#you cant bring a knife to a Force Fight

[pacifierbby]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝑩𝑹𝑶𝑲𝑬𝑵 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑬'𝑺

Summary, Heartbreaks happen all the time she just always thought he was the one when broken promises were the thing that hurt the most.

pairing,Lando Norris x reader

-𝑵𝑨𝑽𝑰-

You never expected it to end like this—how could someone you loved for four years throw it all away in a heartbeat? Lando had promised you so much: that he’d never find anyone better, that the F1 world wouldn’t come between you. Yet, those promises lay shattered around you, a painful reminder of the trust you’d given him.

You often wished you could go back to that day, change everything, maybe even fight harder for what you had. But deep down, you knew you couldn’t control the past; you could only shape your future. After all, you couldn’t keep sitting on the couch with ice cream and binge-watching murder documentaries forever.

Tonight, you’d made a special effort—his favourite dinner, a beautifully set table, a candle flickering in the middle. But as you looked at the clock, anticipation turned to disappointment. Lando was late once again.

When the keys finally jingled in the door, you rushed to greet him, heart racing. “How was today?” you asked, leaning against the doorway. But Lando just shrugged, his exhaustion evident.

“I’m going to sleep. I’m tired.”

Your heart sank. “But I made us dinner…”

He waved your words away. “You can eat. I’m still going to sleep.”

His dismissal felt like a knife. You forced back tears, turning away as he headed upstairs, oblivious to the hurt he was causing.

Walking back into the kitchen the candle still flickering that once gave you comfort only now just gives you dread shutting off the cooker not that hungry to even eat anymore sitting down at the table tears slowly leaving your eyes you know deep down that you cant live like this anymore you cant keep bringing something to the relationship that's already dead you tried so hard to save something that isn't worth fighting for anymore.

opening up your friend's messages

You knew she was right, but you were scared to face everything alone. When you and Lando were together, every weekend was filled with shared adventures—cuddling, watching your favourite TV shows, and simply being together.

As you walked into the bedroom, Lando lay softly snoring on his side of the bed. The room you had designed together now felt like his alone. You grabbed your suitcase from the wardrobe, careful not to wake him. You wanted this to be as pain-free as possible, avoiding any arguments.

Looking around one last time, your eyes landed on a photo frame on his bedside table. It held a picture of the two of you smiling and hugging on the boat—a day you remembered vividly. Now, it felt like just a distant memory, one that would linger in your heart forever.

Your phone pinged again, a message from your friend saying she was outside. You hesitated, not wanting to wake Lando, not wanting to utter those painful words of goodbye. You wished to hold onto the memories instead. But deep down, you longed for the old relationship back. A sigh escaped your lips as tears began to fall, and you quickly left the house for the last time.

This led to four months of silence—Lando never called or asked where you were. He didn’t even bother to text your friend. You found that a little easier, but deep down, it hurt knowing that he was done more than you had thought.

Determined to improve your life, you and your friend opened a cozy coffee shop in town. The past four months had been a whirlwind—from the grand opening to gaining popularity and creating your own signature drink, along with special hand-baked cookies. It helped divert your mind from him and made life feel exciting again.

The bell above the door rang, signaling another customer. “Hello! Welcome to Cosy Café. How can I help you?” you greeted with a smile.

“Hey, can I get the special, please, with the cookies?”

That voice. You knew it all too well, but you didn’t want to be rude; after all, he was now your customer. “Of course!” You quickly jotted down his order. “I’ll be over at the window seat.”

You often wondered how Lando was doing. You still watched his races when you could, pride swelling in your chest for the man you still loved.

Walking over to him, you placed the tray on the table. “Here’s your order. Hope you enjoy it.” As you turned to leave, he called your name, his cap resting on the table, his curly hair tousled in a way you always found cute.

“Y/N, can we please talk?”

“I'm working, Lando,” you replied, already knowing that the café would be fine for the next thirty minutes.

“Please, I need to speak to you.”

You nodded and sat down in front of him, trying to console yourself. “Why?” you asked, placing your hands on your lap.

“I don’t know what happened to us. Please don’t think I fell out of love; that’s far from the truth. I let the internet win the war in my head for a while, reading articles about how terrible I was as an F1 driver and as a boyfriend. It hurt.”

Lando covered his face, and your heart thumped in your chest. You hadn’t realized he was going through something so painful alone.

“Why didn’t you come to me? You know I’m always on your side. Who cares what articles say about our relationship? They weren’t with us 24/7,” you said.

He nodded. “I know. I guess because I was reading them, I didn’t understand how much it impacted you. I wish I could take back time and tell you how I truly feel, but here we are because of my stupid actions.”

“When I found out you left that day, it hurt. I knew I let the articles win. I lost you that very day. So when I woke up, I knew I had to change myself. That’s why I didn’t ring you or text your friends. I wanted to be a better boyfriend and husband. I heard from Max that you opened a café, and honestly, I was so proud. That’s why I’m here—not just to buy this, but to try to win back what I lost.”

Tears streamed down your face. You wished you had stayed and sorted things out instead of leaving, but now you could see he had changed for the better. You knew he was sincerely sorry.

“I just want to say thank you, Lando. I wish our story had a different ending, but I understand you needed to fix yourself before fixing us. Deep down, I still love you. I miss our memories together. But please, don’t hide everything from me,” you spoke softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him up.

In that moment, you connected your lips, feeling the warmth of a love you had forever missed.

Broken promise may sometimes be fixed relationships may be broken but through the darkness there's always a light under the dark tunnel

[iturbide]

Summer Storm

39,663/50,000 words

“…they knew me.”

She froze, staring at him in the dim lamplight.  When she swallowed her half-chewed bite, he saw her wince.  “As a member of the guard?”

“…one of them called me Lindy,” he mumbled.

She sank back in her chair, poking listlessly at the meal.  “So the guard is involved.  Not all of them, obviously.  But someone is part of this, if they’ve got our cast-offs and some of our new arms.  So now we’ve gotta watch for a knife in our backs at the garrison while we wait for a mage to publicly decry you.”

“What?”  Lindulf lifted his head just to cant it to the side.  “Miryn?  He wouldn’t.”

“He saw you phase—”

“And he could have told the Magistrate tonight,” he shot back.  “Instead he stepped in.  He didn’t tell her, and made sure I didn’t have to, either.”

She huffed, stabbing at the venison again.  “And what’s to say he’s not saving that dangerous little nugget of knowledge as blackmail to use later.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Lindulf said simply.

“How do you know?”

“That’s not the kind of person he is.”

She leveled a half-lidded stare at him.  “And Riculf says Miryn’s the naïve one.”

“He had a chance to tell the magistrate tonight, and he didn’t,” Lindulf insisted.  “And before that — after I phased, he was worried about me.  He helped me fight them, when we were trying to get out.  And when I got hurt…he could have just left.  He could have stayed hidden, or just protected himself, but…he saved me.  He healed me.  Why would he do that, if he was just going to throw me under the wagon later?”

“Because maybe knowing your big secret is more valuable than just letting you die?”

“Then why not tell the magistrate tonight?” he demanded.  “Why let his license be revoked — why let himself get kicked out of town, when he could have given me up?”

“Seventh’s prison, I don’t know!” she snapped, ruffling her hair again.  “Why did you even bring him back?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Lindulf shot back.

Izzy went suddenly quiet, and Lindulf shrank under the intensity of her stare.  “What exactly did the magistrate say to you.”

Lindulf scratched at the back of his neck, trying to recall.  “She said…the mission was of the utmost importance, and that…if we brought them to justice, but the mage died in the process, it would be the unfortunate cost of success.”

Silence.  He glanced up at Izzy, who had not moved, did not blink, and seemed to have stopped breathing entirely while she stared at him.  As he took a breath, though, she dropped her knife and buried her face back in her hands.  “I can’t believe how dense you are sometimes.”

“I am not,” he huffed.  “I did exactly what she said: I tried to take as many of them as I could, so Miryn could finish the mission—”

“Dumbass, she was telling you to let him die out there.”

He gaped at her, trying to force the words to make sense.  “What?”

“’If the mage dies in pursuit of justice, it will be an unfortunate cost of success’?  Are you kidding?  You never factored into this: she never intended for Miryn to make it back here.  No wonder she looked like something bit her in the ass when we brought him in.  When you said you were taking him to find those masks without us, I had a feeling she’d signed his death warrant, but I figured you’d at least be smart enough to just send him home, rather than actually dragging him out after those tainted rats.”

“Why would she want him dead?” Lindulf asked.  “He didn’t do anything.  …not maliciously, anyway.  He was defending himself.”

“You think she cares?” Izzy scoffed.  “The magistrate hates mages.  She’s why we have the mage laws: you think she wants to let one go free, escape the punishment she personally added to our city’s code?”

Scowling, he tore off another scrap of venison.  “It’s not right.”

“No, it’s not,” she sighed, chewing at her own slice again.  “But it’s the law.  What choice do we have?”

Lindulf didn’t know.  And that satisfied him even less.

[voidplume]

LAST ONE I PROMISE (at least the last readmore’d one)

Raphael

we’re going back to duviri. see, dominus had set up an execution for several cycles and was always disappointed with the end result. he’d set up Lazarus. he’d get lodun to read off the fucking crimes. tell him the sentence. oh my god such a fucking hassle. and then get this, the guy thats supposed to kill him starts fucking sobbing and KILLS HIMSELF instead. bro come on

so rigel’s refusal to commit to this mariticide drags on longer than thrax really Finds Funny. its only laz’s insistence that he just give him what he wants. that he cant stand to watch him die again and again. thats when the Angel finally caves and uses the knife for its intended purpose.

and its there that the shy pushover dies. the guy that would listen to whatever anyone wanted him to do. that would follow any order so long as you were stronger than him. laz’s death is where his violence and cynicism is born.

so theres a fun little thing i came up with once eternalism dropped in TNW. throughout the entirety of these alternating universes, rigel has, statistically, not Done Very Well. in a majority of those, him and his sister were discovered as twins and put to death. other failures include; the sentient attack frying his warframes to the point of no repair, himself included. him never being woken from his second dream. being encased into Quasar as a second Holy Rell. etc etc

generally, across eternalism he doesn’t seem to be a very successful tenno. (ironic) across all these timelines, Seven have been able to achieve a similar level of power. some of them remaining young, others taking on his older form. but all of them remain under the thumb of the orokin.

for some Fucking Reason, our version of rigel was the only one to worm his way out from under everyone standing over him. the only one to get his dampeners removed and to work on living as his true self. the way Kentaurus founders intended. and thus, out of those Seven, he reigns as the most powerful.

the other six become aware of their own presences and gather together to seek out the final piece. the seventh Brother, if you will. in their eyes, fusing as one will provide all of them the power needed to “bring peace to the system” etc etc

but anyways rigel kind of said fuck that. youre not my fucking mother. and instead of them forming this like… coalition of archangels hellbent on stoic justice, he forces them to absorb into himself. like you know that funny update where baro fuses himself thanks to wally?

yeah

he assumes the mantle of their lives and timelines. memories, strengths, weaknesses, etc. and together they form Raphael, Father of the Void Angels.

“vik this is REALLY mary sue” yeah i know shut up it gets worse. so thrax finally wins. rigel kills lazarus and kinda just watches him lay there for a second. internally the meeting of the seven playing out in his head. and he assumes the form of Raphael. in the middle of the fucking city. beckons the roosting angels from the zariman and essentially rains Fucking Hell upon anything and everything thrax owns. it takes the entire group of orowyrms to shut him down and restart the cycle.

and once it does, hes back to stoicism again. dominus cant see his Angel in the same way ever again. so at the beginning of each cycle, he has rigel arrested by dax, his wings broken, and him thrown into one of the many royal mazes, left to carry dust for what is essentially years.

and rigel kinda accepts it? his numbness renews, still dreaming of the origin system and the memories of his seven lives playing in his head. its only when his durivi clips back into laz’s that hes brought back to reality.

etc etc duviri quest plays relatively as normal except the orowyrm fight is vs Raphael and not his frame. its when he gets back through the Wall that it gets weird.

hi we’re back in the zariman for the third time.

see. the void jump happens. little rigel is in class all “what the dink was that noise”. big rigel is dumped in some dormizone like “OH GOD MY HUSBAND IS DEEEEAD”. and raphael touches down in the middle of it all. amid the chaos and confusion. and with his song and violence, he makes the first void angels out of the crew.

so basically its all his fault. the corruption of the holdfasts. kira’s death and descend to madness. all Raphael. the plumes on the zariman? shed from his wings throughout the years in his roost. the ones he called in duviri? his own brood returning to the cry of their sire.

current Raphael cant actually… fly anymore. hes lost so many plumes during the zariman that he literally cant get enough lift, and hence why he collabs with yonta to help gather them all in exchange for goods and services for other tenno.

post new war, he uses his form of Raphael on ballas, and nearly rips him in fucking two. thankfully, he leaves the honor to Lotus, but trades that for keeping the sun from frying them all raw.

and in the wake of his sucking and fucking spree, his connection to Raphael only grows stronger. more esoteric. its after a very long thought process that he decides to return to the Red Veil, who has since devolved into splinter factions and cults in the absence of him and Rell.

this is still stuff i wanna write, but eventually he cracks down on the more fanatic and ruthless veil members and gathers up those still interested in being the sword to the Steel Meridian’s shield, ridding the system of evil with the same fire and violence used by the enemy. and while he keeps the fact that he’s tenno from the majority of the Veil a secret, the new ruling council he helps form with palladino and other merit based officials of course know about this.

yadda yadda edgelord shit whatever look at this FUCKING SICK loadout i gave him for his red veil garb

post more rigel lore... please... they're so cool

RI IS SOO SO SPECIAL TO ME!! this ask made me so excited when i saw it thank you anon!!!!!!!

rigel is vik @helmofhades ’s beautiful boy!! he’s his tenno oc and laz is his right hand arm man. his everything. his confidante. his silly rabbit. (does he call him that? no.)

for serious though rigel is so cool. he’s a void angel! he’s a one man army! he’s a slut! he’s an overwhelmed single dad! he chugs more kuva than the average kuva lich (he’s just self medicating, trust him on this)!! he’s even PURPLE!!!!!! he’s got it all!!!!!!!!

i’m gonna pass the mic over to vik so he can elaborate, because rigel has a lot going on and i knwo i won’t do him justice on my own. check that out in the notes soonish (and go follow him while you’re at it! wtf!!!)

[slashingdisneypasta]

MultiVillains x Reader || Drabbles

Plot: They're under the control of something, or someone, else and directed to try and kill you- until you break them free from the hold.

Includes: The Clown / Jeffrey Hawk / Kenneth Chase, The Huntress / Anna, Freddy Krueger, Laughing Jack, Offenderman, Peter Hale, Peter Hayes, and Scott (Total Drama).

Warnings: Mind control, non con drugging (Jeffrey), violence, angst. And, then, fluff! ^^

The Clown / Jeffrey Hawk / Kenneth Chase:

Controlled by- The Entity.

The moment you hit Cronus Penn Asylum and you saw the look in Jeffry's eyes, you know something terrible has happened. Something is missing in them. All of the... Jeffrey, really. There's no amusement nor dreadful glee, there, at seeing you. Something you've become accustomed to, and actually made you feel... comfortable- weird as that sounds.

But right now you do not feel comfortable. Especially as he starts descending upon you.

Nervous, you take a few tiny, cautious steps back as he moves towards you. You raise an eyebrow. "Jeffrey... ? Are you okay?... "

He doesn't say a word, but you watch his hand disappear into his coat pocket, and take out a bottle.

You start to walk faster, backwards. "Jeffrey what's that? Jeffrey, why wont talk?" He still doesn't answer and just keeps coming closer. Your hearts starting to beat unnaturally fast in your chest, and you're legitimately scared; Face pale and your legs demanding you to run. Far and fast, until you cant see him anymore. "Jeff!"

And then he rears his arm back, ready to throw it at the ground near your feet, and you turn around and make your run for it; Sprinting across the ground to escape the fumes that crash and fill the air behind you- taking the air that you breath.

You fail; And the drug is fast acting, stealing your energy and making it hard to breath- soon you're on the ground, struggling to breath in proper lungful's of air, on your hands and knees, just trying to stay moving. Even if its just an inch at a time. But you can feel him on your heels, eyes licking up the back of your legs and your back, before he drops to his knees - not groaning in pain or coughing at all, - , and uses a big meaty hand to drag you over onto your backside.

You're now laying on the ground, just trying to concentrate on taking long, slow breaths and not the butterfly knife nearing your chest. "Jeff... " You whine, squeezing your eyes closed. Its hard to speak, as its hard to breath, but there's nothing else you can try; So you force the sounds out. "Why... are you... doing... this... ah... "

"Kenneth is not here." Finally, your clown responds. But this not his voice. This is unfamiliar- yet when you crack an eye open, eyebrows furrowed in pain and confusion, its still Jeffrey's face looking blankly back at you. Gone is the drunken slur that's become tantamount to Jeffrey's identity, along with the wheeze that comes with his breezing and the pleased lilt to his tones. This is emotionless and informational. "This is the Entity. And I've been made exceedingly displeased by your dalliances with each other... " Your eyelids squeeze shut again, forehead wrinkling severely and lips parted as to take in as much oxygen as possible, as you struggle against the drugs Jeffrey is so good, at stirring. And you fight to fully understand the words coming out of Jeffrey's mouth, but that are certainly not his. "Killers are not supposed to bring joy... even degenerate, perverted joy as you are taking from him, Y/N... Let this be a lesson to you both."

The knife comes down towards your chest then, but you manage to block it from breaking your skin with a weak hand- the drug evidently weakening your muscles, too, -. "No... Jeffrey... please." You didn't even realise you were weeping, until salty, dirty tears slip down to your lips and you taste the flavour of you horror. A sob tears through you. "Please, don't do... do this... "

You cant even struggle against him, fight for your dignity. No, you can only lay there and sob ugly tears like a child, moaning his name like its yours. Like he belongs to you and you just want your thing, back. You want desperately for the Entity to let him go. Jeffrey's not much, but you would really like for him to come back to you- and to give you the cure to this awful drug.

Hands weakly find the lapels of his jacket, as you slowly writhe on the ground. The Entity - or Jeffrey? - watches you suffer, eyes half lidded. "There's no point to begging. His consciousness can do nothing, right now."

"Let him... let him go... " You don't know wen your pleas started to become for him, rather then for you, but suddenly that's all you want.

"You should worry about yourself." The Entity responds, a bored tone to his voice.

"I... " Another sob wracks your body, before you gasp for air because that cry took all of it out of you, and panic for a second because you cannot breath- "I cant!... "

"You should worry about yourself!" You Entity snaps again, and you cant see him for your eyes being closed but through your pain and your struggling, a tangible haze surrounding and coating everything inside you like tar, you detect a lining of anger now.

But how could you possibly make this worse by defying him?

"Just let him... " Breathing in deeply, even as your airways feel half closed, you feel your gums ache. "go, let him... get out... " Get out of him. Leave him alone. Let him be. Put him back-

Suddenly, you feel familiar weight, that you hadn't quite realised was far less then it should be as the Entity in Jeffrey's body held you down, rest against you. Fingers brush some of your hair back, soothingly, and slimy grease-paint covered lips press a comfortingly gentle kiss to your cheek. You know he left a mark of grease paint behind, too. "You should worry about yourself... Y/N... "

You know you would gasp if you were in any state to do so, and your eyes flutter slightly open- only a crack, only a bit, to see Jeffrey.

Really, Jeffrey this time. His eyebrows are furrowed in a half-concerned expression as fat fingers run through your hair, tracing your skin. "Jeff... Jeffrey?"

"Don't talk. Sorry love, but this particular drug'll only wear off on its own. Nasty, huh? Just breath, okay? Wouldn't wantcha passin' out, not after all those lovely things you said for me, at least." The last bit is slightly teasing, but there is still a definite umbrella of soft, gentle concern as he talks quiet, and slow- forcing himself to swallow back his coughs as to not do it near your face. He's also holding himself off your chest, to make it easier for you. "Just keep on breathin', nugget... Keep doin' that for me, okay? That's all I need. You're off the hook for Christmas presents forever if you do this for me, okay? Okay... "

The sound of his voice, as horrible and scratchy as it is, lulls you into a state of calm. Breathing becomes slightly easier, now that you aren't fighting with the very little strength you have in the moment , and your muscles relax.

The Huntress / Anna:

Controlled by- The Entity.

The broad axe that very fucking nearly hit its target - being your head, - a moment ago is what had you realising that maybe Anna is just not feeling herself today, and causes you decision to hide.

As you strategically cower in a brush and peel your ears for any sounds of Anna - which is hard, seeing as she's a hunter, - , your mind races with possibilities of why she's acting this way. She hasn't tried to lodge an axe into your skull for what you think has possibly been years. She likes you. She pets your head and strokes your hair and brings you dead birds as presents.

And you've liked her liking you- and not only because you experience situations like this one, far less frequently.

"Oh Y/N... You cannot escape me. I will find you. You've endangered the integrity of my games... and you must be punished."

Your eyes practically bulge out of your head, hearing those words. Fingers dig into the dirt on either side of your for purchase as you fight not shiver, because those words were so fricken freaky, and give away your position. Surely, that is not Anna!

Suddenly the familiar axe flies into the air, and sticks swiftly into the bark of a tree behind you- just above your head, and your seize up, freezing. You figure, she found you.

As your turning tail and attempting to make a quick escape, crawling out from under the bushes, a hand latches onto your heels and drags you across the ground back wards. You shriek, rolling over and trying frantically to kick her off, scraping your other foot against her hand to get it off but its no use and she has you underneath her soon enough. Still, your heart's hammering in your chest and and you fight to push her off you with your knee but she easily wrangles you down and sits herself on your thighs- the axe now slamming deep into the dirt by your head; The threat effectively stopping your movements.

Breathing hard, but slowly, you carefully turn your head from the weapon and up to Anna's face- and see her smirking.

... for as long as you've known her, Anna has never smirked. It shocks you dumb for a moment. "... Anna-"

"The Huntress is occupied." These words send a chill down your spine, just like before, and you fight not to shake under the dark gaze that seems to prickle and penetrate. Whoever's speaking through Anna tilts her head down at you. "Anna... as you feel so comfortable calling her... is dealing with her own penalty right now. This is the Entity. And your relationship with each other has arisen an issue, for me... Its just not entertaining anymore."

The Entity.

The Entity.

The Entity.

The words keep repeating in your head, and you honestly have to fight not disbelieve, these words. The idea is crazy. The Entity, is mad? The Entity kidnapped you all - killers and survivors alike, - to have you all try to kill eachother like a psychopathic 12 year old Hunger Games fangirl and its mad!?

You give a good fight, kicking your legs suddenly and trying with all your might to shove Anna's body the fuck off you- but she seems to be stronger, now, and she pushes your wrists down by your head the she's now the damn terminator. You yelp in surprise, and drop your head back into the dirt, conceding defeat. Gaze flickering from the forest around you, to Anna's face, you raise your brows. "What did you mean by Anna's dealing with her own penalty right now?" Heat builds up in your chest and your stomach twists. "What are you doing to her?"

"Nothing... I figure if you two are going to play by different rules, then I'll follow your lead. She'll but watch from inside her own body, as I use it to hurt you. That'll be painful enough for her... don't you think?"

Oh no... You think, eyebrows furrowing. No... Anna's in there? You glance at into those eyes again, searching for any signs of her. You find none, but know she's in there... so you fight not to glare back into them, despite the pressure building in you to look back at them the same way its daring to look at you. "... Anna?"

The Entity says nothing back, just blinks as it watches you look absolutely helpless on the ground, hair in the dirt.

Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes for a moment, you gather your courage, letting the breath out through your nose... You need to comfort her, you realise. Killer's aren't used to being the ones hurt. You just want her to be okay; Cuz you know you damn sure will be. Nothing the entity can do to you anymore can really get you down, for long. You refuse to let it.

"Anna... " Your eyes open again. "If- if you're really in there... I want you to know its okay. I'll be fine. That fucking Doctor does worse to me then this bastard can do with just a little axe, on a regular basis... And those fuckers Macmillan and the Pig aren't a lot better. So I know I'll be fine." Pleading with your eyes, you beg her to understand. "Please don't get too upset, Annie. I know its not you."

As the Entity lets go of one of your wrists and yanks the axe up out of the ground again, and its gaze washes over you... looking for where to start, probably... you squeeze your eyes shut and press your lips firmly together in a straight line. Sure, you'll take your 'punishment', but you wont stare into Anna's eyes while it happens.

Quietly, and before you even realise you wanted to do it... you start humming. Gently, and very almost inaudibly- but the Entity seems to hear it, if the sudden, violent jolt that Anna's body gives is any indication. Its an old lullaby that you know Anna loves. She sings it to you sometimes after a particularly bad trial, when you've come up against the Clown, or Krueger. She'll drag your body up against hers, sitting your back against her chest and hug you, pressing her cheek against the top of your head as the words slip out and your close your eyes; Letting her. You've come to crave those moments with her hugging you like you're special, and important.

The humming was only meant to comfort her, this time... but when her body climbs back off of you and she effortlessly picks you up, setting you in her lap and curling around you, burying her face into your neck.

When you immediately realise that is Anna again, rather then Entity, you quickly relax against her and wrap your arms around her neck and hugging her tight. "Кролик... I am sorry... I did not-... It-... was not me... "

"I know Anna... "

"Forgive me. I do not want you to fear."

"There's nothing to forgive."

Freddy Krueger:

Controlled by- Older, more powerful dream demons. (Uhhhhh *cough* Bill Cipher if you want *Cough cough*)

"Freddy... " You hold out your hands, a cautious gesture as he approaches- blades extended and ready to strike. And he's ascending faster then he usually would, more determined. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you look around, panicking; All you see is four walls, one that you're digging your shoulder blades into in a nearly subconscious attempt to keep yourself as far as you can from your attacker, who isn't acting like himself, and the claw-like blades on his fingers.

Your heart's hammering against your chest, because you know for certain- if he gets to you this time you aren't getting out. No lengthy one-liner is going to allow you to too luckily wake up just in the nick of time, no stupid loophole will stop him short, no silly human distraction will divert his short attention span. Your mind races with different ways you've escaped before, but none of it applies to a situation like this. Freddy's not himself- and weirdly enough you find yourself really fucking missing him. At least you wouldn't be in this situation! Looking around senselessly, you panic. "Shoot, shoot, shoot- "

He'd usually like to drag things out, eat up every delicious reaction you make, and by some miracle you would manage to escape.

But there's no foreseeable getaway out of this one.

Suddenly the wall behind you disappears, leaving a fucking cliff leading to a whole lot of deep, black, nothingness an inch from your heels and you violently flinch away from it, narrowly escaping a terrible fall, eyes wide at the new threat. A whimper comes out of you, staring back over your shoulder at it; You were always uncomfortable with heights.

While you're distracted is when 'Freddy', lunges- but you catch it from the corner of your eye and manage to whip back around in time to catch his wrist, holding the blades away from your body- a pathetic yelp flying out of you at the attack. "No!" Your eyes snap shut and stay squeezed tightly closed for a moment, before you crack them back open to see a furious scowl carved into his usually amused face. Damn it...

There's nothing left to do but beg.

"If you kill me now, all the fun will be over, Freddy." You remind, eyes wide as you try to get that through to him. Try to make him remember. His eyes just narrow at you and his other arm comes out of nowhere flying towards your throat but you catch that wrist too, and although your arm shakes against the struggle to release himself, you manage to not let go. Because if you do and those blades manage to slice through you then you are a goner. "Come on man fight this." Searching his eyes, you try to find even one lick of Freddy left but just despair and panic more when you just find terrible emptiness- its worse then any mirth or roué that's annoyed you before. "You're lots of things but you aren't a tool- please?"

Please, please.

"Oh but he is my tool! Aren't you seeing this??" For the first time, the bastard that's trying to kill you speaks; And your eyes immediately darken, louring at the face. He gives a great yank, trying to pull himself away from you but your fingers only clench down.

"What are you even doing with him?? Isn't he bringing in enough souls for you?? The bastard sure acts ruthless enough."

"Au contraire, Y/N. In fact 'the bastard' hasn't brought in any fresh ones for weeks. Been too busy with you, I'd wager. Which is why I've come to help out." Green eyes wonder across your determined, stony face, before an irritating smirk crosses his. "In fact, while I do admit that you're tough, beautiful- you aren't so tough that I believe you'd be able to ward off his attacks for this long... if he were being serious about it."

Face scrunching up in confusion and disinclined to really try and understand. "Well I guess you're not a great judge of strength because open your eyes and guess what? I'm still right here."

The smirk of Freddy's face turns very cruel. "I don't have any use for a wayward demon with human emotions."

Before you have a real chance to wonder what the hell that remark meant, you take a knee hard to the belly, causing all the the air in your throat to be knocked out, and your grip to loosen as a result- more then enough for the demon to take control of the situation; Shoving you harshly down to the ground and your knees when you double over and hold your stomach and just try to suck in breath again.

As air starts to fill your lungs again sharp, stinging claws scrape up your throat and dig into the skin below your chin. You squeeze your eyes shut, thinking you're really going to die this time.

The knives prod so hard into the soft skin there you think blood's going to spill any time as you jaw tightens and your heart beats as fast as a steam train rolling and your fists clench at your sides- when-

The pain disappears. The whole sensation of being touched by anything but the hard ground the clothes on your back goes away, in fact, and your crack your eyes slowly open, and look up.

Immediate, and odd considering the facts, relief washes over your body because you can tell just looking at him - despite the lack of change in expression, his face still stuck in a grim expression and you don't really blame him after the bullshit that just happened,- that the person standing in front of you now is once again the asshole who's been trying to kill you the past couple weeks. This is one of those moments you know that no one else will understand but you, but the relief in your voice when you say his name now is palpable. "Freddy." The ground behind you starts to grow outwards into the empty space of the chasm, creating a more stable surface for you.

Slowly he tilts his head to the side, regaining a dot of his usual humour. "I suggest you get up sweetheart or I might get some ideas."

Fuck even something stupid and perverted and ill-timed like that causes a wash of relief to roll over you as you get up, brushing off your knees and feeling under you chin for lacerations-

Before a finger-knife once again touches to the soft skin underneath your chin and - gently this time, - guides your head up, and Freddy's eyes flicker half-concerned and mostly unamused over the area. And maybe its wishful thinking, or the way you're still sensitive from fear from just almost getting killed, or what, but you detect a relieved tone in his voice, too. "You're fine."

Laughing Jack:

Controlled by- His own madness.

A lollipop stick - one of those BIG ones, that you see Bugs Bunny hit people like Yosimite Sam in the head with when he's pretending to be a baby,- gets thrown at you and you just manage to duck down before it nails you in the head- when you straighten back up, wide eyed, you see the thing wedged into the wall where your head was... sizzling.

Heart hammering like a crazed Bob The Builder in your chest, you look back at L.J, who's madness is quite literally swirling around visibly in his eyes right now and who's teeth look sharper then before somehow, and feel your heart sink into your feet. Raising your hands in the universal sign of surrender, you take a step back. "L.J... come on... "

"Pop... hehe... Pop! Pop- that's how the weasel goes? Right??" His voice is so sweet and British, but the growl that tears out of his very soul and turns yours to absolute ice as he hurls another poisonous not-so-fun-sized lollipop at you- the stick cramming into the plaster by your arm. Way too close for comfort. You can feel heat coming off of it and burning your skin like radiation. Goddamn, what did he dip this in? Unfathomably shiver inducing giggles bubble up out of L.J's chest, and you snap back to attention. "Pop... hehe... Like you!- If you eat that lolly."

Side stepping the lollipops, you put the kitchen table between you and your boyfriend. "Yeah... yeah, hilarious."

His eyes snap click to yours, cool and grey and killer focused. "Sarcasm?"

Oh hell- "No!" Desperately, you cry, surprised at what he's jumped to and terrified of that look in his beautiful, scary eyes. "No, its funny! Really!"

Oh my god, really! Truly!

Oh god you want to cry, not laugh! But you force a smile onto your face anyway, fingers gripping the dining chair in front of you so tight your knuckles turn white.

Slowly, a dangerous grin spreads across L.J's sharp, off-white angelic features. In a sing-song voice, as he follows a slow, deliberate, predatory course around the table to you as your eyes widen the closer he gets. "I~ Don't~ Believe~ You!~ "

Claws scrape against each other at one of his sides, and on the other his talon-like fingers itch around a pocket full of lethal treats- still deciding, you're sure, which devastating delectable to shove down your throat.

"L.J... please... " You stay cautiously, try to take a step back again and escape, but he grabs grabs you this time. holding you down in your spot by a shoulder, like a child getting a shot. "Ah!"

"Now stay still!~ Love you're just as sweet as a gum drop!" A short flicker of fondness whispers beyond his eyes, before his grip clenches down more painfully on your shoulder and it disappears again. All you can do is roll your shoulder, trying in vein to wiggle out of his grip and lessen the pain. "But to be quite honest with you I'm thinking you deserve something a little less ordinary don't you? Maybe, a... warhead, instead ey!?- Huh?"

You can hear his heartbeat slow down, as you press the side of your face against his chest, as you had lurched forward and arms wrapped around his waist as you hugged him warmly. "Please just come back L.J. I know you're having a moment but I need you to come back. I need you."

"This is!- This is really not- Very- Look I'm British, and this is not super dignified- " His voice is still high and mad, but you cant very well let him go now. This is your only remaining idea to bring him back.

Affection is hard for L.J on a good day, much less a hard one like this, but its the only human reaction you know for sure you can get out of him- and you're desperate.

"L.J... " Your voice is small, as you gaze sadly at the floor. "Please, come back to me... " An uncomfortable, strangled groan comes out oh him- but he does not rip you off of him.

In fact, the next thing you feel is the gentle tap of something familiarly cone-like on the top of your head as he casually touches his nose to your scalp.

"... I've come back, sweets...

Now please, please let me go- "

Offenderman:

Controlled by- Unknown, powerful force. (Possibly Zalgo?)

"Forever in love with the human Offender design that has him with long grey/silver hair.

"Uh... Offender?" Something about this man right now is... disconcerting best, you think as you set down the groceries on the hall table, kicking the front door closed and shedding your jacket from around your waist. He's standing silently, leaning against a wall instead of on the couch with the TV remote like he usually would be.

Now, his head turns slowly from the blank screened TV, to you- and you definitely feel a sense of dread settle in your bones.

No smirk, no flirty comment. He just stares; His lips resting in a thin, unchanging line like a robot.

"Offender? You... " Tilting your head to the side, you get a little bit concerned. "Okay?"

There's no response. Your eyebrows furrow.

"You wanna know my total at the register just now? 69 dollars. Ain't that funny?"

Now, usually that would make the over-powered moron laugh like an idiot, stamping his foot down onto the floor and all, but now a tentacle shoots out from his back and squeezes around your neck.

A gasp tears from your throat as he drags you up off of the floor, the tips of your feet barely scraping the carpet anymore. Tears cluster in your eyes from the suddenness of it all as you try and suck in air, but he's really getting to it. No holds bared. His grip is like steel, locking up your airway entirely, immediately.

You cant speak but you mouth his name, scraping your nails into the appendage as your legs writhe up to your stomach in the air, struggling to breath in air that he wont let you.

What... the... hell.

"I have a mission- stop. Must destroy weakness- stop. The Sexual Offenderman first- stop. No one will notice he's changed- stop." He talks like he's reading out a telegram, and its his voice but at the same time its not. There's absolutely no tone in it that would in anyway scream Offender, to you, but that generously chocolaty, gravelly voice belongs to no other body but his. So you know that its him. But what's wrong with him?

Who... are... you? You can barely think through your struggle to breath and the blind panic about death clearly nearing as black spots enter your vision, but you manage to think out that before your head goes foggy.

"Head of the mission anonymous- stOop."

Is it just the delirium stewing around in your brain or did his voice crack on that last syllable?

The tentacle suddenly snatches back from your neck, so fast it leaves a burn behind in its wake but you're more preoccupied landing on weak, bucking legs and taking in great big lung full's of air- before just as suddenly as you had been allowed reprieve, its stolen away from you again. This time his fist has taken its place, pinning your neck to the wall behind you- and your head spins, from the back of your head knocking harshly against the wall.

If your vision wasn't blurry before, it sure is now.

Offender's fingers flex around your throat, gripping it desperately- and you notice a deep frown on his mouth just before your eyes slip closed, a strangled cry escaping you.

Slowly... everything... every sense and every hurt... disappears, as you lose consciousness.

~

You don't know how much later it is when your eyes flutter open again, but miraculously they do and when you see Offender leaning against the wall this time, you scramble back backwards- to the headboard of your your bed.

Confused, you look around. You're in your bedroom, now. In bed. Your neck throbs still and to breath is to inflict pain upon yourself. Gaze flickers cautiously back to Offender, although you aren't so worried. If he was still under... whoever, or whatever... that was's, control, then he never would've stopped or let you go. Or set you down in your bed.

On inspection, all his tentacles are hidden away wherever they come from in his back again, and his arms are held carefully behind his back. When he notices that you're calm, heartbeat slowing down to a steady beat once again, you watch him as he lets out a relieved breath.

Still, his voice is cool and relaxed- if a little enthusiastic. Its Offender, and you feel a washed in relief that he's back.

"Fuck, baby. I dunno whatever the hell that was but I promise you its gonna get one hell of a wake up call when I find it." His sharp teeth shine in the sunlight filtering in through the window, as he scowls. Then he takes a deep breath, composing himself, as he comes forward and sits down on the edge of your bed. "Now c'mere, I gotta play doctor now."

Peter Hale:

Controlled by- A vampire (Possibly Damon Salvetore... for fun... ).

"Yep- Scott- Yeah, I got it. I've seen Twilight, okay?" You tease, snorting when theirs a scuffle on the other end of the phone and making out Styles voice snapping at Scott to hand him the diddly- damn- phone. Fishing through your bag, you get out of the key to Peters apartment and the vervain shot he needs to take. "Okay. I gotta go, I'm here. Tell Styles to calm down; I was kidding." You giggle, slipping the key into the lock. "Well- not about seeing Twilight. I actually enjoy it- bye!"

And quickly, you hang up the phone before either of the two boys can say anything else, slip your phone into your back pocket and open the door.

As you kick the door gently closed behind you, you look around got the particular sourwolf you're in search of. "Hey Peter? You home??"

In true Beacon Hills style- another enemy has reared its ugly head. And its not Peter this time, thank god. No, this time... it just had to be vampires.

Rolling your eyes, you venture deeper into the stylish downtown apartment. It was going to happen eventually, you suppose. Werewolves and Vampires kind of go hand in hand, if you are to take any of the supernatural teen romance pop culture seriously at all. Which at this point in life- you kind of do. How could you not, living here??

So here you are, baring gifts for your partner; A wealth of knowledge from Scott and Styles and a syringe full of vervain. And maybe a kiss or two, depending on whether he's nice.

A few moments pass as you go into the kitchen and turn on the fancy coffee maker Peter paid way too much for and get out two mugs- setting your bag down on a chair by the counter; Basically, making yourself at home. You practically live here at this point, so you always do this. Its nothing out of the ordinary.

But do you know what is, out of the ordinary??

The vampire.

As soon as that foul, sickly sweet, distinctly fake smell that your supposed enemy species is drenched with fills your nostrils suddenly, the hair all over your body stands on end. Goosebumps form all up and down your arms. Your head snaps up, and you look cautiously around.

Where... is... Peter. Where is your goddamn mate?

And where's the vampire?

Eyes flickering all around the room, you see immediately when the most bad boy vampire type guy ever walks into the room, on the other side of the dinner table and the counter to you, coming from the bedroom+bathroom area. You manage to stay composed, just opening your mouth to say hello, with a given amount of venom and suspicion bleeding through your tone- when an honest-to-goodness yelp is torn out of you, as hands come from behind and wrestle you against the side counter and the cabinets there, and your eyes snap up to see that its Peter.

Your shoulders drop, and you don't fight him. Heart thumping in your chest, at how wrong everything here is and how confused you are, and now Peter- you look up at him wide eyed confusion and concern. "Peter?"

He doesn't even look at you... just turns his head towards the vampire.

Your stomach immediately takes an awful plummet... down to your feet. You're too late. He's been compelled.

Feeling sick and uncomfortable, you follow his gaze to the vampire version of your mate. Because... yep. Stylish outfit, devil-may-care vibes, air of boredom? That's definitely a look that you're familiar with. Still, you cant help but feel very badly towards this, particular, fang-ier design.

"What the hell is going on?" You try to sound confident, and courageous- but mostly you're just worries. What's the play, here? You don't even know why the vampire's are here, in Beacon Hills. you have no idea what you're up against... and you hate it.

But mostly you hate how Peter, your mate, your boyfriend, your stupid formerly psychotic lover is caught up in it. Him being stuck here with you is one thing- but him not being him?? Oh... no. No, you hate this. With every fibre of your being.

And he smells like the demon, too. Disgusting.

"Oh- glad you asked." The man's voice hurts your superior, wolf-y ears, even as you aren't truly listening to him. Something about a werewolf biting his brother? Doesn't matter, anyway. Your gaze, turned concerned, slipped right back to Peter as soon as the bastard got caught up in his villainous spiel.

You manage to twist your wrists and yank them from Peter's grip, as he's just focused mainly on keeping you where you are rather then attacking the vampire probably, and reach up to gently cup his face- guiding him to look at you so you can worriedly assess him.

There's no Peter behind those eyes, you realise as you worry your bottom lip. Those eyes are hard, and dull, and thoughtless. Peter's pretty bored a lot of the time but there's never any doubt that theirs something - maybe something judgemental, and sometimes even nefarious, - going on in his head. But now?... nothing. And it breaks your heart a little, to see. "Peter... " You say again, just under your breath. Mostly just mouthing the word. Come back. Come back here, please?

"- are you even listening to me?... Ugh! And that was a really freaken good speech, too. Do your kind not appreciate the monologue? Come, on. Its traditional! You know? I tell you why I'm here, why I've gonna rip your head off, and you sit there all... you know, defiant! But scared, too, yeah. Its a good thing! Its one of the things I missed most about being the bad guy!" The guy, the vampire, grabs your attention again- appearing just on the other side of the counter; Which he leans on. You turn your face, anger burning in your face, to him just to scowl. Does he think this is funny?

Deeply rolling some seriously crystal-like blue eyes, the raven haired male drops his cheek into his hand- elbow resting on the bench. "Ughhh. So boring. Okay, fine. Seeing as its clear, that you two don't know anything useful.. I guess I'll just get rid of you both." He heaves a great sigh, then waives like 'get on with it' as he starts assessing some canvas prints on the wall. "Go on, wolf-man. Kill her. Then kill yourself."

Fury, sparked by fear, explodes in you and you suddenly try to lunge out of Peter's grip at the vampire, reaching out for his throat. "Why don't you do it yourself!?- " Peter yanks you back, though, before the vamp gets the good sense to move even an inch. "Ah!"

"Ahhh, there we go. Some quality defiance! That's what I like to see- too bad its too little too late... yea... sorry! I got crap to do today, so... uh... yeah, see ya! You know, or not."

Gritting your teeth, as Peter shows his claws... ready to slash your throat. "I hope your brother dies." Are your parting words for the bloodsucker.

"There's a club for that you can join! Too bad you'll be too dead to join, mm... Oh well! Bye!"

The bastard leaves the apartment before you can say anything else.

You're left just with Peter, who is literally about to kill you. But, still, you aren't able to back down, or shrink down, in front of him. Because its Peter, and no matter the fact that he is compelled, it still feels like him. And you don't have it in you to be scared of him.

Feeling determined suddenly, you slap your hands around his face again, and make him focus on you. "Peter." You say, sternly. More desperate and more powerful then before. You would think you stole the soul of Dame Maggie Smith. "Listen to me now." Looking deeply into those familiar eyes you love, you think only for the man you want back rather then your imminent death. "You said you cared about me. That you loved me. I need you to think about that, now. Right now. Because if you don't, you're going to go and do some things, you wont even be able to regret."

His hand stops.

Seeing that as a chance that he's hearing you, you step forward a smidgeon to be closer to him, and get gentler in your approach. As a werewolf, your connection to your mate isn't as huge and earth shattering as Wattpad fanfiction makes it out but it is something, at least, and you're hoping it helps here. Please. "I really need you right now. Please, Peter. I love you."

Then you bow your head, just laying your forehead under his chin and praying he comes back- but also taking a deep breath. Like its your last. Like you're getting ready... to die.

But too many more moments pass by without anything happening, and you want to lean back and see what's happening, if he's okay, but you're also afraid that if you do move it'll spook him. You're just holding onto him, your eyes squeezed shut, more conscious of his crazy familiar cologne that you're breathing in, then ever.

Then suddenly his body relaxes, and a hand comes down on the back of your hair. You suck in a deep breath and grip him tighter. Thank god. "... Its okay. I'm back, sweetheart... and we have a vamp to kill."

Peter Hayes:

Controlled by- Jeanine, via sim.

Suddenly you feel the familiar sense of gun pressed to the back of your head, and your heart goes cold. Because there is only one person you haven't accounted for- and you cant fight him.

Strong and quick at the same time, making him second in your class (Above you, for sure)... and also, the boy that gave you the purple and yellow marks on your throat.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to calm your racing heart. How stupid were you to finally trust him- he's a fucking snake and he's never going to be any different. No matter how much, consciously, you hope he will be. Or how much, subconsciously, you tell yourself its not going to happen. Taking in a shaking breath, you start to talk. "P-Peter- "

But you're cut off. "Oh, he cant hear you." Your eyes suddenly snap open again to find Jeanine not far away, strolling into the room. Immediately your eyes go cold, too, glaring at her. What? "He's in a sim. If he can hear you- he cant do anything about it. He's under my control." She shrugs, daintily. "Sorry."

Suddenly theirs no calming your heart as you freeze up. He's in a sim. God- your feelings about - for, - Peter are complicated but you know well enough that you hate this. You desperately want to turn around, shake sense into him, but you know it would be useless. Tris was only able to break Four out that time because they're insanely in love with each other- you don't even know if Peter really knows what love feels like.

So that leaves one option.

Suddenly ducking, you hear a bullet come free and fly through the air where your head was, as you squat and turn around. You grab onto Peter's ankle and give a sharp tug; Causing the boy to fall flat on his ass before he can even aim again.

As soon as you can, you climb up and rip the gun out of his hand before trying to scramble away, so you don't have to fight anymore for a multitude of reasons - he's stronger then you, he's faster then you, you're in love with him, - but a powerful hand grabs your ankle this time and the strength with which he uses to drag you back, beneath him this time, is enough to knock the air out of you. "Ah!- "

No- He clenches another hand around your arm and twists hard, stealing a gasp of pain from you and ensuring you don't struggle out of his hold.

He takes your wrist in his hand this time, squeezing so hard it hurts- so you get of the gun.

Peter - or the empty shell, - clicks the barrel into place then and presses it into the side of your neck.

The metal is cold and it shocks you, and you freeze, but your heart is mostly pounding because Peter's going to kill you. Jeanine walked off when he grabbed you again, leaving you to do alone.

You just look at him with eyes for a moment, breathing in and out heavily; Memorising the boy from Dauntless Initiation, that made everyone's lives hell just because he could, for no other reason then because there's nothing left to do for you, and he's pretty. You cant escape, you cant fight back... you're dead.

As that realisation dawns on you, you take a deep, shaky breath and you cant help but raise a shaky hand - the one attached to the arm that Peter is currently twisting with all his might, - , and touch his face. You don't know if he'll just press the trigger before you even get a chance to do this next thing, but you want to try.

"I don't know why Peter, but I always wanted to do this." You whisper, using his name not because he can hear you or you think he's in there at all, but just because that's who you want to kiss.

Then you do it, you curl your hand around the back of his neck and pull his not-resisting head down, and press your lips to his like you always read about- saw older faction members do- heard was done.

When you finish a second later, you're expecting him to just immediately shoot you, but instead you notice how focused his eyes are and your own widen, before he swoops down and presses a longer kiss to your lips.

You wrench him back this time, eyebrows knitted together as you search his face. He's out of the sim!? "Peter!?" You exclaim, full of shock. How did he-

"I kind wanted to do that, too." He tells you.

Scott (Total Drama):

Controlled by- A ridiculous, horrible Chris McLean original(tm) invention (A.K.A, a challenge) that allows a partner (A.K.A, Chaotic Mr Mal) to control the wearers actions. I mean, the object of the challenge is to get through the dangerous obstacle course, but I feel like Mal's gonna have a different kinda fun with this.

"MIKE!" You shout, scrambling out of the way before Scott's arms, and the crowbar in his hands, can come down anywhere on your body. Looking back with wide eyes at your boyfriend, who cant control his movements and is just desperately trying to let go of the damn pole. Turning your head to see Mike, next, you see him hit the control pad on some railing beside him and shrug, a panicked, helpless look on his awkward face.

"Its not working! Chris must have made them glitchy on purpose! Damn, this could really hurt someone!"

Now you look to Chris, eyes wide and furious. That does make sense!- "Hey, I didn't make them. That was the interns- but the idea, yeah, that was mine. Patent pending." Chris shrugs, giving a too-white smile to the some hidden camera.

Whatever, you think, knowing you have to focus on Scott now- so he doesn't kill you. As soon as you return your attention to him, you realise you should never have stopped watching him in the first place, because he is coming right at you again and you shriek- jumping behind him. "Scott!"

"Sorry, Y/N!! I- I cant control myself!" His reflexes are slow, due to him fighting his brain and his limbs, but farmer boy is still strong. If he gets a hold of you, if he gets you- you're done for. You'll be off the show, you might even be dead if he gets your head.

Wincing when he swings again, turning around- jump before he can get all the way turned; Wrapping you arms around him from behind, and holding on tight as you squeeze your eyes closed and bury your face in a shoulder blade. The likelihood of you being able to hold him still for long isn't good but what other choice do you have? You have to stay out of the way of that bar!

Cracking your eyes open, arms locked around your thrashing boyfriend, you peak back at Mike again- and catch just the end of a dark, evil grin. Your eyes widen as your breath clips, lifting your chin from the cotton Scott's tank. What?-

Immediately his elbow rears back and you take a blow to your stomach. "Ah!- " Ohhhh noooo... fuck, that does not feel good... In your pain, you let go of Scott; Stepping back away from him to hold your stomach- but not so far that you leave the obstacle course.

"Y/N!" Mike and Scott both yell, as you real from the pain and Scott's body turns to face you. Mike's voice is frazzled, still, and when you glance at him his face is back to normal too- but you do not trust him for a goddamn second after that look on his face. Maybe this really isn't Chris' fault, for once.

Well, if Mike isn't going to get Scott through the course, then theirs no need for you to play along with the challenge, either. As Scott comes at you again and the pain subsides in your stomach, you manage to reach up and catch his wrist - though you have to use both arms, and both arms tremble with the force it takes to hold Scott's arm and the dreaded crowbar above your head in the air and away from you, - , eyes slipping to Scott's. "Come on- " You force the words out, struggling to hold him off. "You gonna make me fight you Scotty?"

"I!... Cant!... Stop it!... "

Beginning to panic, because in a few seconds your arms are going to give and you're going to get a nasty wallop to your face, you glance quickly to the helmet on Scott's head controlling him. Okay. "Stop fighting it." You whisper quickly, looking back to Scott's eyes.

"What!?" He scowls, immediately. "No way! I'm not gonna hurt you- "

"Scott!" You snap, frustrated and losing your grip.

"Oh, fine!" With one last growl of effort, Scott lets go of the reigns and you let go of his arm- immediately shooting forward into his body so his arm flies down and knocks the ground with a BANG. Your hands go up quickly, and snatch the helmet off of his head; Chucking the bundle of rusted metal and wires onto the forest floor behind him.

For a moment everything is still. Scott stops moving entirely, and you're afraid you hurt him, yanking that mind-controlling helmet away from him. You slowly step back, wanting to look at his face and see if he's alright-

When the crowbar hits the ground heavily, and Scott grabs you back, wrapping his arms around you tightly- protectively. Immediately you relax into him and sigh, in relief. "I'm so sorry, Y/N! I don't know what happened, the damn machine musta glitched! I tried to hold back, but!-

"Its okay," You reply gently, holding him back just as tight as you bury the side of your face in his chest. "I know you weren't in control!- "

"But STILL- my pa didn't teach me much about romance but I do know that y'should never try and hit 'em with a prybar!" He gives you another squeeze.

[joannasteez]

Oh Frank request! Could be soft or smutty but like you know how he has his Henleys he loves what about you wearing them. When’s he gone because you miss him and he catches you sleeping in one? Or he knows how much you love them so he buys some for you but you still just end up stealing his? Idk anything with this man and his beloveds shirts will bring me joy. K bye 🥰💖

—“I think I know my Frank request -- Frank comes in late at night after an awful day and sees you sleeping? He snuggles you, which makes you wake up, and you share some sweet kisses? Ugh this probably sounds dumb so feel free to alter the prompt to however speaks to you. 💜🌿— @rae-gar-targaryen

A/N: The two request were pretty similar so I decided to mesh them together!!! Naturally I turned this into something much more than what was asked because……. Well…… I cant help it.

WARNING: NSFW at the end!

Tag-list: @rae-gar-targaryen @sadthotsonlylove @straightestgay-voice @moonofheroin @herefortheart @sesamepancakes @nightlywords7 @write-fromthe-start @allaboardthereadingrailroad @appropriate-writers-name @generic-posts @nutterbu @my-rosegold-soul ……slashed through @’s mean your blog didn’t show up!

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐄

...all warfare is based on deception...

War was the worst thing he knew, everything he hated. Then it became the best thing he had, nearly everything he loved. Then it was the only thing......Idle. War was, is, always would be idle. An unceasing cycle. Men killing, men stealing, men defying the limits of their goodness. Dancing graceless beyond the safety of moral thresholds, fading to become one with the furthest reaches of malevolent shadows. It was easy. War like this, colored in darkness and sinking in bottomless sin, was terribly easy. It molded and bathed its doers, melted crimson hell into their veins till the smell, touch, taste of it was all they knew. Till they loved it.  

But this war? This clash of tender touches and bruising kisses he'd been in, was like nothing he'd seen. Felt. Heard. It'd been too long. Time gave perception hell, blotted and blurred his, rendering it to total annihilation. But it did that to everyone, struck them with grief, marauded them of truth, only then to place before them a towering foe. It just so happened that deception was Frank's formless, faceless adversary. Because that's what all this was right? The possibility of having, holding, full possession of intimacy. Complete fondness for another. Dare he even think... love unconditional. 'Yeah fuck that', he thought. He was right to struggle, be at war with this, with you. Give you longing stares that contradicted the soulless touch of his fingers, because you were duplicitous. And so was your tenderness...

...the gentle rain of breath falling from your lips to his skin, so soothing...

...warming kisses that melt the stinging ache of blue lesioned muscle...

It was all a lie. You were going to sink the knife into him any day now, prove he was unworthy of all this affection. Up and leave on your own or by force of the deathly chaos clouding him. Pack your bags and change your locks, or be packed away by a damn bullet.

Those thoughts were months old now though. Long gone.

...the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting...

Waving white flags isn't Frank's thing, never would be. He's a 'to the death' sort of soldier.

But you-

You started wearing his shirts. His henley's.

He'd known then, he was losing the war, that maybe the deception was an illusion of his own making, conjured up by fear, because hope was too big a thing to grasp at the time. Too large to hold and too heavy to carry. But it'd felt so good to fail, be trodden upon by your patience. A quality that made you picturesque. Like paintings of old, the way they sit and wait for wondered eyes to come and admire. They know the beauty they possess, the stunning ways of their marred nature, they're just waiting for you to realize it too. That it's inescapable.    

He'd came to your place one day, saw you shaped in the softly sewn cotton blend of his shirt, same as he can see it now, and had felt completely arrested. Subdued by a heavy intensity drowning his limbs, awakening his purpose. Revitalizing it. He'd been doing it for some time, erasing the grime from the streets, ridding the earth of scum too unworthy of life to even breathe. It was bad to some, evil, but to him it was necessary. An action taken to garner peace, for the greater good of the city he called home. But it wasn't just that anymore, it was you now too.

Purpose, it felt, feels like goddamn, God given purpose .

Roaming about your apartment in his clothes, sipping away at a stained coffee mug, fingering the pages of an old, worn novel, it all meant something. That when people stare fondly at roses, they place in them all the love they have to give. That when we look to the stars, a sense of our wonder shines through with every twinkle. We give our hope to futures unknown, to tomorrows we cant even see. It's not love he feels, at least he doesn't think it's love, but when he comes to you, sees you stretched out along the sheets, looks to you with wonder the way we do the sky, wearing things that belong to him, hope twists sharp in his chest. Rips into him possibilities that feel a little ways away from not wanting to be without you. It's too complex a thing to put into words, maybe one day he can muster the courage, flatten the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth before laying it down. Utter the beginnings of a four letter word that feels dangerous and all too like forever. Un-surety is a state Frank's been in for a while, but he knows you in this moment, it's something he wants to protect.

"You just gonna stand there?"

Your words make him move. "Forgot you were a light sleeper".

His voice is a midnight blue. Dark with staggering depth, littered with specs of starry warmth.

You roll around, shuffle up against propped up pillows, blinking away weariness. He forgets sometimes, complicated isn't just his M.O. Life's got that unearthly way about it for everyone that comes into it. The way it trudges you through a flood of grime, smatters you with light, but never enough to blot out the murky darkness. Shatters your resolve, you're nothing but flattened cracked pieces of glass. Hardens your instinct, now you're partially made of steel, or at least something like it. You stopped sleeping heavy a long time ago.

"Go back to sleep". A command. Soft, but still a command. He can't help himself. Heavy, red stained hands peeling away layers of black. You've been trying to get him into wearing other things, but never having specified a color. Coming back washed in blood seems to be his way of compromising.

"Cant now. You woke me up".

He prioritizes the shower over extending to you a proper greeting, but with good enough reason. Waiting with as much patience as he has for the umber of his eyes to return. Subdue the rough, hellish black that tends to appear, takes over in his time of vigilantism. You don't deserve soulless eyes, so he tries never to give them to you.            

He's surrounded by old wall tiling, a slightly chipped, tawny brown organization of squares. It's not old to you though, "it's seasoned Frank", you’d told him once. The rushing of water, raining down like winter morning snow on the skin. Hell's kitchen swirling down the drain. Vindication, in this cozy little bathroom, it all feels like vindication.

The peripheral sight of him bombards the flit of your eyes over small letters. Morrison's about to give a deep ass metaphor, something to do with armless-ness and parental negligence, but Frank strides out the bathroom. Body a canvas of harshly scattered indigoes, accented by splotches of sangria. A stark swatch of mauve coloring the pale apple of his cheek. And then here comes the mumbling, "had a shirt in here", thick fingers rummaging through a draw he kind of just took over one day. "Where's my damn shirt". You're not really sure how it happened, one day miscellaneous things rested idle there, and now they lay else where, a small sea of black clothing items rolled up military style and tucked away in their place.

He turns, settles his stare on you shirtless, somehow towering the length and width of the bed. 'It's his shoulders', you think. The way he squares them, it makes him look bigger. 'His eyes'. Those bad boys could make anybody feel small. "Is that my last shirt?"

Your eyes roll back to your book. "Hi to you too".

"Hi". It's more of a grunt than a greeting, but with Frank those tend to be one and the same. "Is that my last shirt?"

"I don't know, maybe". You look down on the slightly baggy top. Feigning confusion. "Is it?"

"Where's yours?"

In the garbage...somewhere taking up space in the closet...on the rack at a good will... on someone else's back. There's a bunch of answers you could give. "Stop asking me things you know the answer to".

He settles for a tank top. "The point of me buying you your own was so we don't have to share".

"I didn't ask you to do that".

He sighs, comes over to you and leans up against your nest of pillows, a quiet battle of adrenaline and fatigue ensuing, warring through his hard body. Makes it uneasy to settle amongst the softness surrounding him. But you mediate, swinging a leg over his waist, straddling built denim clad thighs. You stopped trying to figure out the jeans in bed situation a while back, it's better for your mental that way. "Look", you start, "There's a science behind this that you're missing Frank. I can't wear them unless you've already worn them. Your scent is vital to my relaxation process".

He gives you this mix between a scoff and a chuckle. "It's soundin'  like you're pushing obsessed sweetheart".

"Maybe", you tease. Feeling the rough indentations of his hands smoothening over your thighs, slowing up the curve of your ass, till they're at your waist. Prompting you to come closer. A sly grin manifesting itself over your lips. "But I don't hear you complainin' about it".

Realization piques now that you're closer to him. The circling of mauve on his cheek wasn't there the last time you saw him. About three weeks ago. "Rough night?"

"Yeah somethin' like that".

You hum, work your way out of worrying about new bruises and into something much less fretting. Everything about Frank is hard, rigidly defined, but the tinged pastel pink shaping his every word with a cupids bow, is soft. Accessorized by a slim crimson slit. He gives you a hum of his own, pulsing bass reverberating under your touch as you draw him in at the nape of his neck, meeting his lips. A kiss that feels all too much like a war truce, calming silence amidst the mayhem of your lives. The slip of his tongue working in tandem with his mouth, peace in times of raised hell. He likes to hold your face, feel your jaw move against stout fingers. Buttery skin and the faint taste of coffee. A shiver quickening up warm to redden his ears, hearing the fervid twist of your lips. And when you catch his tongue, pressure it with your own for a lush little suck, he groans. Chases you for more as you push away. Leg swinging over and off the bed, moving onward to the bathroom.

'Whose obsessed now' you think. The slightest sigh escaping him as he loses you in his hold.

You're on a little mission of your own it seems to him, the clattering of bottles sounding, mumbles of determination sounding with them till it's all drowned out by the steady rise of a thumping bass. Groovy melody from next door bleeding through your thin apartment walls, saturating the small insignificant cracks, till it's all he can hear. 'Some of the greatest to ever do it', he thinks. 'Earth, Wind and fuckin' Fire'.

It's rare you see him like this. Laid back, subdued, a little bop of rhythm dancing his head, ticking his socked feet. "First Wutang and now Earth, Wind and Fire?", you smirk. "Might have to keep you around a little longer with all this good music taste".

You come back to him with a jar in hand, wrist unscrewing the top. Eyes devoutly attentive to his cheek. 'Old family recipe", you whispered to him once, voice rousing his gut to tense in the dead of the night. A foreign tenderness melting into him as you smeared the cool salve over purpled contusions.

"Is that how this is workin'? You keeping me around".

A finger of yours dips into the creamy white of the jar, applying it to the area thats bruised. Mirth widening your lips. "Don't tell me you thought it was the other way around".  

He remembers the first go around of you doing this, tending to hour old wounds, a bit of your lip tucked between your teeth, his marred body seeming to be your top priority. Touch new and feeling all too familiar at the same time. Sinking his heart a little similar to when he's about to pull a trigger, not breathing, fear and excitement, this unusual concoction. And maybe it's why he warred with you, fought against you for a time, because you scared him, forced his heart to race and his skin to tingle. Because maybe just maybe you were a new beginning? Because beginnings were just as scary as endings and he'd felt the ending of a thing before. The tear of his heart beneath a steel blade of impermanence. The comfortable crushing weight of something familiar lifting, stopping sudden, leaving nerves split raw. His body shaking and shivering, turning cold from the frozen bitterness of never having what he loved again.

"It's a good song". His voice wavering, eyes wandering else where about the room. Hesitation, it weakens even the deadliest of men. "We uh", he looks to you. Umber eyes beautifully vulnerable. "We used to sing to it all the time".

Whats that famous expression?... Whats understood doesn't have to be explained. You know the we, because it's apart of him, always will be. But who knows, maybe you can be a version of that we. Someday.

You smile, screwing up the jar and leaving it on the small nightstand. "I can't imagine you singing along to this".

"Then what huh", lip twitching to reveal a lopsided grin. Heavy eyes trailing along the curve of your lips before they bore into yours. His thick fingers pulling you to him again. "What'chu imagine me doing"

It's better to show than tell, though words and tongue are just as useful at times, your mouth catching his in another heated kiss. This one all swirling tongue and tensing teeth. 'You could kill a man with a tongue like that you know that?', he'd said once, looking down on you from a standing position. Chuckle breathy, trying to mask the flustered rush of his blood. Frank's a grunter, a groaner, emits rough, gravely noises into your ear every chance you give him, the one he gives you now is drawn as you lead a hand of his to the wetness pooling at the center of your thighs.

"Here?", voice teasing. Lips sucking hard at your pulse, maneuvering you to lay along the sheets with his body following, fingers bypassing thin panties to circle lazy at your awaiting clit. "Feels like you need me here".

If nothing else his touch is never faint in moments like these, unless of course he wants it to be. It's better to say that he's meticulous, knows every inch of you like an across the ocean desert, has memorized the way pinching at your clit makes you gasp. That when he licks up the side of your neck just right, your chest draws up, back curving into a delicate arch that pronounces the rounded swells of your breast. Something he can appreciate, even when the sight is covered by a knitted button up. He's a damn menace when he's in the mood. "Gimme those eyes sweetheart".

Dilated and low sitting, they meet his. Blood running warm and swift, legs reassuring the length of time passed since you last seen him with a tingling that comes just before the ache. You want to plead a little, part your lips to ask for it nicely, but he's a lot more generous tonight, doesn't make you work for it. No, he gives it to you good, smears two fingers in your wetness before digging them slow into your pussy. "That's it, take it easy for me". You've never heard a calming thunderstorm till Frank, the way the words fall from him. Fingers stretching, pulling back just to delve in further, applying a tolerable pressure as they open you up. "Let me in".

Let me in... the way he says it. God like he fucking means it.

"You look like fuckin' heaven girl". His middle and ring fingers stroking deep, curving just right, nestling against the spot that makes you breathless. Eyes a useless tool for vision as they roll. "Damn beautiful".

You feel hot in the sweater you love, skin sweltering, but when you go to fully take the damn thing off, he's telling you to leave it on, so you manage by simply roughing it up instead. Fingers twisting and pulling at the hardened peaks of your breast. Hips canting to meet the wet dip and dig of his digits. It's persistent, hard strokes against the desperate pulse of your pussy, he won't let up and if he does, you'd consider killing him. He takes your mindless chant of cursing as evidence that you're close to your well awaited bliss. Absolutely amused with every "fuck", and "yes", thats said. The way you can only rely on those two things to express just how good those thick, war torn fingers feel deep inside you.

A hand of yours journeys down to hold at his wrist, knowing the tell tale signs of an approaching orgasm and feeling every bit of it. But if you had just a little more awareness you'd think to apply pressure, tell him to let up a bit but you can't. "You gonna give it to me?" He asks as if he'd actually need confirmation, like you weren't tightening up around him more every second. Dripping against your freshly laundered sheets. Giving him the look of a woman whose nearing the borders of heaven. "You gonna let me have it?" But this time you answer, moan a "yes" that settles way down into the pit of his belly. Births something raw, something desperate, a roughened neediness to see you coat his fingers, feel you constrict to your limit.

"Soak my fingers good". He's not Frank if he doesn't command something, drive your body to follow the order of his words. And you do just that, shuddering and whimpering as you go taut. His fingers slowing, thumb easing a soothing pattern onto your slit as you roll through the clouded haze. His tongue licking into your mouth, rolling into a kiss. "Atta girl".

[merrysithmas]

it's so cute how steve is def the visionary out of the two, and bucky is the one who gets his hands dirty -- as we've seen bucky is the one with the greasy hands, the fixit, the dockworker. he has those skills, even if he never asked for them. a knack for it, even if there wasn't a drive to learn.

steve is the artist, quiet, sensitive, deeply thoughtful, creator. steve doesn't have that kinetic genius yet - not when he is young, though he wanted it. no, but he has sharp eyes and keen wit and a biting tongue. steve creates - art or change or ideas. he draws political cartoons and plasters commentary on lightposts - he moves and changes the world with a pen mightier than a sword, even if the sword is the one thing he wanted to lift.

steve paints the walls of their cheap as hell flat. buck is the one biting off ducttape and using a wrench to fix the leak under the sink. steve's pulling together scrap wood to make a table and chairs and bucky eyes it all, watching it coming together from steve's brain, and steps in because he knows just the place for the screws so it stands up good and strong.

but you can just as easily see steve determinedly fixing a doorframe one day, mouth full of nails, or pulling up and fixing floorplanks out of momentary frustration. and bucky's the one who picks flowers and brings them inside on his walk home because he liked the colors.

and also, despite steve being the sensitive one and often taking things personally, bucky is definitely more soft-spoken. steve is brash, loud, unapologetic, and bold. bucky takes care of things quietly, observantly, swiftly eliminating any need for dramatics. steve is all swinging fists and rough words. Bucky is roll-off-shoulders anger when he faces an aggressor "I'll get you when the time's right, don't worry about that." Whereas Steve is hot-blooded, "The time is now whether you like it or not."

but then bucky spends like 3 hours on his hair styling it into the perfect coif, shining his dance shoes that have holes in them til they gleam, presses his suit and sews up holes. while steve owns one shirt and barely even looks in the mirror, totally disinterested.

(and on the battlefield in the future - they keep those skills but they evolve - steve the creator visionary leader, bucky getting his hands dirty, the docks the trenches the spy enclaves. steve with his sharp, blatant tactics. bucky with his quiet, stealthy backup. bucky unafraid to get his hands dirty with a blade, learned from years of forced dirtiness, steve using a shield to knock someone to the ground learned from years of knowing what it feels like to fight against someone you have no chance of beating). (both have mercy when they could be more cruel. bucky stays quiet, lets his anger stay low and focused and never breaks from it, avoiding causing terror. steve never uses more force than he has to, when he could if he wanted finally demolish the world alone.)

bucky is gruff and soft and introverted but friendly and kind. still somehow grim. steve is hard and sensitive and sweet and strong as nails. somehow optimistic. before: bucky was a happy boy, cheerful and bright. steve was a rough kid, angry and outright. the world has turned them inside out over and over again.

bucky has this overt masculine edge, perpetual 5 o clock shadow, coupled with this lovely flowing grace and soft beauty, big watchful eyes. and steve has this undeniably pretty doll-like dewy golden pinkness, his sweet blue eyes and long eyelashes, but also these muscles that could crush steel, a cutting knife in his words when he means them, and unflinching grit.

they change and change and get more and more layers. the bright cheerful bucky just getting by with odd jobs in the 30s, the scrappy and sharp waify steve with his big mouth and big chip. bucky gets rough but retains that boyish shadow from his popular youth. steve gets tempered, voice more even and sure. doesnt need to shout anymore. nothing left to prove to himself or others. steely and certain: "And if you get in our way, we'll fight you too."

steve leans on bucky, bucky leans on steve. they are both in turn desperate for one another's company, love, aid, comfort. they fit each other like a glove.

they're each so full of well-rounded knowledge both given to them by natural disposition and by forced circumstance. something they balance with acceptance and understanding. so many things that make up who they are.

they are both such multifaceted characters and cant be pigeonholed and we love this about them.

[calehenituseappreciation]

Ive seen a lot of Dream (and usually Techno and Phil too) as gods au (i have one too dw) but all of you are sleeping on the funniest option.

Tommy is the god.

Tommy.

hes the only one in that galaxy (other than drista ofc)

Just imagine how fucking funny it is like 

it would be so fucking hilarious

and tommy just doesnt tell them

so techno is just there making all these blood god jokes and jokingly telling tommy to serve him and tommys just laughing

imagine a god in the form of a chaotic 16 year old racoon gremlin just walts into your land commits arson and gets banned, only to come back with another person who he helps start a nation for drugs?

imagine how fucking funny it is

just

imagine tubbo banning a literal god from his lands and he just doesnt come back? he just plays by the rules? then goes and like sits in the corner all sad because some humans/dreamons told him to leave

ranboo, just joining the server: hi-  a chaotic gremlin god: wanna commit arson with me?  ranboo, just trying to vibe and maybe not disturb this god: sure 

Phil and Ranboo recongnize Tommy as a god on sight.

Everyone else just refuses to believe it. hes Tommy. Tommyinnit. hes just weird lol

And Drista being a fucking chaotic blood god? 

drista is open about her godhood and does not hesitate to spawn blocks

Drista finds Dream and decides she likes this small human, and dream just has to deal with it lmao.

drista and tommy are both born at the same time.

Tommy is a god of music, chaos, war and theivery (the last one bc he is a BITCH)

Drista is the blood god, chaos, deception, and theatre

okay but imagine the sbi interactions... like ig in this au tommy joins at like 12/13 years of age (in their minds) so he doesnt really grow much 

and like tommy, a literal god, just claiming phil as his father???

phil, in his house making eggs, assuming one of his sons woke up and came to the kitchen, not looking: hey son  tommy, from their couch, already deciding hes phils son now: whats up dad? phil: looks up at tommy who are you tommy: idk dad, who am i  phil: *stares at tommy for a second* eh i made extra eggs you can stay 

ASJIDGASUIOG IMAGINE TOMMY TELLING THEM HES A GOD BUT THEY THINK HES JOKING AND IGNORE HIM

everyone on the server: tommy is the youngest! tommy, as old as the universe: no im not!!!! im not a child!!!! he doesnt pout because pouting is for children and hes not a child but hes pouting tubbo: lol im older than you by a month tommy dont try to hide it tommy: im not a child!!!! techno: laughs

tommy doesn't try to hide that hes a god just its tommy

thats all the evedince anyone needs to think tommy isnt a god or powerful its like mcc hes good but only when he doesnt throw for content

quackity: sees drista written in bedrock lmao drista visited? tommy: yeah! i wrote that for her!  quackity: snorts yeahhhh sureee tommy

imagine like how fucking funny it is jsut like 

a fucking chaotic god breaks into your house androbs you makes a room under your house and decides to live in your floorboards

imagine dream like trying to manipulate tommy, and tommy a fucking anchient diety immeditly recongnizes what hes doing

but decides to play along for the angst and giggles and then actually gets mad when no one fucking cares for his theatrics

tommy, storming off to technos base to rob and build under: >:///// cant believe none of them acknoledged my  deppression 

i love that tommy stills robs everyone, he doesnt need to he can spawn in anything he wants

he just does it for the sport of robbery

JAKOGFSDOH

THE HOLY LAND

dream: im god actually tommy: thats so fucking funny lets make a cult about that :)  dream: see! look! im god! and jesus!  tommy: wheezing

imagine tommy getting stressed and letting go of his mortal form

Tommy, his human form peeling away, showing his actual form a bit: WH̸͘A͠T̷ ̶̢T͞H͢E ̡͘F̴̵͘Ù̧C͜K҉ ̶T͘͜͞E͟CHǸ͏Ǫ  Techno: HAH?

tommy just saw tubbo and got emotionally attached

Tommy, a literal god: hello Tubbo: oh hi do you like my pet bee? Tommy: you’re mine now Tubbo: im okay with this

tommy, a bored god: gives techno shapeshifting powers  techno, not even caring: changes into more human to pig-ishg forms as he wishes this is my life now ig 

phil lets tommy do fuck all in exile bc he knows hes a god hes fine

phil: IDC IF YOURE A GOD! YOU WILL DO THE DISHES NOW YOUNG MAN! tommy: grumbles but does them

phil is the only one who can control tommy

god... tommy... with star freckles... on his human form... (as well as his god one)

tommy: f̷͛͠a̵̋t̵̒̑h̸̚e̶̓͝r̸͊ ̸̐̒i̴ ̸̅̿d̷̉͆o̵͂͋ ̵̛̆ñ̸̾ő̶́t̸̎́ w̶͆͘i̴͠s̵̓̈́h̸͗́ ̵̯͗f̶͋́ő̴͑r̷̐̌ ̶͝é̵̽g̸͊͂g̵̒s̷͂̃  phil: idc, eat your goddamn eggs tommy: pouts

tommy, despite being able to get supplies himself by fucking spawning them in: hey tubbo? we need supplies 

In this au ig like if a god claims you you get a mark on your skin showing that. Drista’s would be like a green crown, Tommys would be a red and white disk (white as the outer ring and red as the center) (its different enough that if you don’t realise tommy is a god you wouldnt realise whos it is) (schlatt is the only one who never had one which shoulda been a sign dude :/)

Dream has two from the beginning, everyone else has only one, well until they meet drista. (sbi have had one since they met tommy, though they dont remember the first time they met tommy)

wait what if tommy like found them all as children one by one and later kinda pulled some strings to get them all in one kingdom. (he still joined sbi through forcing phil to adopt him) 

OKAY BUT IMAGINE IF TOMMY MET TECHNO WHEN TECHNO WAS YOUNG ENOUGH TO NOT REMEMBER

tommy would hang out with baby techno and tell him stories

once he told him the story of a man named thesus

another time he told him the story of a blood god

like for example tommys first time meeting techno would be like

(for context techno lived in a shitty village and was an orphan and it was kinda a dog eat dog place, he learned how to be strong because of it)(he was young enough that he doesn’t remember this well, just like learning about the blood god and someone giving him gold)

baby techno: sighs tommy, appearing out of nowhere: oh heyyy whyre you sad? techno: jumps turning around with a knife up ready for a fight who are you tommy: im tommy! :) techno: what do you want from me! you dont scare me! tommy: whats your name! techno: i have a knife! i'll use it! tommy: of course, thats a given, but its rude not to tell people your name techno, confused: t-technoblade? tommy: smiles thats a nice name techno: so. tommy: hm? techno: why're you here tommy: i don't have a reason. im just a traveller! techno: then why hole to this terrible village! theres nothing nice here! everyone is terrible and so are you! tommy: hmmmm i dont agree techno: what are you? a child? i thought adults were supposed to know that everyone is mean tommy: mmhmm looks at the bruise on technos face where'd you get that? techno: fight. i won. i'll win against you too! so don't try anything. tommy: of course. i would never win in a fight against a blood god techno, putting down his knife a bit, stars in his eyes: blood god? tommy: grins blood. god. i think she'd like you. techno, muttering: maybe i can give the blood god some of your blood tommy: laughs yeah, she'd defenitly find you intresting tommy: here tosses techno a golden crown at techno, he spawned it in in the moment techno: whats this? tommy: a crown, thought it suit you screams in the distance tommy: huh. i need to go. have fun lil piglin. ruffles technos hair before running off towards the screaming unbeknownst to the pig the blood god was actually the one waiting for the god he met. techno: stares at the crown 

Techno found a pouch of gold in his ‘house’ later that day. he didnt know who left it but it helped him get food for that night. (he kept the crown)

okay but imagine tommy not taking the war seriously at all, and only seeing it as a squabble between mortals, Like toddlers fighting

dream: SURENDER BY TOMMOROW OR WE'LL DECLARE WAR! wilbur: FUCK YOU WE'LL NEVER SURENDER AND JOIN YOUR SMP! Tommy: how cute

tommy doesnt realise that theyre serious until wilbur dies

tommy would usually go apeshit against anyone who dares messes with his humans, but what is he supposed to do when his humans are fighting Eachother?

wilbur: fucking goes insane and dies  tommy: hey- hey can you guys let me talk to wil for a sec? everyone else leaves tommy, unsually somber: sorry i didnt help you i forgot how easily breakable mortals are tommy: this time you wont die, and i'll make it so that you dont break again, okay? tommy: brings wilburs soul out of its body and enters his mindscape ghostbur: wakes up what- where am i? tommy: hi there ghostbur: who are you tommy: i go by a lot of names all, one, you, the world, the universe, god, but you can just call me tommy ghostbur: oh okay. who am i? tommy: you're name was wilbur soot. you were the son of philza minecraft and brother to Technoblade, Tubbo and myself. ghostbur: was? tommy: well you see, you died. ghostbur: oh... well what am i then? tommy: a ghost! well actually its your choice. would you like to continue your existance or fade away with your body? ghostbur: i dont want to fade away! tommy: smiles thats what i thought you'd say stretches his hand to wilbur ghostbur: grabs tommy hand tommy: lets go home

ghostbur doesnt remember that though

he only remembers the good

tommy wont let him remember the bad, what if he breaks again? mortals are so fragile

phil realises what tommy did as soon as he sees ghostbur 

drista, painting tommys nails (there both in god form btw) (after wilburs death btw): tommy shouldn't you of all gods realise how fragile they are?  tommy: i know just... forgot  drista: sighs and nods i get what you mean, especially with the ones we found... they act a lot like gods sometimes i forgot they arent  tommy: ikr? wait- drista here gets drista's hair out of her face you were gonna get it on my nails, anyways, don't judge me. we all know if dream died you would turn him into a ghost too drista: smirks not if you do it first, we all know you would tommy: you say that as if you wouldn't fight me to do it first  drista: .... tommy: ... drista: both of us when he dies? tommy: nods tommy: anyways my turn to do your nails 

or like tommy with ghostbur like

ghostbur: i don't like this :( tommy, a worried brother and god: whats wrong? ghostbur: everyone is mad at me and i d-dont know why- why are they mad at me tommy: theyre mad at something alivebur did ghostbur: b-but im not alivebur sniffs it hurts. i dont like it. tommy: spawns in some blue here ghostbur: whats that? tommy: its some blue! it'll help you not hurt anymore! ghostbur: how does it work? tommy: see how its blue? ghostbur: nods tommy: well its blue because it sucks up all the bad feelings! it'll help ghostbur: !!!!! ghostbur: presses the blue into his chest ghostbur: !!!!its working!!!! :D tommy: smiles good

wilbur fucking died and tommy went from annoying little brother to caring older brother

tommy just wants to help his brother :) though he doesnt realise that not letting ghostbur remember bad memories isnt good

*at logsted shire btw* ghostbur: who are you? tommy, chuckling: did you forget me already ghostbur? ghostbur: i didnt forget you! i think! you're tommy! i just... you're different tommy, looks over at ghostbur: different how? ghostbur: you're not normal are you? tommy: grins whaaaaat? you think im weirdddd? how heartbreaking... my own brother thinks im weird, this is terrible ghostbur: giggles tommy: but really, don't worry about it bur. ghostbur: you sure? tommy: yeah, dont worry about me ghostbur: smiles okay! do you want some blue anyways? tommy: giggles sure! ghostbur: grins

ghostbur isnt worried about tommy

he knows hes strong

phil having to tell tommy that he cant just not let wilbur remember the bad memories

and tommys like "what if he breaks again!" and phil hugs him and tells him to at least ask ghostbur if he wants to remember and tommys like ‘fine’

tommy: hey bur? ghostbur: yeah? tommy: do you like you're memories? ghostbur: i mean, yeah its hard not to when you only remember the good tommy, quietly: would you want to remember the bad? ghostbur: w-what brought this question on tommy: answer the question ghostbur: no- alivebur was badi shouldn't want to- tommy: but what do you want bur? wilbur, silent for a moment: yeah- yeah i do. not that i like the bad memories! they hurt... but i wish i could remember tommy: ... ghostbur: hey tommy? tommy: yeah? ghostbur, with tears in his eyes: do you think they'd be less mad at me if i could remember, maybe then i could repair my relationships, what the hell am i supposed to do when i dont even remember hurting them? tommy: what if they dont? what if you break again? ghostbur, saltily: we'll maybe i'll be able at least be able to say i know why everyone hates me tommy: i know how to get all of your memories back ghostbur, looks towards tommy in shock: you do??? tommy: nods ghostbur, voice wavering: for how long tommy: since the beginning ghostbur: and you didnt tell me tommy: i did what i thought was best. i just didnt want you to hurt anymore. ghostbur, angrily: WELL THAT CLEARLY WORKED DIDNT IT? tommy: sorry wilbur, sometimes i forget how to handle humans ghostbur: what- tommy: sighs and taps ghostbur on the forehead and ghostbur does the ghost equivilent of passing out tommy: wont hide any memories this time

ghostbur doesnt wake up, instead wilbur wakes up weither thats good or bad we'll see

wilbur, waking up with all his memories: HOLY SHIT TOMMY WASN'T KIDDING phil, who was reading beside the bed tommy placed wilbur into, which was in technos house. yes he broke into technos house with a passed out wilbur. move on.: hm? wilbur: holy shit phil: huh? yeah. wilbur: wait you knew? phil: yeah i recongnized him as soon as i saw him about 5 years ago now? wilbur: excuse me while i freak out because my little brother is an actual god

it really hits wilbur that tommy is a god later

wilbur: hey tommy? tommy: yeah? wilbur: how fucking old are you? tommy: snorts of course thats the first thing you ask wilbur: well? tommy: i dont really know the exact years since years are kind of a human thing that were invented recently wilbur: they were invented thousands of years ago- tommy: but it was around the beginning of this galaxy wilbur, softly: what the fuck

tommy telling wilbur stories about different heros and villains and different humans he met during his life.

Adsjbffsg what if Tommy made himself blonde and blue eyed and white bc thats hyow the first human he met looked like asjfhsd

and just didnt change that, despite meeting new humans, its just his defult settings.

he would totally do this tho im crying.

drista just based her human form off dream because she is his sister now. he must deal with this. trying disowning me when i look like you BITCH.

thats my take anyways later might continue this

[necros-writing-stuff]

I'm simping hard for Mason and Bailey, so could we get mutual non-con with them? Also maybe with the person forcing the non-con degrading m!Mason and or m!Bailey about forcing them breed f!pc?

Like maybe Leighton wants to watch the hot swim teacher pipe that pretty little thing that wont let him photograph their gentiles, so he threatens Mason's job if they dont fuck in the locker room so he can watch. He knows pc is Mason's favorite, that Mason might actually have caught feelings. He's seen them hanging out outside school.

Or for Bailey, it could be that someone was pissed they couldn't buy you since you were paying your dues, or maybe Bailey just didn't like their vibe. They hold pc and their pissed off caretaker at gun point and make them screw. Bonus on the forced breeding kink, since bailey def doesnt want kids, and I cant imagine any PC wanting to put another kid in his care.

Sorry for the long ask 😅 Your writing is so good and you capture the characters so, so well. It really gets my imagination going.

Dear gods anon this haunted me from the moment I read it you're so smart I love you.

NSFW below (tw for noncon, loss of virginity)

Bailey

Waking up tied to a chair and gagged isn't exactly how Bailey wants to start his weekend, but here he is.

It had been a simple task. Drop off some money at Quinn's office. That's all.

So when he'd been hit over the head and knocked out, it had been rather unexpected.

He can see a man in a tailored suit looking at him and he immediately recognises who it is.

The guy was with that drug gang Bailey had seen to a couple months ago. Saving you from them, his favourite pretty brat.

Trust you to get in drug trouble over a fucking maths competition.

"You're awake. Good. We can talk about how you owe me," the man says. Yeah cause Bailey could do a lot of talking right now.

The door opens, two henchmen dragging in a girl with a bag over her head.

Bailey knows it's you, can recognise your voice as you whimper in fear.

Someone that had been standing behind Bailey's chair comes forward and starts to pull the caretaker's pants down. He can't fight back, tensing his arms to check how tight the bindings are.

The person covers their hands in some weird clear slime they then proceed to rub on his freed cock. It's cold and tingles.

"This one's your most requested right? Always pays her debts though. It's cause she's a virgin isn't it?" The boss questions as whatever that salve was kicks in, stimulating Bailey till he's hard as a rock.

The bag is ripped from your head, your eyes scrunching up at the light. You look so scared and helpless.

"Well you're about to drive her value right down with your own cock, mate," the boss nods to his men and you're brought forwards, skirt of your school uniform ripped up and pantes cut off with a knife.

You start sobbing and begging as you're picked up and your pussy is angled so that they can push you onto Bailey's cock.

Bailey is still. Staring straight ahead, trying not to let the rage he feels show.

He shudders as your body is pushed onto his cock, having to admit its a nice tight fit. God you would have been worth so much.

You scream, pain from being taken for the first time with so little preparation adding to the stress of the whole situation.

The henchmen holding you lift and drop you onto your caretaker's length at a steady pace. You feel no pleasure in the situation, just deep sorrow and an itching need to run.

But you can only whine out "I'm sorry," to Bailey, unable to look at him in the eyes.

It feels good. You feel good - you feel wonderful and Bailey can't help it when his balls start to feel tighter.

Can't help it when a tingle grows up his spine.

Can't help his hips jolting up the tiniest bit to meet you, needing more friction so he can cum.

"Oh and one last thing. We injected the girl with some hormone treatment to make her more likely to get pregnant. Good luck selling a used up whore then," the boss finally interjects, but its too late.

Oh fuck no.

Bailey is already on the verge as the man speaks, ejaculated deep inside your pussy since the henchmen so kindly push you down when they notice his body spasm.

The men let you go, your arms coming to wrap around Bailey's shoulders as you cry into his neck.

"A few more rounds, I think. Let's get our money's worth," it's only now Bailey sees the camera pointed at the two of you.

"This time the girl will move herself," a gun is brought out and you wrap yourself tighter around Bailey's body, seeking comfort. You're still sat on his cock, that hasn't gotten soft even after his orgasm. Just what was that salve?

He's going to kill them when he gets out of this rope.

Mason

He can't belive he's doing this.

Can't believe he has your cunt in his mouth, tongue deep between the folds as he licks away.

He wishes it were under any other circumstances.

Leighton had always rubbed him the wrong way, but Mason loved swimming. Loved teaching, this was his perfect job.

And you were his perfect student.

So kind and understanding, so innocent compared to the horrors he dealt with most classes.

You'd been so shy when you'd caught him swimming naked, but had accepted it without judgement.

You had been lovely to talk to at the pond.

You clung to his hair so tightly as he ate you out, moans echoing through the locker room.

Leighton had threatened his job. Had told him he wanted a video of that good one getting ruined by a handsome man like Mason. Wanted to see the pretty thing impaled on his cock.

And it worked. The threat worked. But at least Mason was the one corrupting you, he reasoned. At least it was someone who genuinely cared for your wellbeing.

You were shaking like a leaf when he had explained the situation, looking between him and the headmaster, off the to the side holding a camera.

"If you don't do it, I'll send every university you apply to personal letters telling them what a whore you are," Leighton added, and you reluctantly let Mason strip your uniform and kiss up your thighs.

"She's wet enough," Leighton calls from behind the camera, admiting the flushed pink dusting your cheeks. Forced, yes, but your were enjoying this, weren't you? What a little harlot.

Mason frees his length from his swimming trunks, never having the chance to change from his last lesson.

Bending your legs up so they're pressed to your chest, he gently kisses your forehead.

"It's going to be okay," another kiss, "just breath nice and steady for me." It's the same soothing tone he used to teach you.

You take in a deep breath as Mason pushes himself in, inch by inch. Both of you try to ignore Leighton moving to get a better angle.

Soon enough, your teacher is balls deep inside of your virgin pussy, the two of you breathing raggedly while staring into each other's eyes.

You both look upset.

"Well fuck her then," the headmaster tuts, and Mason starts to thrust.

Your mouth falls open, an expression so lewd and lovely the teacher wishes he could have seen it in another situation.

Wishes he could have waited for your graduation and asked you out on a proper date.

Not lose himself in your cunt, on camera for the pervert blackmailing you both.

And he does lose himself, can't stop his hips from hammering away at the warm, tight, wet heat that sucks him in like it was made for him.

Mason can't last this long. He brings a hand to start rubbing circles around your clit, eliciting more moans and whimpers.

You're so pretty, so good for him.

"M-mason, sir," you yelp as he hits a nice spot, and his breath catches in his chest.

Leaning in, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and teasing.

Your walls tighten around his shaft, signifying your end coming soon and Mason increases the pressure on your clit.

You milk his cock so perfectly he cums right when you do, filling you up to the brim with seed and aware it was spilling onto the bench below.

He can't bring himself to let you go when he's done, has to keep you covered until Leighton puts that camera away.

"Excellent. Now, try to get used to each other, I won't be satisfied with only one tape."

[dear-yandere]

[ kinktober day 2 — dying light. ]

yandere! ghostface (jed olsen) x f! reader. oneshot.

summary. they’ll get away. they’ll get away and leave you behind with him—but you want that, don’t you?

— word count: 2108. — prompts: predator/prey + choking + knife play. — warnings: n/sfw (dubcon, slut-shaming). — art credit: 765122.

kinktober masterlist.

“Ah ah ah, keep it down, sweetheart.”

It’s gruffer than you expected, his voice. Mischievous and malicious, airy and curious, the type of tone you’d take with a friend—lighthearted. As if he wasn’t holding you by knife point. His words almost have a musical ring to it, the hum of a killer seeking prey whose hiding spot he’s long been aware of. 

He’s playing with you.

“Should I stuff your mouth instead? Wouldn’t want your little friends hearing you moan my name, would you?” His hand is still around your neck, squeezing it tightly between dried blood and old leather, and his other lazily waves a bloodied tactical knife through the air. “Or, would you like that? Your call, toots.” You can feel desire roll from his body, from his blade smeared with the stale blood of unlucky victims. The glint of steel begs to be coated by your blood, but he won’t have that. Not yet. Not until he’s had his fun.

“Cat got your tongue?” He tips your chin using knife’s edge, and you hurry to answer if you know what’s best for you.

“No…” You barely manage to breathe out. Your throat burns with the reminder that your life is literally in his hands, and if his mask had been off, you’re sure he’d be grinning.

“Mm, what’s that babe? Gotta speak up or I can’t hear ya.” He licks his lips and squeezes, a dull chuckle hollowed by his mask. “You said you want me to bring them here?”

“N-no! Please, no.” You sputter, the burning in your throat growing with each second. His grip is loose enough to keep you from passing out, but inklings of black begin to spot your vision. “Don’t… let them see me like this.” Your answer comes quick, quicker than you’ve been answering for the past few minutes. He knows what you were playing at—trying to buy time for your teammates. He should’ve left minutes ago to patrol the leftover gens, but you had the misfortune of piquing his interest after a long chase.

He tilts his head. He’s struck a nerve, it seems, and your tongue scrambles to make you appear less weak. “I—if they saw me with you, they’d never forgive me, they’ll—”

“They’ll think you’re a traitor.” He finishes, lips curling into an impish smirk. What little strength was left in your sore thighs slackened, the ugly feeling of desperation coiling against your tummy. The killer continues, his tone indifferent, nonchalant, as if the prospect of catching one of your trusted friends fucking the enemy is commonplace. “One of them could walk by right now, looking for me, looking for you, wondering why I’m not out and about, wondering why you haven’t been healed yet.” He laughs through his nose. Oh, could you be any more precious? The way fear flits across your face like a dance, the way your lips tremble and refuse to stay still—you’re so easy to read. “What d’ya think they’ll say when they see you like this, sweets?”

“No!” You choke and whine into his hands at the sheer thought. To lose your dignity and your fellow survivor’s trust like that… you’ll never survive another match.

He disregards your pained moans and hums inquisitively, grinding against the swell of your thigh with his hardened cock, shamelessly hidden beneath his robes while you lay exposed against the shack wall. You’re still uselessly trying to claw his hand from your neck, choking and sputtering for air as he tightens his grip, but your attempts hardly make a dent in the thick leather gloves. Precious, pretty little thing you are. He wonders how you’ll look with your mouth stuffed full with his cock and his knife lodged tight in your stomach.

You make it so hard to control himself.

He grins when your fingers abandon the hand around your neck and crawl along his arm, eager to push him off and buy enough time to find a teammate. You wouldn’t get far anyway, consider he’s been stalking you for quite some time. Every weakness and fear is completely exposed before him—did you think he wouldn’t notice that limp in your step from last chase? Poor thing, must’ve twisted your ankle when he chased after your tight ass moments ago. As if teasing you for being so needy—even if it isn’t yet for his cock—the edge of his boots smash into your weakened ankle.

You didn’t put up a fight—couldn’t put up a fight. Your crumpled body would’ve fallen to the splintered floorboards if he hadn’t caught you in time. He squeezes your thin neck harder— rougher—and you swear your esophagus will explode. Screams are robbed from the pleasure of leaving your mouth, all you can feel is dry burning, all you can do is wheeze and cry just how he likes it.

The dull edge of his knife violates your mouth, not quite filling you entirely, but you refuse to flinch.

“I’ve been watching you for a while, y’know, bating my time, fantasizing about all the dirty things I’d do when you’re helpless beneath me.” He holds you the way fire holds what it burns. “I want this to be extra special; the kind of nightmare you’ll never forget. I even made sure one’s gonna interrupt us, sweetheart.” He explains, dragging the blade across your bottom lip. “So, do you still think they’ll try to save you?” 

He’s mocking you.

“O-of course!” You draw ragged breaths, the bitter taste of iron stained on your tongue like a tattoo. “One of them has a flashlight”—you realized it’s best to not divulge who in particular—“S-someone will come for me sooner or later!”

He cups your flushed cheek with his free hand, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers. The action brings the insides of your mouth dangerously close to his knife, but he’s careful. Bleed any more and you’ll pass out, and fucking an unconscious body isn’t nearly as fun. “I didn’t take you for such an idiot, sugar.”

Your eyebrows furrow at the finality in his voice.

“How cute.” He snickers and cocks his head to the side. “You think a flashlight save will be enough? All I gotta do is look down, babe.” Oh, isn’t that whimper precious? Makes him want to rip you apart. “‘Sides, I have No One Escapes Death.” He continues, running the blade along your teeth. “Saving you may as well be a death wish.”

A sob weakly leaves your throat. Beneath his mask, his eyes narrow, having grown impatient with your lack of reaction. Shoving the sharp edge of his knife down your throat may as well incite no reaction, at this point.

“You’re hardly putting up a fight now, sweet thing. Give up already?” He loosens his grip on your neck, urging you to speak. ���Or am I just that sexy?” He snickers, pulls the knife from your lips and cants your head with the tip. “Go on, lemme hear you say it. Scream my name, sweets, let them hear you all the way at the exit gates.”

Your breaths hitch—just the reaction he was looking for. His lips twist into a wicked smile. “Give them one last thing to think about before they leave you here.”

“No…” Your complaint is hoarse, hardly above a whisper. They couldn’t have left you, not here, not with him. You told them how scared you are—how frightened he makes you. You told them about the eyes watching you, even when the Entity hasn’t called upon you for a trial. You told them about the photographs littering your room—the ones of you, ones you didn’t take. You told them. They couldn’t have left, they wouldn’t.

“You’re lying…”

“Aw babe, you’re too pretty to be this delusional. Your little friends left a long time ago.” He muses, prodding your thighs apart with the swell of his knee. “It’s just you and me now, sweetheart. The Entity can’t force us out unless you somehow get out of arms, or a few minutes pass and the Entity claims you for itself.” He taps the underside of your chin. “Tell me, how does spending your last few minutes alive with me sound?”

You try to hide the tears swelling over your eyelids, but your bones are weary and your limbs heavy. “Please just let me go…”

Poor thing. He has to strain just to hear you—that’s no good. 

No good for his patience, either.

“Say my name and I’ll think about it, then.” The blade travels lower, slices just below your jugular—shallow enough to draw a thin line of blood, nothing in dire need of medical attention. Not like you could reach your discarded med kit, anyway. “I can’t hear you princess. Go on, I said. Say. My. Name.” Each word is punctuated by a sharp thrust just above your collar bone. His mouth closes in next to their ear, “Tell me who you belong to.”

Your will snaps.

“Danny!”

The name feels foreign, forbidden, on your tongue.

“Mm, haha…” He’s caught off guard. He wasn’t expecting that, no. A ‘Ghostface’ or even ‘Ghostie’ would’ve made his cock happy, but this… this is unexpected. This is new.

He’s pitying you now, you can still hear the mock in his tone when he speaks. “What a shameless little whore. When’d you learn my name? Who told you?” His voice is playful, and something tells you he doesn’t mind why you know, but rather why you blew your cover. “You’ve been stalking me, haven’t you?”

Your eyes widen. Another nerve’s been struck.

He’s losing breath fast beneath his mask. His heart’s beating so fast—this rush, this thrill is exhilarating. You’re exhilarating, you’re as insane as him. 

“Do your pals know how wet I make you? Do you jack off when no one’s looking?” You can’t hide it anymore, the shame and guilt and frustration on your face. He can practically feel the heat— the sexual frustration—rolling from your skin in waves. His cock twitches against his robes, his breaths quick and rugged against your face. “Huh? Do you jack off to me, sweets? Is that why you haven’t fought back this entire time?”

You don’t have an answer anymore.

“Keep making that face, sweets.” He leans closer and drops his voice. “I like it when you’re flustered.”

Your thighs clench, desperate for friction against your cunt—his voice, his voice is what did this. And now he’s using it again you; god you’re such a fucking idiot. 

His hand leaves your neck, travels up to your parted lips. He’s hardly surprised when your jaw immediately slackens to accommodate his fingers, dirty leather immediately tainting your tongue. You don’t flinch at the taste; even dirt is above the depths you’ve fallen to.

“Wonder if you taste as sweet as you look.” He mindlessly asks, sliding his fingers over the dull buds of your tongue. “Wonder if your cunt’s as dirty as your mind. Do you go around fucking the other survivors too? The other killers?”

Your draw a sharp breath and change the topic. “I-I’ll do anything, just don’t…don’t tell anyone.” Your suggestions are hardly convincing. In this realm, what else do you have to your name besides your tight little body?

“Mm…anything?” He’s been patient enough with you. “Then beg, princess.”

You hesitate. Begging’s a small price to pay for your freedom; you’ve already fallen so low, what’s a little more?

Your lips don’t move like you want them to.

“Go on, tell me I’m the worst.” He sighs blissfully and pulls his hand from your lips. The shifting of fabric meets your ears; you don’t have to look down to know he’s started palming his erection. Your eyes stay pinned to the holes in his mask, desperately hanging onto what dignity you have left. “Tell me you hate me.” He moans, pressing his knee against your cunt. “I get off on it, princess.”

You’re wet. You wish the shame were enough to kill you right then.

“Just stop thinking, let me fuck you silly just like you wanted.” The knife hardly misses your stomach when he slices downwards, tearing the front of your shirt and leggings. The thin fabrics uselessly falls to the floor—and he takes every opportunity to eye you up and down. The feeling of his eyes on your skin is disgusting, but calling for help is useless by this point. No one will hear, no one will come. Not for someone like you.

“Don’t complain if I leave your pussy bleeding, sweets.” He strokes your dirtied, tear-stained cheeks. You don’t pull away, anymore. “You begged for this.”

You’re a sinner and you’re already in hell.

dear-yandere 2019-2020, all rights reserved.

[ilysmxiao]

your title is gone now, childe. | childe x reader

ok this is rlly shitty bc ive nvr written for childe before. the reason why i did was bc there was a yt vid (which the link is here) and a lot of ppl were writing ab it,, so i decided to join in on it and my friend rlly liked it lol. so im posting this here . this is super shitty tho, cus i rushed it. childe is probably occ so b warned. anyways i might start writing genshin fics, so yea. pls pls pls check the warnings bc this is triggering,, gn prns used !! i wrote this listening to i bet on losing dogs on repeat lmao summary : the love of your life remains as your enemy, even as you both grow closer and share memories you would never share with another person. although you truly loved him, he had what you didn’t. in our lives, we do what we can to achieve what we want, even if it ruins what we already had. we must pay the price if we sought to get what we wish. warnings : character death, gore/blood, knife stuff, possible manipulation?? jus overall sad shit. please dont read this if ur triggered by those things !! 

at first, it had felt like a game - a childish one, in which both had fought for the title they held so dear. a number was just so in many eyes, but in their own, it held much more meaning. to be a harbringer, you must prove your strength. to achieve such title, it wasn't considered dirty to cheat, as it all was just part of the game. as time went on, though, it all had lost it's meaning, though one continued to fight - whether that was to prove he earned his title, and did not want to lose the superiority that it granted him, or for other selfish reasonings that even his inner thoughts refused to accept. due to his own lack of true understanding of the powers others held to make himself seem all the greater, childe went into the war blindly; yet, at the same time, too aware, so much so that his concentration on his weak spots created a new one entirely that was left open. it was not paranoia that put him in this spot, but his own selfish reasons he had yet to entirely understand. a cough escaped the males lips, blood dripping down from the corner of his mouth. it was then, did he realize he underestimated his lovers strength, their willpower, and the lack of true love they held for them. even with a knife against their neck, they would not back down, and it was far too late to realize such. whether [y/n] truly loved him or not, whether they used him for the title that granted them so much power in liyue, he could not tell if what angered him was the lies he had been given or the very fact he so gradually fell straight into them. in the end, all that mattered was who won, but he was unsure if the battle he sought was one he truly wished for. although he was a merciless harbringer, one with no care for the likes of someone like [y/n], he still had a right to love. not only so, but at the end of the day, [y/n] promised him that if all else corroded around the two, they would always be there. childe refused to listen to the soft spoken echoes of the loving words [y/n] used to tell him. he refused to watch the sweet memories of the two playing with teucer, bringing back the toys [y/n] taught him how to make for the pure fact that the poor kid would not find out the truth - or when they would lay in bed together, speaking of the many stories they had experienced in their lifetimes that made them who they were now. but when all is said and done, what all of that was true? did any of it mean anything, if the ones people truly loved hurt them in a way that was unforgivable? when they took away the one thing that meant so much to them? when all is taken, what do they become; what happens then? "oh, oh, my little baby," his lovers lips cooed, their hand softly grazing the others chin. "what have you become?" a soldier that blindly ran into war, fighting against a force he could never put his finger on. the title of a harbringer was an important one, though, how important it was to another was never going to be the same as the other. childe lacked to realize such, stuck in a bubble of his own selfishness and his love for the other - he never cared to realize how much it might have meant to the other. he never sought to realize the power that being even related to one it gave them, or the trip that it would put them on. childes eyes gazed up at his lover, soon shooting away to the empty space beside them. upon looking into those blue eyes of his, one could see the color began to dull and the ambitions he once held began to fade. "i should have been more cautious of you, i would have never expected you to be the one to steal this from me." although he said it in a tone that could show the way he laughed at his own faults, [y/n] knew very well that he had officially been stripped of what power he had held. "you underestimate me, childe. did the acts of other teach you nothing? even the ones you love betray you, a war can not have two winners." a small, hoarse chuckle left his lips; a burning sensation growing in his abdomen. the blood continued to poor out of his side, in which, caught his attention - his eyes glanced at the wound at his side, then back at his lover. he knew his time was up, as the thoughts of his loved ones and the risks he had managed to pull through with scattered his mind - was it worth it, leaving his loved ones behind, his younger brother who had meant as much to him as he did to teucer, in the end? "i hope that..," [y/n] paused for a moment, a small sigh leaving their lips. "in the next life, we meet again, and that you are sure not to let your guard down." the gaze that casted upon childes body soon wavered, turning into almost a sad one, perhaps even a disappointed one - in that moment, when their gaze met each others, they both realized what this both costed them both. it was clear that [y/n] still loved him, and always have loved him, and that was the breaking point for the both of them. one refused to show it, the other was uncaring of what he had let the other see. what is left after life is what truly matters, and although you may not like how it ended, at least something stuck with you until the end. right? "i-i'd like to believe that, [y/n]," childe muttered shakily, his brows very slightly furrowing. "you truly can not trust those closest to you." although the males lover already knew what they had done, what it had costed them - the one person he had chosen to love, the last words to leave childes lips was what had made him fully understand what he had done and the pain was one he knew that he never truly would be able to get away from. "well, we will see, won't we?" there was a pause, silence soon flooding the air. childe knew his time was coming, he accepted it, and it nearly mortified him to know things had to end the way it was going to. "y-yeah, we will.," few words left childes lips, and another blade plunged into his stomach. another groan left his lips, his face coiling slightly in pain. if you were to look hard enough, you could almost see the tears that soon began to prick the males eyes. "i love you, ajax." soon, [y/n] wrapped their body against their dying lover, and childe attempted to do the same. "i-i.., love.. you, too." those were the final words that childe spoke, his body soon going limp in his lovers arms. the words he spoke still lingered, echoing in the bristling sounds of leaves swaying in the wind - nothing more, nothing less. to become a harbinger, there were no rules - you just had to prove you were worthy of such a title, no matter what it costed, no matter how you cheated the rest. life does not come with special privilege's, no one will let you surpass them willingly, you have to fool them into believing you cant, and only then will you be able to reach what you sought for.

[free-pancakes]

Dreams and Nightmares

Summary: LeviHan Canon-Divergence fic Hange barely survives the final fight against Eren, and is saved by inheriting the Beast Titan from Zeke Yeager in the end. However, the Scouts soon find that this would come with a heavy price–particularly at Levi’s expense. Chapter 9/? Chapter 8 Chapter 7 Chapter 6 Chapter 5 Chapter 4 Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1

crossposted to ao3 here: link

notes: ahhh this one's long, I got carried away. but! hope you all like it! thanks for reading everyone, i think i'll be wrapping up this story in one more chapter after this!

CHAPTER 9

“Happy birthday, Levi!”

Kuchel gently shook the child awake, his big grey eyes blinking sleepily until he realized what day it was. He sat up quickly, a tiny smile on his face as Kuchel squeezed him tightly in a warm embrace.

“How old are you again, sweetie? I seemed to have lost count!”

Levi jumped up on his bed, fists pumped up in the air in triumph— “Mama, I’m 5 years old today!”

“Oh that’s right!” She said with a bright, yet tired grin. Stepping out into the kitchen, she had a small breakfast prepared for him, and reached to the countertop for a surprise. Levi burst out of their shared bedroom and sat at the table, waiting for his mother to sit with him. Next to him she placed down her cup of coffee.

Mouth full, Levi asks, “Aren’t you gonna eat with me, Mama?” Before he could try to give her half of what was on his plate, she whipped out a small cinnamon bun for him from behind her back.

His eyes sparkled as he saw the small pastry, something he had always dreamed of eating—one of the fancy-looking ones from the bakery window he would see on the other side of the underground.

“Once you finish all of your breakfast, you can have this, okay Levi?” He nodded earnestly, gobbling up the rest of his food before reaching for the bun. He tried to give her half, but she settled for a little bite, convinced by Levi’s little glare when she said she wouldn’t try any. Kuchel’s nearly empty stomach rumbled in hunger, but her heart was completely full as she watched her son eat a proper meal for once.

Luckily, she had the whole day free for him without having to leave him early for work. So, she took Levi for a walk to one place she had always wanted to take him—he was just old enough that he’d be able to keep this memory as he grew older, and she wanted him to remember and hold on to it for years to come.

They walked hand in hand until they reached a part of the underground that was very unfamiliar to Levi. Kuchel bent down to his height, and put her index finger up to her her lips, signaling him to keep quiet. Levi nodded, and followed her as she led him to a small ladder hidden amongst some abandoned buildings. When she reached the top, she reached down to hoist Levi up with her—and Levi covered his mouth to stifle a gasp. A tiny secluded area where some light from above ground escaped to shine on that very spot, there a bright patch of green grass with something quite beautiful in the middle...

Kuchel whispered as they crawled up to it together: “These are African violets, Levi,” she said with a smile as Levi’s eyes grew wide as he stared in awe. He had never seen real plants before, only in some of the few books he’s seen in his short 5 years of life. “They grow well in low light, like this spot right here!” She pointed to the grass and dirt underneath it— “Plants grow roots, which keep them grounded and so they can soak up water and nutrients to stay alive!”

“Wow,” Levi whispered as he looked, trying to imagine what the roots looked like below. “Mama, what happens if some of the roots ever get hurt?”

Kuchel tilted her head to the side, pleasantly surprised at her son’s curiosity. She chuckled, “Don’t worry Levi, even if some of the roots were to get severed or damaged, it’ll still continue living, and hopefully one day grow brand new roots in it’s place!”

Levi put one hand up to his forehead, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, thanks Mama, that’s good to know!” Kuchel smiled and ruffled his hair, and they both sat to stare at the violets together for a little while longer.

——

“Is the Captain finally asleep?”

“Yeah, I think so, Jean,” Armin answered. The two stood just outside the open door to the infirmary room Hange laid in, and saw Levi had fallen asleep sitting up in the chair they had placed in the room for him.

It had been an entire week since Hange was in this state, and it had felt like an eternity to all of them. But as much as it was bringing all of them down, they knew it was affecting Levi the most.

“I don’t think Captain Levi has slept all week… the bags under his eyes seemed a lot darker and more menacing than the usual.” “Connie, now’s not the time to joke around about this,” Jean retorted.

“I’m not joking! It’s the truth and you know it!”

Armin jumped in to separate the two. “Guys, calm down, you might wake him up—“

Out of nowhere, a sweet aroma lingered in the air, causing all three of them to stop, looking around for the source. Their eyes all fell upon Mikasa, holding a small paper box.

“I… got this from Niccolo’s bakery. I remember Hange mentioning to me once that he liked—“

“Oi, is that a cinnamon bun?”

All four of them jumped, startled from Levi suddenly joining them.

“Captain, I think maybe you should go back to sleep—“ Levi squeezed Mikasa’s shoulder and gently took the box from her hands.

“All rested. Connie, it’s your turn to watch over Hange,” Levi said as he walked away.

Once he disappeared around the corner, Connie, Armin, and Jean frowned at Mikasa.

“You knew this the whole time and didn’t tell us?? All we needed was a stupid cinnamon bun to get him off our tails all these years??”

“Ow!”

Mikasa smacked Connie upside the head, and she swiftly followed after Levi, leaving the three in her dust. They grumbled and shrugged it off, and Connie went in to look after Hange.

Levi sat outside looking out at the ocean water as the sun began to set, an empty box filled with crumbs in his lap. It had been a long time since he thought about his mother, the violets. He thought about how much she probably sacrificed just to get him that cinnamon bun for his birthday.

The memories gave him some relief for once—he was absolutely exhausted, a week without any sleep weighing down on his eyelids as he stood guard over Hange. For once, they had a win—they made it out alive. But now, he wasn’t so sure they really won, and his hopes were beginning to unravel.

He closed his eyes. “Just for a moment,” he thought. But before he knew it, he woke to the cover of night, and Mikasa sitting next to him.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Mikasa decided to break it. “Can I ask why this is your favorite?” She said as she pointed to the empty box in his hands. Before he would answer Mikasa, Levi looked up at the sky, staring at the stars shining above him.

——

Hange stared at the stars above her, wondering if the ones here in paths were the same ones Levi would be able to look up at right now.

“Come on, Zeke, there has to be another way!”

Zeke yelled back. “Hange, we’ve tried everything! We’ve been at this for who knows how long! It’s not like we could keep track of time here, for all we know, it’s been weeks!’

Hange felt anger surge within her heart.

“And what, so we stop trying??” She kicked, sending showers of sand flying towards Zeke. Thunder cracked and lightning flashed, drizzles of rain beginning to fall.

Hange held up her hand to catch raindrops. “See, we learned that this realm is clearly susceptible to emotions!” She spun a knife from her pocket, and slashed at the palm she held up. “And we cant turn into titans here, but we are still able to regenerate here…”

Steam arose from her wound, the skin of her palm gradually mending back together. Then she picked up a leaf, and as she rubbed it, it morphed into a baseball—“And that objects we find here can sometimes turn into something we most desire…”

She threw the ball at Zeke, who caught it carefully. As he looked down at it, it suddenly morphed into a baseball bat, smacking him right in the face.

Hange threw her head back and laughed, “…and we know that it doesn’t always do morph reliably!”

Zeke grumbled, rubbing his forehead right where the bat hit him. He couldn’t believe Hange still had this much energy. He was right at his limit of patience for all of this. In his opinion, it was all moot—they had tried so many different things, and the turnout was looking quite bleak.

“Hange, have you—“

“…And we found out that…”

“Hange.”

“AND we know that—“

Zeke stood up and grabbed her hand, forcing her to look at him.

“Hange, listen. Have you ever thought… that maybe… maybe you should just let this all, go?”

Hange’s bright expression slowly faded, a confused frown now left on her face.

“W-what?”

“I’m just saying, we’ve racked our brains for maybe a week. And maybe we should just focus on getting you back home and out of paths. We’re not even sure if we could do that, right?”

Hange turned away from Zeke, and remained silent.

Zeke spoke— “Just… maybe you should just let Levi go, Hange. He’s alive right, isn’t that all that should matter to you?”

Hange looked up towards the giant, glowing tree standing in the center of paths.

“Do you really think the tree doesn’t hold anything promising? I know you tried before I landed here, but…”

“Hange are you even listening to me??”

Zeke watched Hange’s back, her frame beginning to tremble. Of all the losses, the countless losses Levi and she had endured up until now—they deserved a win. And she wouldn’t give up on it. Ever. She balled both hands into fists, and stopped shaking, now still and firm in her decision.

“Zeke, defeat is all the Survey Corps has ever known.” She took a deep breath. “…But this time, I’m bringing us a win, whether you’re gonna help me or not.” She then made the trek towards the tree.

Zeke sat in the sand, dumbfounded. Hange was intriguing to him—he wondered how different things would have been if she ended up being a Marleyan Eldian instead one within the walls. Someone sharp like himself but… a lot more optimistic. That’s right. Might have done them all really well and maybe things would have turned out better for him and his comrades—none of them knew what they were missing here. He brushed both these pointless thoughts and the sand off himself, standing up to follow after her.

——

Mikasa spoke— “Just… maybe you should just let Hange go, Captain Levi. She’s alive right, isn’t that all that should matter to you?”

Levi kept walking as Mikasa followed behind him.

“Connie you can go, I’ll be here.” He saluted and hurried out as he saw Mikasa darting her eyes at Levi.

“Captain.” Levi didn’t answer and resumed his post next to Hange.

“Captain Levi, did… did you hear me?”

Levi remained seated, and did not look up towards Mikasa as he spoke: “You remember what Hange said, that day? In Shiganshina?” He took a quick pause. “…That ever since we joined the Survey Corps, every day has brought a new farewell?”

Mikasa’s heart dropped heavily at the memory, but she nodded.

“Well, I’m not ready to say farewell just yet.” Levi said with confidence. He had been thinking all this time that he’d pay the price of Hange being afraid of him, that he’d be happy if she was simply alive. Well, he knew in his heart that Hange wouldn’t be happy this way.

And he wouldn’t either.

So, he was putting his trust in her. If anyone could figure it out, it’d be Hange—and they deserved a win.

Levi took Hange’s hand in his, and brought it near his lips.

“I told Mikasa today about my 5th birthday. My mother, the violets… you remember right?”

He kissed her hand. He remembered when Hange asked him to take her the minute she told her—they spent the whole day looking for it, and luckily, they did find it. And they were still growing there after all this time.

“They grow well in low light…”

He laid his head on the bed next to her, yawning.

“…And even if a small section of roots get damaged, the flowers will still grow happily. And maybe someday, brand new roots can grow back in its place…”

Stealing a glance upwards towards Hange’s face, he swore he saw her smile before he drifted off to sleep.

——

Zeke stood in front of the giant tree with Hange. Her brows were furrowed, deep in thought.

“Hange, what’re you thinking?”

She swung her head back at Zeke, suddenly speaking a mile a minute. “Have you thought about how almost every curious thing in this realm has been activated by some kind of strong emotion? Feeling? Attachment??” She lowered her head, her fingers rubbing her chin, her eyes looking up in thought. “Well, not sure if exactly this, but you know I guess attachment applies to simply having strong feelings and—“

“Hange, Hange, slow down. What exactly are you implying?”

Hange was no longer talking, and now walking up to the tree.

“Strong feelings… a memory maybe…”

She felt drawn to it, and began reaching her hand up to the tree trunk, focusing on one of the happiest memories she had stored in her beautiful mind.

“Hange be careful! None of us has ever touched—“

Hange closed her eyes, focusing on the memory with a smile on her face, and gently placed her fingers over the bark burning a bright white light. Suddenly, yellow light began traveling between the bark’s crevices and nooks, slowly traveling to light up a whole section of the tree. A warm yellow glow covering only one section of branches to the top and going back down to where the visible portions of the tree ended in the sand.

The two looked in awe—it was breathtakingly beautiful.

“Why do you think—“ Zeke started, but simply couldn’t even finish his sentence in his shock.

Hange’s mind began racing, hypothesizing everything she could about what this might have meant, but out of nowhere, she felt like her heart stopped for a second, and it was as though she could hear Levi’s voice.

And her mind quieted, one particular memory coming to mind. She smiled and closed her eyes.

“Aw Levi…” she breathed out. “Thanks for reminding me of that memory…”

“Did you say something?” Zeke asked, only to find Hange shoot her head up, her eyes wild.

“Wait!” Hange yelled.

Was this the answer?

“The roots! Zeke!”

With a whooshing noise, the baseball bat from earlier suddenly morphed into a shovel. Hange began digging impatiently with her hands, pushing sand away to follow the portion of the tree lit with a yellow glow, following it down deep to reveal its roots.

Zeke was confused, but didn’t question her determination. He ran to grab the shovel and began to dig alongside her.

They dug for what felt like hours, and finally collapsed breathing heavily, arms aching, sweat dripping from their foreheads. Most of the root formation had been uncovered, still continuing to give off an inviting, warm, yellow glow.

They looked at the extensive network beneath them. Now curious, Zeke decided to reach out and touch a portion of the roots. When his fingers made contact, before his eyes flashed a memory.

He gasped and fell backwards.

“What! What’s wrong??” Hange rushed to Zeke’s side.

“It’s… Mr. Ksaver.”

Hange tilted her head to the side. “Mr. who?”

“I—“

Zeke paused, thinking. It was Mr. Ksaver’s memory of them playing catch, not his own. It wasn’t from his viewpoint so…

He followed the network and then touched a place a bit further down. He watched a memory, and did the same, touching yet another part farther down the line.

“Hange…”

She looked at him earnestly.

“I think… these are beast titan memories right here. I think, they may be lifetime memories of shifters….”

Hange’s jaw dropped. Zeke paused—one more to confirm his suspicions.

He reached, but stopped. He decided to take Hange’s hand.

“Let’s look together, okay?”

Both of them reached their hands towards the farthest end of the root network. “This would theoretically be your body’s most recent memory,” Zeke announced, raising an eyebrow at Hange.

Hange nodded back at him, ready to see.

Together, they touched the root end—they saw Hange’s body laying completely still and unconscious on an infirmary bed. Levi was there, asleep while holding her hand with his head lying on the bed next to her, an empty pastry box sitting on the table next to him, Mikasa sitting nearby, finishing paperwork in the dim lamp light.

[give-grian-rights]

Slams door open

Its 5am, I cant sleep and im typing this on my phone but GOD

Before Hermitcraft, Grian was in Yandere High School, a roleplay on Samgladiator's channel.

Grian dated a non-binary cryptid, had a knife fight, killed three people, was held a gunpoint and forced to imposter Taurtis, swallow plastic and be threatened and kept from his home country all while being verbally and mentally abused by Sam.

BUT AY, GRIANGST IS POPULAR! you all already know about that shit- but did you know YHS had a season two called Tokyo Soul? Because! Oh boy!

Now I haven't watched TS since jt was still airing, but hahahah DAMN IF THAT ENDING DIDN'T MAKE LITTLE TEN YEAR OLD ME SOB FOR AN HOUR.

In short, Taurtis, Grian, and Sam are granted immortality, as a gift for destroying their entire universe. Yep. They helped accidentally bring upon the end of the universe, and humanity.

The only remains of the universe were the trio, and their home on a floating junk of land in an empty abyss. Unaging. Unkillable. Left with what's in their pockets, and the haunting memories of their youth, wasted, corrupt, and gone.

ANYWAY we all know Watcher Grian- BUT WHAT IF HE WAS TAKEN AS A WATCHER BECAUSE OF THIS? An immortal entity that physical body and health is forever stuck that of a 17-18 year old, live in any perma-death world without consequences, and able to be manipulated and pushed to the point they're willing to KILL for any cause? HE SACRIFICED A 15 YEAR OLD GIRL WITHOUT QUESTION BECAUSE IT WAS FOR "THE GREATER GOOD"

Griangst writers??? PLEASE CONSIDER THIS.. IM LOSING MY SHIT ITS ALMOST 6AM

[captainstevenrogerswrites]

Not my Captain.

@mrsrogerswrites

"Captain! Theres a rift opening. No known origin but its growing in size"

Captain Rogers stood tall as a smirk etched his features. Soldier surrounded him with few scientists. He despised scientists as a whole, always thinking they knew best, always over thinking, where as a soldier followed his command without any thinking and the ones they didnt......well their blood splattered the walls in defiant decoration to show anyone thinking of disobeying him just how he handled betrayal and free thinking from his men. He didnt care either if they respected him or just feared him, to him they were the same. You followed his orders, you lived for now. You didnt you would be praying the enemy killed you before Steve had a chance too because if he felt in a mood, he would drag your death out until you were begging for death and then simply keep dragging it on until your body killed itself and the last thing you would see was his dark smile creasing his lips. No one dared stand up to him.

Soldiers he tolerated, scientists only when they were of use to him. Everyone else was free game to him. If you were of use, he would acknowledge your existence, if not you were nothing to him. Same with relieving himself, if he wanted to fuck you, he never asked, he just took what he wanted from you, not caring if you couldnt take it either. After all, why would he care about you when you were just a fuck toy he was using for a couple of minutes relief. He was nothing like Captain America from other realms, he was Captain HYDRA; the ultimate super soldier in every way.

"Sir it's to another dimension " he dragged the scientist up to his feet as he began to tremble in fear "To where?" He snarled at the scared man "I....I....I dont know" with one swift action he broke his neck "the next person who cant answer my fucking question gets thrown in" everyone frantically tried to work out where.

He smiled to himself, another dimension, another Earth, he had helped HYDRA gain power over the world here and keep it. He was known as HYDRAS main man and he thrived upon it. If this other world wasnt ruled by them then maybe it was time it was "Sir, we have visual contact"

Looking up at the screen he saw blurry outlines of people as he snarled recognising some of them "Fury" he had killed him but it could be fun to kill this one too. The rift started to destabilise but he would be damnned if he was going to lose the chance of some more fun so he grabbed some of his men and ran through it just before it disappeared.

Walking slowly into view of the people, he didnt care his men had probably got shredded to pieces by not making it through with him. They were replaceable. "Captain Rogers" Fury questioned him as Rogers perked his brow in curiosity, the way he said it made it sound like this Rogers was on their side. He could feel the disgust inside of him with that thought, his version here working alongside him as a good guy, it was stuff of nightmares.

"But you're dead" another man spoke up in shock as Rogers fought back the urge to roll his eyes at his stupidity every bone in his body wanted to rip his tongue out and feed it him for it but he didnt. He was still assessing his situation and maybe he could play along as another good guy.

"I'm sorry for your loss, but dimensions are being split everywhere..." damn he was sounding like those pathetic scientists . "We need to fix the damage. What better way then teaming up?" He forced a smile, one that didnt look dark as his eyes then landed on a redhead. He would have her bent over that desk and fucking her brains out if he didnt have to play so pitifully good and maybe she would be one that could actually take it. He tried to hide the smirk, it's a shame he couldnt find out. At least not yet, as soon as HYDRA had taken over this world too, he would fuck her and if she was any good maybe he would keep her just for his amusement. Oh the possibilities but then she opened her mouth and he just wanted to ram his cock down her fucking throat to shut that precious mouth up. "So HYDRAs now the good guys" she motioned to his arm badge of the symbol of his home.

He smirked "different dimension love, who says SHIELD are the good guys for me?" He winked at her as soldiers attacked him and he snapped their necks, earning him a small fight and guns being to his head. He wasnt going to get anywhere with them all dead, so didnt show what he was fully capable of yet and put his hands up "well where we come from, HYDRA are the bad guys and were not taking any chances"

It had been at least three weeks since he was thrown in this god forsaken cell. Not that it bothered him, it gave him time to analyse and plan. If he wasnt sat up on the bed, he was doing press ups or walking around his block to keep his body moving but, even though he refused to show it, he was a restless beast trapped in a cage biding it's time before it attacked its prey. Two more days later and the opportunity leading to that might had reared its head.

"Our HYDRA has a device that can be of use to fix all the dimensions effected by the rift. You and Agent Romanoff will infiltrate and get the device. If you help us fix the rift we will let you go back to your dimension alive" he smirked at Furys words, Steve saw right through him, there was no chance in hell that these people would let him go back. His eyes deliberately walked all over her body before looking back at the man who thought he was in charge. This could be fun with her and he could bring down SHIELD here too. Throwing the lion back into the lions den....no wonder SHIELD didnt survive long in his world the idea of her company amused him too, which was rare so he nodded "very well, I'll be a good boy and play nice"

The woman scowered at him "or meet the end of my knife. Either way suits me" he looked at her and grinned, she was feisty and loved knives....now she just got a hell of a lot kinkier. Maybe he would keep her after all but then again he never really was much to keep things around and he had to play along for now.

"Lead the way, red" he smirked as they handcuffed him but his eyes stayed on her. fuck her and kill her, fuck her to death, just kill her or keep her as his own personal cum bucket. It was fucking awful he couldnt do any as he played the good boy. He was going to find a way back or turn this world into his own. Either way he wouldnt let some fiesty little redhead stop him. In time, he would double cross her and enjoy every fucking moment of it.

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #117: Fuuma “Evil Wind” Kotarou

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re bringing you the younger of the Fuuma Clan ninjas, Fuuma Kotarou! Fuuma is, well, a ninja. Strike from the shadows, weaken and confuse your enemies, and hide in plain sight with this build!

Check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: Here comes the sun!

Race and Background

We need feats more than anything else in this build, so we’re making Kotarou a Variant Human, giving him +1 to Dexterity and Intelligence. He also gets proficiency with Performance to take on the guise of people who aren’t ninjas, and the Actor feat for a boost in Charisma and to make his disguises even more effective.

Much like “being an oni”, there isn’t an explicit “ninja” background. That being said, the Criminal background is a pretty good substitute, giving you Deception and Stealth proficiencies. Surprisingly, ninja aren’t fans of the legal system.

Ability Scores

To no one’s surprise, your Dexterity is pretty high. Your sneaking and stabbing are both tied to it, after all. Your Charisma is also up there, ninjas gonna disguise. After that is your Intelligence- ninja plans are complicated, your brains have to be up to snuff. Your Constitution isn’t that high, but you don’t plan on getting hit anyway. Your clan spent a lot of time creating the perfect food and completely ignored the flavor, so your Wisdom isn’t particularly high, but we’re dumping Strength. We just don’t need it for this build.

Class Levels

1. Rogue 1: I don’t feel I like need to justify this class. Starting as a rogue gives you proficiency in Dexterity and Intelligence saves, as well as four rogue skills- Acrobatics, Intimidation, Persuasion, and Perception. Avoiding people, influencing people, influencing people, and avoiding people, respectively.

You also gain Expertise in two skills, doubling your proficiency bonus in Stealth and Performance. 

If you’re using a finesse or ranged weapon (you should be) and attacking with advantage or against a creature distracted by an ally within 5′ of them you can add your Sneak Attack damage to that attack once per turn. Finally, you learn Thieves’ Cant. It’s a language.

2. Rogue 2: Second level rogues can make Cunning Actions as their bonus actions. This allows you to Dash, Disengage, or Hide, all very important skills for a ninja.

3. Rogue 3: As you could probably guess, you’re an Assassin. This means that at level three, you learn how to Assassinate your targets. Your attacks against creatures that haven’t taken a turn this combat is made with advantage, and attacks that hit surprised creatures are automatically counted as critical hits. To further this advantage, your sneak attack grows to 2d6 bonus damage.

4. Bard 1: A good ninja can use the threat of attack just as effectively as any weapon- You know that better than anyone, and put it to good use with your Suspicious Shadow skill. As a first level bard, you gain proficiency with Sleight of Hand for some Genjutsu skill, and you can give Bardic Inspiration to your party members to sharpen their skills. You get a number of dice equal to your charisma modifier, and you regain uses on long rests.

You can also cast Spells using your Charisma to cast them. Friends allows you to frighten and deceive opponents more readily, and Message lets you send information without being overheard to party members who aren’t also rogues. For first level spells, Disguise Self helps you perfect your “totally innocent monk” disguise, Illusory Script lets you write almost indecipherable code, Color Spray can blind your enemies, and Bane further weakens their resolve. If the targets fail a charisma save (dc eight plus your proficiency bonus plus your charisma modifier), they subtract 1d4 from their attacks and subsequent saving throws for the duration of the spell.

5. Bard 2: Second level bards are Jacks of All Trades, giving you half your proficiency bonus for any skill check you’re not proficient in. You also learn a Song of Rest for more healing during short rests, and the Longstrider spell for just a bit more mobility.

6. Bard 3: If we want to put pressure on our enemies’ fighting spirit, there’s no bard better at sowing paranoia than the College of Whispers. You get Psychic Blades to turn your inspiration dice into psychic damage that you can add to your attacks once per round to make up for lost time in regards to your sneak attack. You also learn to instill Words of Terror into anyone you talk to alone for a minute or longer, forcing a wisdom save and becoming frightened of you or another creature for up to an hour if they fail. If they succeed, there’s not indication that you tried to do anything, but you can only use this feature once per short rest.

For non-magical influencing, you also get Expertise in Persuasion and Deception this level.

You also get second level spells this level, so grab Invisibility for the perfect escape/ambush.

7. Bard 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to become a Piercer, making your daggers slightly more consistent and giving you even deadlier critical hits.

You also learn True Strike, which might actually have a purpose if you need to assassinate someone in one blow, and Cloud of Daggers to set up traps for any guards following you after that assassination you just did.

8. Bard 5: At fifth level, your Inspiration dice grow to d8s, and you become a Font of Inspiration, giving you new inspiration to use every short rest instead of every long rest. The pressure you put on your enemies can now cause them to completely lose track of who is friend and who is foe. Enemies Abound forces a creature to select its targets at random for up to a minute after failing an intelligence save, with a chance to re-roll every time it takes damage.

9. Rogue 4: Use this ASI to round up your Dexterity and Charisma for more inspiration, more AC, stronger stabbings, and better spells. A really good level for you overall.

10. Rogue 5: As a fifth level rogue, you can use your reaction to make an Uncanny Dodge, taking half the damage from an attack. I’m not sure if you’ve looked at your health total recently, but you’ll probably want to use this one a lot.

11. Rogue 6: Use your third round of Expertise to become really really good at Acrobatics and Intimidation.

12. Rogue 7: Seventh level rogues get the coveted Evasion, letting you completely ignore damage when you pass a dexterity check and take half damage if you fail. Given the number of casters you hang around with that know fireball, this is a good pick.

13. Rogue 8: Eighth level rogues get another ASI, which will let you pick up the Mobile feat for extra movement speed, the ability to ignore difficult terrain while dashing, and an effective disengage on whatever you try to hit. The most ninja of feats.

14. Rogue 9: Ninth level assassins gain Infiltration Expertise which... isn’t really that good, even if it is flavorful. If you spend a week, you can create a new identity, as long as they aren’t already an existing person. This includes clothing, letters of introduction, and any certificates you might need for the disguise. This lasts until you give creatures an obvious reason to suspect you aren’t who you say you are.

15. Rogue 10: Use this ASI to become a Skulker, which will help you hide while lightly obscured, stay hidden if you miss with a ranged attack, and see in dim light. You don’t have darkvision, and lights would give you away, so this is the best option you’ve got.

16. Rogue 11: You now have Reliable Talent, meaning you’re guaranteed to roll a 10 or higher on any skill checks that you’re proficient in. If you haven’t noticed from all your expertises, you’re pretty good at skilling things.

17. Rogue 12: Use your last ASI to bump that Charisma up again for stronger spells, stronger persuasions, and more inspirations/psychic blades.

18. Rogue 13: Your final Assassin feature turns you into the perfect Impostor, allowing you to copy a person’s speech, writing, and behavior after observing them for three hours, and giving you advantage on any deception check you make to keep up your disguise. You probably don’t even need that advantage by this point, but why not take it anyway.

19. Rogue 14: Fourteenth level rogues gain a Blindsense, allowing you to know the location of any hidden or invisible creature within 10 feet of you. It’s not quite dark vision, but if it gets the knife into someone’s throat it’s good enough.

20. Rogue 15: Your final level gives you a Slippery Mind, giving you proficiency with Wisdom saving throws. Falling for your own illusions would be silly.

Pros:

You can do a lot of damage in one go if a sneak attack connects, and thanks to your Psychic Blades, you can make all of that psychic damage, which is extremely difficult for most creatures to resist.

You are really, really good at influencing people. You have expertise in every charisma skill, reliable talent, and ways to gain advantage on those rolls (which, by the way, are at a minimum of 26 atm.) You can be anybody, anywhere, at any time.

The same thing applies to your stealth skills as well, with a minimum of 26 in every stealth check and ways to go completely invisible, you’re only going to be seen when you want to be.

Cons:

You were only in bard for a couple levels, so you don’t have a lot of spell slots. Fortunately, most of your spells are there to complement things you can already do normally, but you’ll still have to keep the long term mission in mind at all times.

The later assassin features aren’t that good. You’re almost never going to have a spare week outside of your normal between-mission downtime, and it’s likely you won’t have three hours to burn watching some guy either. Of course this is entirely dependent on your DM, but don’t expect these to do anything in a pickup game.

You don’t have a lot of Concentration spells, but the ones you do have are a big deal, and your ability to hold onto them isn’t amazing. That being said it’s not like you’re planning on getting hit in the first place.

[hitsuackerman]

Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt.21

a/n: things will get better~ <3

warnings: this cannot be read solo

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19, part 20, part 22

Masterlist to my other fics: here :)

Overhaul’s waiting list: @jjk-biased @infinite-universe-love @dirtypride @blackymomo03 @azzie @purple-rabanito​ @meximorrita @awesomeee19​​ @celestial-kanzakii​ @laure-lo​ @team-wang-puppy​ @aydience-world​ @choros-main-hoe​ @colorseeingchick​  @but-kairis-not-that-smart (i cant seem to tag again :( hope this lands in your timelines!)

The silence of the hall was cut by the vibration of your phone. Taking it out, you answered.

“Yes, Nao?”

“The cameras showed the Fukuo Kai members left the building. Save for two people. Overhaul not included.” Inside the tent, Tsukauchi focused on the monitors. Observing and watching as live and recorded footage were being played to make sure the remaining two were to be caught. “I’m assuming you're on the 4th floor. Be careful. Cameras aren’t picking up feed.”

“I know. You said there were two?” Staring at the fresh blood dripping onto the floor, you took a step back when the thick red liquid began to run down the wall. Recalling that sound earlier, the other person was surely on this floor. Somewhere.

“That’s right. It’s your call from here.”

“Any info on their quirks?”

“We’re still digging it up. Apparently, those two men weren’t part of the meeting. If my deductions are right, they were the ones who terrorized our plan.”

Feeling a bit lightheaded, you inhaled and let out a long exhale. The man wasn’t lying entirely when he said it had nothing to do with the Fukuo Kai. Now that you were sure he was not on the same floor, you cursed under your breath.

“Nao. There’s only one person left. Overhaul used his quirk on one of them.” Heading back towards the fire exit, you wiped off the beads of sweat forming on your forehead. Feeling chills run down your spine, the grip on your phone tightened as your hands began to feel tingly. “My adrenaline is going down. We’ll catch the other one… next time.”

“Bring yourself back to safety. We’ll debrief once you're here.”

“See you in a few.”

Ending the call, you shook your head and made your way back to the fire exit. With each step you took, your eyelids seemed to become heavier. Leaning on the wall for support, you saw how your vision was starting to blur. Shutting your eyes close, you reached out for your phone only to stumble to the ground. With a steady growing headache, you activated your quirk.

Giving yourself a self-administered adrenaline pump, your felt control over your body once more. Standing up with effort, your shoulder remained glued to the wall as you took slow and steady steps towards the exit. Taking your phone out, you dialed for Tsukauchi only to flinch as another gunshot echoed through the room. The way your phone just sprung out of your hand and landed with a crack made a small yelp escape your mouth.

Taking your handgun out as you turned around, you were face to face with a man in a suit. Realizing that your phone was long gone by now, reaching base through your earpiece would not be the best option.Squinting your eyes, your blurry vision was not helping one bit. Hopefully, the sudden end to your call would alert your partner.

“Who are you?” Buying time was all you could do for now.

“No one important.” He took a step forward. His face void of any emotion save for the complete focus he has. “The question is, what are cops like you doing? Teaming up with the yakuza? Have you all stooped that low?”

“Says the man who’s ready to pull the trigger. Is it Overhaul you're looking for?” Each second that passed, your headache was evolving into a migraine. Breathing alone was becoming strenuous.

“On the contrary, yes.” He takes another step forward. “He’s been rather difficult to deal with these days.”

“You… You’re not from the F-fukuo Kai.” This was not good, you thought to yourself.

“Don’t strain yourself, love.” Seeing how your eyes widened and body trembled. He let a smirk cross his mouth. With much confidence he closed the gap between your bodies. With one hand, he unzipped your bulletproof vest. “You might be wondering why you can’t move?”

“No shit.” Watching him create invisible circles over your stomach made your heart beat even more rapidly. Thinking that his quirk had something to do with how your body’s motor skills were useless, you hoped that back up was now on it’s way. “This is your quirk, isn’t it?”

“Right you are. I can control a certain portion of a person’s gravity. It also works with force as well. But it’s much more fun.” Slapping your face, you barely felt a thing till you saw how his irises changed colors. The amount of force you received hurt double than it should have. Before your hands could touch him, his irises shifted color once more. “Not fast enough. But that was fun.”

“Why are you after Overhaul? Isn’t that suicide?”

“That man refuses to partner with us. We were more than willing to sponsor but for some shitty reason he turned us down.” He rolled his eyes and took a step back. “Wanna see something fun?”

You flinched at the sound of his gun. Yet the bullet lay suspended in mid air. Knowing where this was going, you tried to gather each ounce of your strength to break through the man’s quirk. With your body trembling from the failed attempt, you cursed under your breath and focused on your own quirk. If his quirk centered on gravity, then maybe yours could regulate your blood flow to show any kind of result.

“Struggling won’t get you anywhere.” He blinked and his irises changed colors.

Regaining control of your body did not save you. Feeling an intense heat pooling on your lower obliques, the burning sensation was enough to let you fall to the ground. Immediately covering the wound, you focused your quirk on that area to stop the bleeding. The pain made you curl into a small ball, your body trembling as your mind remained focused on the bullet’s entry way.

“Guess backup isn’t coming~” Taking his time, he grinned at the sight of slowly forming a puddle of red liquid. “Sucks to be helpless? Hoho~ I see your quirk is preventing blood loss.”

Bending down to squat, he grabbed your hand and flipped you over. Trying to release yourself from his grip, he placed a foot on your right hand and kept a hold of your left. Placing his free hand on your wound, he let out a chuckle. The pain had subsided but you were too aware of what would happen next.

“And here I thought police officers were a force to be reck-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you watched as he went flying all the way to the other end of the room. Simultaneously, the blood he had stopped came oozing out like a small water fountain. Seconds after, you harshly bit on your lip as the pain came back two fold. Putting pressure on the badly bleeding wound, you activated your quirk.

“This.” Despite the ringing in your ears, you knew who owned that voice. “This is why we refused to work with your lot, Ayato. Always causing unnecessary burdens.”

“Well if it isn’t the man I wanted to see.” Ayato stood up, barely keeping his balance. The way he landed was rather painful on his side. “Thought you left already, Overhaul?”

“I did.” He scratched his forehead. Glancing at your bleeding body did not help the situation.

Taking slow steps forward, Ayato focused his sight on the mask wearing man. Blinking a couple of times he felt his blood start to boil. Patting his body, he felt the small bullet on his side. The same red bullet he was supposed to be funding. Meeting Overhaul’s eyes once more, he felt a chill climbing up his spine and enveloping his mind.

“The bullets are nearing its completion..” Overhaul said as he removed his other glove. Moving forward, Ayato couldn’t help but take a step back. The growing anger in Overhaul’s eyes was enough to shrink whatever confidence he had in him. “What’s wrong, Ayato? Not so brave without your quirk?” Patting around his body for his gun, he let out a silent curse when he saw it resting beside Overhaul’s foot. Reaching for a small knife, he assumed a battle stance only to be met with a faint chuckle and a shake of the head. Gritting his teeth, Ayato began to sprint towards the supposed villain. Only to fall to the ground with a thud as a surge of electricity coursed through his body.

“Sorry.” Tsukauchi’s body appeared from behind the fallen man. “Got held up at the entrance.”

“Useless.” Overhaul commented as he watched the unconscious body. Turning around, he went closer to your body. Observing how shallow your breathing was, he caught himself clenching his fists. Caught up in the fight, he had forgotten the main reason why he rushed back to the building.

Before he could do anything, a hand touched his shoulder and shoved him. Stumbling three steps to the side, the same officer who was not fond of him was now administering first aid. Seeing him lift your badly bleeding body made him feel uneasy.

“This is your fault.” The officer's eyes focused on the standing man. “If you weren’t involved in this mess, (l/n) wouldn’t have been injured this bad.”

“For your information, she was already injured when I arrived.” It took a lot of strength not to harm the person in front of him. “Tell me, officer, do you think it would have been a smart move to just barge in?”

“You and your quirk are more than capable of doing something on the spot.” He stood up. A few drops of your blood dripping down his fingertips. “Lend a helping hand? An officer gets injured, and one of the terrorist is gone because of your hot head. That’s why I despise working with your lot. Nothing but  bad news.”

“Captain Iwase.” Tsukauchi butted in. He had just finished cuffing Ayato and handed him over to another officer. “Enough. Let me tend to (y/n) injuries. Your babbling mouth is causing her to bleed out.”

“Look at her.” His index finger pointing at your heavily breathing form. “Do you really think first aid is gonna help? For a bullet wound, that amount is abnormal. If anything, a blood transfusion is what she needs now but I doubt the ambulance would get here in time.”

“Then why don’t you stop complaining and dial 119?”

“Tsukauchi. Are you serious?”

“You may be higher in terms of ranking, but she’s my partner and she will always come first.” Reaching for his personal phone, Tsukauchi tossed it to Iwase. “Now unless you want to keep Overhaul’s hand away from your neck, I suggest you dial emergency hotlines. Now.”

Defeated, Iwase marched off the floor. Making sure to bump shoulders with the tall detective.

“He means well.” Tsukauchi still vouched for the captain as he checked your weak pulse. Carefully lifting your body, he made you lean on the wall. Iwase, despite the rambling, was right. He wasn’t sure what happened but the puddle of thick red liquid was alarming. “What happened?”

“The man you just electrocuted used his quirk on (l/n). He can control gravity to a certain degree. By the time I arrived, your partner was already bleeding and glued to the ground. His hand was covering the entry way so I assume her blood came gushing out like an oil pipe when I attacked him.”

As he relayed the information, Tsukauchi was already wrapping a bandage around your waist. For a moment, his eyes met your dull ones. Looking back at the red patch, he swallowed a bit of his saliva.

“Move over, Tsukauchi.” Overhaul looked down on both your crouching bodies. His eye twitching at the sight of your blood stained bandage. Not wanting to go on his bad side, Tsukauchi stood up and excused himself. Despite Overhaul being the labelled sociopath, he had gained enough respect for him to be trusted. “Can you talk?”

“I’m in a lot… of pain… but I’m fine, Overhaul.” You reassured him. Voice breathy and shaky. “It’s not that bad and I’m already doing my part by regulat-”

“Shut up.” He cut you off and forced your hand away from the wound. Taking a look at his hand, he let out a muffled curse. He was breaking out but the priority of fixing your wound won. Seeing Ayato’s knife, he reached for it and sliced the bandage. The bleeding was still bad and he knew full well that your quirk was no longer doing its function. “As much as I hate to admit it, that asshole officer was right. You need blood transfusion. I can close the wound but i’ll have to overhaul the bullet.”

“I think dying would hurt less.” You managed to chuckle.

“Just shut your mouth and let me overhaul the damn bullet.” Without a warning, his index finger entered the small hole. His eyes darted back to your screaming voice. He had to do this quickly to make sure any more blood loss would stop. Sighing, he leaned in closer. Just enough for you to lay your head on the crook of his neck. Your badly trembling body was not helping the situation.

Luckily, it barely took another push for his fingertip to reach the cold shell. Overhauling it in barely a second, this time he warned you about his exit. Receiving a nod, he felt your shoulders tense. Once his bloody finger was out, his clean hand held on to your wound before closing it completely.

“You’re in for an amount of pain.” At least the wound was closed now. The small whimper that escaped your mouth was the telltale sign that you were near exhaustion. Yet somehow, you managed to grip on to his jacket. “Your wound may be healed bu-”

“I-I’m sorry.”

“Be specific.”

“For m-mentioning Ackerm...Ackerman.” With your last ounce of strength, you wrapped your shaky arms around his neck. To which he did not refuse. “You’re b-breaking out.”

“I know. Guess you really aren’t as pure as I thought you were.” He stared at his hives and back at you. Slowly sliding in and out of consciousness. “Such a shame. Then again, each and every person is tainted in their own way.”

“I… I’m sorry about… last time.”

“You should be.” Wrapping his arm under the crook of your knees, he lifted you up. He adjusted his hold to make sure you were comfortable. By now, you had lost consciousness. Failing to hear what he had left to say. “Don’t ever mention Ackerman again. You’re mine and mine alone my guilty pleasure.”

- - - - -

a/n: and the fluff begins :D hope the tension was alright in this scene... took a while to write this tbh xD see yall next week <3 yes Overhaul is still accepting in his waiting list too :)

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

You Were His Mission

Summary- Winter Soldier takes you. 

Warnings- Non con, this is brutal and dark. Descriptive. DO NOT READ AT ALL IF THIS BOTHERS YOU. ABSOLUTELY NOT. 

Word Count- 1.7k

a/n- just because I delved into this story line does not mean I agree with it in any way, shape or form. It is merely writing and something ive wanted to see where I could take it. Remember its you as a reader to read the material you want. 

He watched you, you so completely unaware and innocent in your day to day actions, if he had a heart, well it might have been cute and scary for him, just how reckless you were. Didnt SHIELD ingrain some common sense in your fucking brains? You just left the for the night, and instead of going straight home, no you went to do something so mundane as buying groceries. And this my dear is where it all goes to shit for you. He came for you, blackness seeping from a shadow without sound, the silver in his hand flashing in your vision before your air was cut off, scrambling your hands against the metal, and with a vibrating click of plates shifting, his strength forced you to your knees, and the last thing your swarming vision saw was empty eyes staring you down between whisps of brown hair, the bottom half all wrong? A mask? You couldnt process as your eyes rolled back and blackness took over. 

Where to take you was not the issue, Hydra had provided the Winter Soldier with bases scattered across continents, and ingrained in his mind was every fucking last one of them. So you went to the nearest one, cause it wouldnt be long till SHIELD notices there little asset was missing. And would remain missing. Honey you were a mission, and he didnt leave them unfinished. Seeing you lay there all crumbled, full lips parted and the softness of your skin on your neck already showing yellowing bruises from his fingertips. Made his cock twitch, and people like him had broken souls filled with demons. You were fair game. 

You groaned as you woke up, his lips turning to a smirk hearing such a pretty sound, and your hands came up to rub your face, trying to recall what had happened. Where you were. Your thoughts didnt even have a chance to catch up when heavy boots snapped against the concrete, and a glance up showed the owner. Whirring noise followed his arm shooting out to grab your hair, yelping as he hauled you to a stand, his other hand he wrapped around your throat to pin you against the wall, your eyes wide in terror at what stared back at you, struggling to break free, but his hand tightened, making you wheeze. A warning to you.

“Please, why are you doing this? Im just a tech.”

A lie, but he already knew that. He knew everything about you worth knowing and plenty of shit that wasnt. No the Winter Soldier wasnt going to waste his time with words on you, Hydra made you his mission, His arm pulled away from your hair, some of it getting caught in the metal plates, ripping free from your scalp. A hiss escapes when that happens, and his eyes narrow at the sound, you swore you could see the corners of his eyes crinkle upwards, as if he was smiling behind that mask. Reaching to his hip, he jerks out a blade, you cant even wrap your mind over what kind it is, its just all metal melding with his hand, sharp edged, and it was coming closer to your face, the tip dragging down just slightly from your eye and down along your cheek, the path caused shivers of anxious fear to riddle down your spine, gasping out in panic.You could feel warmth race down the line the tip had gone, and fall away. You dont know if its a tear or blood at this point. 

“What the fuck do you want?”  You try again, but theres no answer from him. He seems to be feeding off your fear though, another tightening of his hand against your throat, and spots sprinkled your vision again. With a quick snap, he twisted the blade sideways away from being a danger to you and jerked your pants down, his hand, cold and hard, the metal of his fingers dug into your inner thigh, dragging them apart. “No! Fuck no, please dont” You wheeze out best you can, but that doesnt stall him. 

No, he wanted to hear those groans and moans again, the cool metal touching your pussy, and the contrast to it made you squirm, your hands thumping futilly against his chest, your leg kicking out to as far as possible with them being twisted in your pants. Again your struggles just seem to amuse the Winter Soldier. The first dip between your folds had you trying to clench your thighs together, to stall him, but his thigh, hard as the rest of him wedged between them to block you. Pressure of a swirl on your clit followed to your entrance and stretch you with the force of two fingers, you shouldnt be turned on, you shouldnt ache for that thrusting pump, but he knew to curl his fingers inside you and brush that spot, and it just set you off, a gasp, whimpering in fear gasp broke, and he loosened his hold just enough for you to draw in a actual breath. 

And he continued, the metal actually warming from touching you, bringing forth the most humiliating cries of pleasure till you were a mess, sagging against the wall, trying to catch your breath with deep pants heaving your chest, but it still burned. Relentless, he didnt give you time to rest before he started fingering you again. You were not a person to him, but a toy. All for his amusement. The front of his pants tented from watching you fight against your orgasms, and the click of his arm shifted as he released his hold, the knife coming up across your throat, daring you to move. Your legs shook, but they somehow still held you to stand. 

Your eyes dart to the blade, or the hand holding the blade as he saw you take notice, now it really was pressed against your neck, any other bit of pressure and the skin would split. Your pants are now being yanked the rest of the way off, and his belt comes undone, not to be missed also was the zipper, and he slid them down enough his cock was free of the confines, angry throbbing mess, the head swelled with pre cum, and your legs tightened against the thigh he had wedged there, trying, oh trying so hard to escape. That just made his cock twitch once more feeling your struggle. 

You try one last time, your hands trying to push him away “You dont have to do this.... “ But you know really its not gonna help. In the time hes had you, hes not given you an ounce of dignity. You were merely his mission. 

Its now or never, and you push your entire weight into his chest and the knife jerks enough to nick you. With a snarl he whips you to slam your chest into the wall, knocking you into a daze. A jerk of your hips pushes your ass out into his groin, where you can feel his cock pushing to be inside of you. Now everything is different, you cant see him, his other hand is pressed against your scalp, holding your face harshly into the concrete wall. But you know hes coming for you, setting you up just for him. 

He thrusts in you with his own groan of relief, the way your pussy clenches around him, and just needs him as much as your fighting all of this every step of the way, a breathy sigh escapes you as well, he had built you up through your fear and anxiety for your damn life, and now your pussy flexed around him, squezzing. Within seconds he was thrusting himself in and out, jerkin you back and forth, the drag through your channel burning you with the power behind his hips, There was no gentleness as in a lover, this was a dominating fuck, you were his to do whatever he pleased. 

The blade slid along your jawline, and between your face and the wall, the tip pressing against your cheek to make you look over your shoulder. You were his, even in this position you would look at him, his hold on your scalp releasing so your head had free movement, You twisted as much as you could, and he dragged you off the wall, your pussy full of his cock and jerked you up and down without the wall crushing you this time, but instead you fell back against his chest, a twist of his hand ripped the mask off his face, and his teeth sunk into your shoulder, breaking skin and ignoring your panicked scream at the pain. It drove him faster, harder, more demanding. Hitting you inside, till your pain melded into pleasure and you orgasm around around his cock. 

“I cant... not again” you pant, even though hes still driving himself into you. It just speeds him up, his fingers twisting a nipple pushing through the layers of your shirt, His metal hand moving to cup and squeeze your breast, twisting enough to make you drag air from your lungs, you were his fucking mission, you no longer had any kind of choice. His tongue lavished up your neck, biting behind your ear, and that dragged a whimper from you. The Winter Soldier fucking owned you.

He continued, raw and sore you became, but over and over he would bring you to that screaming pleasured moments, his breathing ragged against your neck at the snap of his hips bruised your softer form, his hands a mix of pleasure and pain on your body, and now there were little knicks crisscrossing across your hips where the knife would jerk in his hand whenever he slammed into you. Then that last one he finally came, the rhythm of his thrusts staggering and that final slam filled you with his cum, and his release shuddered him behind him, the first real sound coming from him. 

“FUCK” and his hold released you to crumble at his feet, your body quaking, raw, bruised, done. The knife, he swung it in his hand a moment, looking down at you momentarily, but it never made that final descent, it slid back into its holster, and he tucked himself away. Leaving you for now in that room, locked away. You were his mission, Hydra sent him for you. 

They never did specify he had to kill you. Just to get you.