, she couldn't just come out of nowhere and whip out a needle and a vial to get some blood out of him. ... She would need to build trust with the mutant - something that seemed a bit far fetched at the moment, considering that he might mostly want a professional relationship first and foremost.

She allowed some time to pass by, completing chores around her appartment and getting some food prepared. It was only when she got back to her desk with a quick dinner plate that she froze at the thread she had created.

Last offer was going up as high as 10 millions...

Seeing that no one had outbided that for some time, she closed the deal, getting in contact with the winner.

smooth_criminal: You better not be talking shit for offering such a large amount of money. FuttoGyangu: My boss is very interested by what you are offering. smooth_criminal: I do not have a current ETA on the retrieval. I need to confirm some details before starting the operation. FuttoGyangu: To confirm our interest, we will forward you 500,000$. Keep us updated.

Vee blanked for a moment. That couldn't be real...

FuttoGyangu: We have heard of your excellent work. Do not disappoint us.

She indeed received the amount, accepting it with a wide-eyed stare. ... ... Throwing herself out of her chair, she gleefully danced and stimmed around, celebrating this huge hit! Her head was spinning, her heart beating fast and hard. She couldn't back away now, she didn't want to disappoint indeed!

Swinging back into her chair, she completely disregarded her food, instead opening back her conversation with HookedOnCoffee. She shook her hands a little before writing, wanting to calm her nerves and not write any gibberish.

smooth_criminal: What's up. Let's meet up and discuss.

She could give him the Foot info, anything he wanted! Who cares!! As long as she could get into his good graces, that could only get her closer to her goal and that sweet, sweet money.

HookedOnCoffee: I'm guessing you finally considered my offer? smooth_criminal: Sure thing, pal. I'll be a good girl, I promise ;)

She snickered at her response.

HookedOnCoffee: I'll disregard the play on words :D ... State a place and time of your choice, I'll be there. smooth_criminal: I suspect you don't want to be seen much. I'll send you the address of a rooftop I like to hang out to. I'm free tomorrow night. smooth_criminal: I'll also bring some coffees and that delicious data you requested~ Gotta start on the right foot - unless you want to bring it down once and for all as well.

God she felt like such a smartass, quoting him from that evening at that party.

HookedOnCoffee: Ain't you a sweetheart... Forward me the address and I'll meet you there. HookedOnCoffee: And don't worry, I'll be alone.

Happily punching in the address and sending it his way, she next swiveled her chair around with a cheerful laughter. She couldn't deny being on such a high - yet the realization that she had now to prepare for this delicate mission brought her celebration to a stop.

Serious once again, she approached her computer, then opening a new web browser screen and shopping around for blood extraction equipment...

((Part 4))

[tsnbrainrot]

i was tagged by @setsailtomorrow to do this fic tropes tier list

this was surprisingly harder than i thought ? there's a lot of tropes that i'm meh on and it very much depends on who is writing it and what pairing it is. anyways, tagging my pals @wernerherzogs @indigodawns @wimbledon2008 @froggybangbang @dontneedmyheart @painting--words @madam-mina-harker if they want to do it !

[ellayuki]

we're all made of glitter and nightmares (and baby, we thrive)

Tsubasa Chronicle Month 2023 

- Day 1: Sakura

~

She wakes up on a soft, long inhale, eyes blinking sluggishly open, and for a moment, Sakura's mind is empty, stuck in that liminal space between sleeping and fully awake. 

For a few minutes, she just lays in her bed still, enjoying the early morning sunlight warming her skin and the sound of songbirds outside her windows, and letting the last remnants of sleep fall away, breath by breath.

It’s weird, she thinks after a while, looking at the roof of her canopy bed. I slept through the night again, and there wasn't anything this time either.

It’s normally such a rare thing for her to not dream when she sleeps, or to dream and not remember upon waking up, so it’s not something she’s used to, really. It's not something she's ever thought would ever happen without her giving it up as a payment for something else, or having her dreams stolen.

But for the past three nights, Sakura's sleep has been completely uninterrupted, even by normal, meaningless images, and it just feels… off.

"I'm probably overthinking it," she sighs, shaking her head and sitting up to greet the day. "It's normal not to remember everything I dream about all the time. It's nothing I should get all panicky about."

(She worries about it still, until her dreams return on their own days later.)

[justoneofthoseghosts]

A part of me misses clowning and speculating about BTS photos but another part of me doesn’t. That one photo has an entire group of people on Twitter spiraling.

But also, what does it mean? What’s that house supposed to be? I don’t think it’s Portland. There’s a BTS of Hanako wearing the yellow jacket in the photo but it seems to be in the firehouse 🤔 there’s also BTS photos of a call they filmed but that’s likely the first few minutes of the the episode

[they-didnt-last]

i've been scrolling through the house of anubis tag on fanfic.net (looking for an old fanfic i read) and all i have to say is that y'all were very creative back then

[grunge-mermaid]

watching an interview with Mika where he's talking about the new album and I'm not sure if "apocalypse calypso" is a song title or if that's how he was describing the vibe of a different song

either way I'm here for it 1000%