#Can pass the torch back and forth

[levityleviathan]

Optimus Prime; BUILD MODE!

Okay so, kinda shit art aside, i love supermodes, and as such i wanted to do an original one for my au (there are more to be added down the road for other characters) This is Optimus Prime and Scavenger (yes, G1 Scavenger, i pull alot from Microns with how i write him, but he was still the arm of devastator) Optimus and Scavenger share a deep bond with one another, deep enough to where Prime actually trusts the constructicon to combine with him in battle should the rare instance arise.

[stillness-in-green]

Some thoughts on The Discourse about the last BNHA cover

(Note: This Discourse was on Twitter. I don’t know how much of this may have been said here on Tumblr, so consider this either my contribution or just me reporting back on drama from other fronts.)

So, I saw a lot of back and forth over there between people who didn’t like the cover and people who did, and I spent a little while mulling it over. It seemed to me that the people who didn’t like it had a good point, but one they were not articulating particularly well, possibly thanks to the character limit and possibly also because the people talking about it tended to phrase their objections in sarcastic, consciously exaggerated terms because that’s the language months and months of dealing with the truly insufferable Horikoshi Defense Squad on Twitter primed them to use.

So what is the point?  Basically this: In going for the lazy/easy callback in both the cover design and Dai (plate-hair kid)'s role in the final chapter more generally, Horikoshi landed on an "everything comes full circle" ending when what the story desperately needed was an indicator of change.

We didn't need to know that a kid with low self-confidence and nothing to speak of in the quirk department can still become a Pro Hero if he[1] wants to.  We already knew that because it's what the whole story of BNHA was about!  Deku passing the torch/paying it forward is nice if all you care about is Deku's personal arc, but it's sheer reductiveness if you care about literally anything else.  If there was going to be a kid getting Deku's encouragement and help at the end, if that's the ending Hori was absolutely set on, it shouldn't have been the Deku Redux kid; it shouldn't have been the weak kid who has already been metaphorically proven capable of becoming a Hero.

1: And of course it would be a boy.

It should have been the troubled kid, the one from the bad family situation, the one who isn't sure whether he even believes in this Hero thing.  It should have been the kid who, if nothing about Hero Society had changed, would’ve been rejected by the whole corrupt system—in so many words, the Tenko Redux kid.  That's the one who we saw could not become a Hero under the previous system.  That's who we needed to demonstrate the system's improvement.

Instead, all we get is Deku helping himself.  And it fits, I guess, because “himself” is the only sort of person Deku ever wanted to save anyway—remember that in the very first chapter, Deku tells All Might that he wants to be a Hero because he was never “saved” as a kid and so he thinks saving is the coolest thing ever.  Implicitly, then, Deku wanted to be the kind of Hero who could have saved the kid he was, and that tendency to reserve his compassion for people he can recognize himself in—the crying children and the Hero wannabes—is consistent throughout the series.  Dai, then, simply becomes the very last of these examples, the chance for Deku to tell his middle school self that he, too, can be a great Hero.

And that’s quite a choice, isn’t it?  Take a second to consider the implications there. The metaphorical parallel Deku helps is his middle school self, not his childhood self—there’s no evidence that Dai was bullied on the same level young Izuku was, and we sure didn’t see anyone telling him to jump off a roof.  So, who does save those children, then, in this grand, improved version of Hero Society?  Does anyone?

Well, not really. Not that we’re shown. Indeed, the child who was the closest analogue to young Izuku—a weak and seemingly quirkless boy who stuck his neck out for other rejected children, who still stubbornly wanted to be a Hero despite a parent's disapproval—was Tenko, and Deku pointedly did not save him.

To be clear, I don’t mean that just in the sense that Deku failed to save the adult Tenko became, but even in the emotional sense that the series clearly wants me to believe Deku succeeded at, the saving of the boy's heart? I don’t think Deku even managed that.  Sure, he might have protected the echo of that child from a few memories, might have held his hands for a few exchanges of dialogue, but then the boy transformed back into the form of the Villain he'd become and was swallowed down the spiritual maw of the man from whom society failed to save Tenko to begin with! And what was Deku doing as this happened? Absolutely nothing but yelling impotently as he got blown backward and out of the mindscape.

Imagine that Deku had found some way to cheer up Izumi Kouta only for Muscular to kill the kid thirty seconds later.  No one would be saying, “I think Deku still saved him—his heart, anyway,” if Deku got Kouta to smile and admit that Heroes were actually pretty cool only to do nothing but scream helplessly as he watched Muscular pulverize Kouta’s ribcage with one gentle squeeze.[2]

2: Mind you, this comparison is flawed!  Unlike AFO’s vestige, Muscular doesn’t turn up to kill a child as a direct result of Deku’s own actions. Also unlike the events of the final battle, Deku doesn't jump up and personally administer the killing blow to the still-screaming victim, either.

It just leaves me thinking about some of the stuff @codenamesazanka has said about how the narrative treats Shigaraki and Deku helping him: not as something Deku has a duty to do, not something Hero Society on the whole owes Shigaraki (and all the other metaphorical expy/future Shigarakis), but rather a bonus, a nice extra, a demonstration to shine up Deku's Hero cred because he's making efforts no one else would bother with and that no one would reasonably expect him to make. It's not Deku’s job to save the Tenkos or the young Izukus of the world; apparently that just falls to society at large.

So then, what was the point of making Tenko/Tomura such an extreme case of someone who started in a similar place to Deku?  Why make him, also, a weak kid who was told he couldn't be a Hero, if you're not going to have Deku save him in the way no one saved Deku himself?

From where I'm sitting, the answer is, "It seemed like a good idea to Horikoshi at the time, but proved to be poorly thought out."  But if Deku failing to save his own closest childhood analogue was where the story was going the whole time, then Shigaraki should never have been used to parallel Deku to begin with.  It's just a damned waste of Shigaraki as a character, an insult to everything he represented, to use him for ~the parallels~ throughout the entirety of the story except the very beginning and the very end.

Anyway, Pro Heroes are bullshit and the ending should have been them being radically reconceived from the ground up with input from all the people they failed to save.  But again, if you have to still have Heroes-qua-Heroes at the end, and you have to have some stupid thematic echo because you as an author think callbacks are the single most compelling storytelling tool of all time, then everything we got on Dai should have been for Scissors-kun instead, and here I am very much including Dai's scene before the first war. An unsettling scene of a strange child with his mouth sewn shut, stuck in a straitjacket in a dark room should have been the last thing we saw before launching into the day of the raids, an apparent element for the future in the same way that so many future Villains were first shown in the wake of Stain's arrest.

See, Shigaraki’s own destructiveness is what ultimately frees Scissors-kun from the basement, “saving” this rejected, abused child in a way no Hero ever managed or even knew to try, just as Shigaraki brought light and a strange sort of hope to the lives of so many others whom Heroes failed.  However, Shigaraki couldn't carry his ambitions through to the end. He was never able to meet the kid he indirectly saved, never able to offer that appallingly abused victim an avenue for his signature brand of rough justice. Heroes stopped him from doing so. So then, who will help Scissors-kun?

If we’re to believe that the story's protagonist has made a real difference, that Deku and his classmates have changed the world for the better, then we don't need to see them helping a kid who we already know is going to turn out fine because “he” aleady did. We need to see them help the people that previously only Villains would have helped, picking up the torch they struck from Shigaraki’s hands.

So sure, keep the scene with Granny Evil and Scissors-kun if you must, to show that it’s not only Heroes but also the broader Hero Society that’s changed. After that, though, show Deku stepping in.  Show him taking an interest in this kid as a way to keep his promises—to Shigaraki, that the rejection and obliviousness that he sought to destroy have indeed been destroyed and will remain so, and to Spinner, that Deku will remember Shigaraki for the rest of his life. 

When Deku is older and in a position to give advice to a kid who’s floundering and uncertain of what to do with his life because of what people around him say about him, make that character echo the characters the old system failed to save, not the character who the entire story proved would do just fine.

For god's sake, ditch Deku Redux.

Now, I know the obvious rejoinder here: We can’t use Deku’s story to say that BNHA already showed us that Dai would be fine because Dai has a quirk where Deku did not, therefore Deku’s path would not be open to Dai.  To this, I would reply that neither Deku nor Dai specify that Dai wants/is able to be a top Hero, merely that he be the kind of Hero people can admire—which the story has also already proven true!

Ojiro got into UA with nothing but one (1) extra limb.

Manual has a perfectly middling quirk that turned out to be absolutely crucial in two different wars because it was the right quirk at the right time.

Wash’s quirk makes strong bubbles. 

Like, this list is not short.  Manifest Plates might or might not make Dai Hero Billboard material, but one of the major points of the endgame was the sublime and noble value of helping when you can, in the way that you can.  So to reiterate, we didn’t need that to be proven again in the epilogue.

If anything, going the route of retreading the same story makes the epilogue much worse! Not only do we not get to see how this society is helping the people the old society most profoundly failed—victims who fall through the cracks and become Villains—but in seeing yet another a weak kid being mocked for his heroic aspirations, we find that we’ve barely moved a step beyond the exact same place we started.

That’s the message Horikoshi chose to go with, for both the closing chapters of the story and the story’s final volume cover.  Truly, as art that summarizes the story goes, it’s a masterful choice!  And that's the whole problem. The cover of Volume 42 is a perfect illustration of the self-absorbed, cynical, cyclical nature of BNHA's endgame. Little wonder, then, that it's hated by the same people who hated said endgame.

[serqphites]

Vamp vicky neuman fic... I beg...

I GOT YOUUUU!!! the vamp brain rot needs to be studied like i literally cannot get it out of my head. first vicky req in what feels like years<3 in this i just got rid of her powers bc i just wanna focus on the vampire part:) also in my mind they live in somewhere like forks in this! sorry i'm a twilight girly at heart 🤷🏽‍♀️

18+, mdni, vic goes down on r while they are on their period, cannibalism mentions, murder mentions, blood mentions obviously, lmk if i missed anything!

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⋆.˚ okay now we’ve all heard of cocky vampire vic, but what about ashamed vamp vic? the woman who lays awake at night, watching you closely as you sleep. she is finally relaxed, chest unmoving as she no longer has to focus on 'breathing'. her gaze is fixated on your peaceful expression, while in her mind she contemplates your future together, almost arguing back and forth with herself. it's something she wants more than anything, more than she wants her humanity to belong to her for even a second longer, but is it even a possibility? is she even allowed to dream for a moment of spending the rest of her your life with you? could she go through with that, watching you grow old and eventually pass on, all while she doesn't look a day older than when you met?

⋆.˚ the time you found out is something she will never forget. how could she have been so stupid, so careless?

midnight cravings when she hasn't hunted in weeks are always disastrous for her, the thought of sinking her fangs into an unsuspecting deer keeping her mind more distracted than she'd ever like to admit. she remembers turning over to check her alarm clock, the neon red beams bouncing off of the walls surrounding her. 2:34am. she could be gone and back in half an hour, and you wouldn't know a thing, right? she couldn't have been more wrong if she tried, and the moment she realised this was when she snook back through the front door to your shared home, only to come face to face with you stood at the foot of the stairs, the blinding light of the torch from your phone causing her to flinch, "jesus baby, you tryin' to blind me?" she chuckles nervously, looking up once you've lowered your phone. your face says it all, mouth slightly ajar, eyes wide, face pale. it's in that moment that she remembers she is covered in blood, trickles of it still pouring from her mouth, staining the pajama shirt you'd bought her a few birthdays ago. it takes a lot of convincing for you to stop freaking out and just sit down with her so she can explain herself, and so she makes you promise to her you won't do anything until she's cleaned up and changed her shirt. your mind is on autopilot at this point, and you're not even sure what exactly you've just promised you won't do as victoria scurries off upstairs. thoughts race through your mind a million miles a second: is my girlfriend a murderer? is she a psychopath? is she a fucking cannibal!? after what feels like hours (realistically it was under 7 minutes) victoria makes me way, slowly, into the living room where she left you. she takes a hesitant seat beside you, eyes glued to your oak coffee table, "thank you... for staying." "why were you covered in blood, vic? why? are- are you some kind of murderer or something!?" you jump straight to the point, tone harsh and confused, partly scared. "no baby no!," victoria turns to you with furrowed brows, reaching out to take your hands into her own. you let her. "it's something i should have told you way too long ago, i was just, hell i don't know. i was scared." "vicky, i'm scared. you have to tell me what it is, please." you're begging at this point, pleading with her to just open up and quiet the theories circling your mind. surely there's some reasonable explanation to this whole ordeal. "i'm... i'm a vampire." (and now i'm cutting it short here because at this rate it'll end up just being a one-shot LMAO)

⋆.˚ as you get more and more used to the fact your girlfriend is a vampire, you can't help the drizzle of intrigue that comes along with it. you have so many questions to ask! i can picture it perfectly, being out on a walk through the woods with her, your lukewarm hand tensing in the grasp of her ice cold one.

"wait- how have you eaten breakfast and dinner with me everyday if you're a-" "i'm not just limited to blood, you know? just because i don't need food, doesn't mean i can't have food." she cuts you off, perfectly stopping you before you can blurt out exactly what she is. nodding, your eyes scan your surroundings, and you catch a glimpse of a squirrel climbing it's way up a tree. "hey! can you eat those?" you turn to her before whipping back to face the direction you spotted the squirrel in, arm extending to point over at it. "i could, but i wouldn't." "why's that?" "not good enough, they hold barely enough blood to keep me full for an hour, they're a light snack at best." she looks to you with a gentle smile, honestly enjoying how your interest has peaked in her... lifestyle.

⋆.˚ now it's time for the nsfw part... and shoot me but i cannot stop thinking about vamp!vicky eating you out on your period. also going with a sinners vibe, imagine the glowing eyes in the dark... anyone else soaked ahahaha what

imagine your hands in her hair, her face buried so deep in your blood soaked pussy you're surprised she can even breathe. well, until you remember she doesn't actually need to breathe (easily the best part about her vampirism, she never needs to come up for air). you roll your hips into her face as her tongue works wonders on your swollen clit, your head rolling back with a spew of curses following. "fuck babe- right there- yeah right there- so fucking good!" the words leave your mouth without you even trying to speak, and from the finger vicky adds to your tight as anything vagina, she clearly fucking liked it. you manage to lift your head long enough to look down at her, her arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping them in an unnaturally firm hold. glowing eyes meet your own in the darkness of your bedroom, and for just a moment she pulls away to smirk up at you, a mixture of blood and slick coating her lips and all the way down to her chin. the sight alone makes you feel like climaxing.

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[dreamofstarlight]

President Johnson, Mr. Speaker, Mr. Chief Justice, President Eisenhower, Vice President Nixon, President Truman, Reverend Clergy, fellow citizens

We observe today not a victory of party but a celebration of freedom--symbolizing an end as well as a beginning--signifying renewal as well as change. For I have sworn before you and Almighty God the same solemn oath our forbears prescribed nearly a century and three-quarters ago.

The world is very different now. For man holds in his mortal hands the power to abolish all forms of human poverty and all forms of human life. And yet the same revolutionary beliefs for which our forebears fought are still at issue around the globe--the belief that the rights of man come not from the generosity of the state but from the hand of God.

We dare not forget today that we are the heirs of that first revolution. Let the word go forth from this time and place, to friend and foe alike, that the torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans--born in this century, tempered by war, disciplined by a hard and bitter peace, proud of our ancient heritage--and unwilling to witness or permit the slow undoing of those human rights to which this nation has always been committed, and to which we are committed today at home and around the world.

Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and the success of liberty.

This much we pledge--and more.

To those old allies whose cultural and spiritual origins we share, we pledge the loyalty of faithful friends. United there is little we cannot do in a host of cooperative ventures. Divided there is little we can do--for we dare not meet a powerful challenge at odds and split asunder.

To those new states whom we welcome to the ranks of the free, we pledge our word that one form of colonial control shall not have passed away merely to be replaced by a far more iron tyranny. We shall not always expect to find them supporting our view. But we shall always hope to find them strongly supporting their own freedom--and to remember that, in the past, those who foolishly sought power by riding the back of the tiger ended up inside.

To those people in the huts and villages of half the globe struggling to break the bonds of mass misery, we pledge our best efforts to help them help themselves, for whatever period is required--not because the communists may be doing it, not because we seek their votes, but because it is right. If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich.

To our sister republics south of our border, we offer a special pledge--to convert our good words into good deeds--in a new alliance for progress--to assist free men and free governments in casting off the chains of poverty. But this peaceful revolution of hope cannot become the prey of hostile powers. Let all our neighbors know that we shall join with them to oppose aggression or subversion anywhere in the Americas. And let every other power know that this Hemisphere intends to remain the master of its own house.

To that world assembly of sovereign states, the United Nations, our last best hope in an age where the instruments of war have far outpaced the instruments of peace, we renew our pledge of support--to prevent it from becoming merely a forum for invective--to strengthen its shield of the new and the weak--and to enlarge the area in which its writ may run.

Finally, to those nations who would make themselves our adversary, we offer not a pledge but a request: that both sides begin anew the quest for peace, before the dark powers of destruction unleashed by science engulf all humanity in planned or accidental self-destruction.

We dare not tempt them with weakness. For only when our arms are sufficient beyond doubt can we be certain beyond doubt that they will never be employed.

But neither can two great and powerful groups of nations take comfort from our present course--both sides overburdened by the cost of modern weapons, both rightly alarmed by the steady spread of the deadly atom, yet both racing to alter that uncertain balance of terror that stays the hand of mankind's final war.

So let us begin anew--remembering on both sides that civility is not a sign of weakness, and sincerity is always subject to proof. Let us never negotiate out of fear. But let us never fear to negotiate.

Let both sides explore what problems unite us instead of belaboring those problems which divide us.

Let both sides, for the first time, formulate serious and precise proposals for the inspection and control of arms--and bring the absolute power to destroy other nations under the absolute control of all nations.

Let both sides seek to invoke the wonders of science instead of its terrors. Together let us explore the stars, conquer the deserts, eradicate disease, tap the ocean depths and encourage the arts and commerce.

Let both sides unite to heed in all corners of the earth the command of Isaiah--to "undo the heavy burdens . . . (and) let the oppressed go free."

And if a beachhead of cooperation may push back the jungle of suspicion, let both sides join in creating a new endeavor, not a new balance of power, but a new world of law, where the strong are just and the weak secure and the peace preserved.

All this will not be finished in the first one hundred days. Nor will it be finished in the first one thousand days, nor in the life of this Administration, nor even perhaps in our lifetime on this planet. But let us begin.

In your hands, my fellow citizens, more than mine, will rest the final success or failure of our course. Since this country was founded, each generation of Americans has been summoned to give testimony to its national loyalty. The graves of young Americans who answered the call to service surround the globe.

Now the trumpet summons us again--not as a call to bear arms, though arms we need--not as a call to battle, though embattled we are-- but a call to bear the burden of a long twilight struggle, year in and year out, "rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation"--a struggle against the common enemies of man: tyranny, poverty, disease and war itself.

Can we forge against these enemies a grand and global alliance, North and South, East and West, that can assure a more fruitful life for all mankind? Will you join in that historic effort?

In the long history of the world, only a few generations have been granted the role of defending freedom in its hour of maximum danger. I do not shrink from this responsibility--I welcome it. I do not believe that any of us would exchange places with any other people or any other generation. The energy, the faith, the devotion which we bring to this endeavor will light our country and all who serve it--and the glow from that fire can truly light the world.

And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you--ask what you can do for your country.

My fellow citizens of the world: ask not what America will do for you, but what together we can do for the freedom of man.

Finally, whether you are citizens of America or citizens of the world, ask of us here the same high standards of strength and sacrifice which we ask of you. With a good conscience our only sure reward, with history the final judge of our deeds, let us go forth to lead the land we love, asking His blessing and His help, but knowing that here on earth God's work must truly be our own.

President John F Kennedy’s Inaugural Address (January 20, 1961)

[diamondheartyux]

Sacrifice Me

Part 4 of Sinful Sacraments

Read Part One

Read Part Two

Read Part Three

Check out the playlist

Genre: Smut: 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 6.2K

Warnings: phew buddy, please let me know if I miss anything because........

aggression, virginity, unprotected sex(wrap it up besties), bondage, cult representation, small group activity, dubcon\noncon, sharp objects, blood\slight blood play, Non HEA (heavy on this), death, dead dove

My heart fluttered in my chest as I slid my small hand delicately into his large palm. His fingers curled around mine and I swore my heart would beat right out of my chest. I had dreamt of this moment for months but had always been too shy to act on what I was feeling. I took in the man before me. His raven colored hair was slicked back today,, long bangs hanging in whisps almost obscuring the view of inky colored pearls. He was beautiful and no one could deny it. His sun kissed skin all but glowed in the setting sun. The dark clouds on the horizon threaten to disrupt the setting light as it paints the sky in vibrant shades of pinks, purples, and orange. 

He tugs me alongside him gently and I follow, my steps double his to match his stride. My body buzzes in excitement and nerves. The air whips around us as a strong breeze passes through and the bottom of my floral dress flutters. The tall grass around us sways in response to the draft as rustling greets our ears in response. The flowers teeter, fighting to stand straight against the harsh gush and display their petals. It was a peaceful moment and I took it all in to reminisce on when I was safe in bed under my plushy covers.

In the distance was a clearing where a stone carved table set rather high in the midst surrounded by old fashioned, unlit torches. My stomach lept at the sight. It was a picnic date deep in the meadow, alone with him, set away from prying eyes and damning whispers. No need to worry about anyone else catching his attention or anyone discovering his external affairs. I can relish in knowing those soft obsidian eyes were only for me. I had often daydreamt about him nestled comfortably in the pews every Sunday as he stood on the stage before me. It was a surreal moment, that he had perceived me, chosen me. The basket he carries in his opposite hand bobs back and forth lightly, crashing into the grass as we stroll closer to our destination. A smile creeps across my face at the boyish habit as I watch him swing it subconsciously. 

Birds chirp softly against the sound of a chorus of crickets and locusts, all blending together in the evening hours to supply us with a soundtrack to our time together. The tall grass broke at the edge, giving way to the open area. There were no chairs near the table but steel circular hooks obviously driven deep in the stone which I found odd. I shook it off, not wanting to take any focus off of the god of a man still clutching my hand in his. A blanket lay spread next to the table and, after placing the basket down, he gently tugged me to sit, lowering his body in time with mine. 

His hand released mine and I watched as his eyes surveyed me from head to toe. A small smirk splayed across his rouge colored lips. My eyes glued to those lips, memorizing the arch in his cupid's bow and the fullness in both his top and bottom lips. They were plump and I ached to see if they were as soft as I often imagined they were.His lips curl upwards, parting slightly as his eyes roam back to mine and find me focused on his mouth. His slender fingers crossed the small space between us, his right hand sliding gently over my exposed leg before journeying under the hem of my dress to caress my left knee. My stomach and heart both lurched at the touch, a tingle sparking in my belly before shooting downwards. A bold warmth radiated between my thighs and I was certain he would feel it from where he was sitting. 

I shuffled ever so slightly to not warrant a loss in the contact between his hand and my knee. My hands shook slightly as I placed my left hand atop his right, coaxing him to move it higher. Obediently, he drifted it upward more to rest on my thighs, his body leaning in closer to mine as he made way upwards. My gaze flitters to his hand before finding his eyes once more. Another flutter erupts in my stomach as I take him in. God, he was gorgeous and I had spent many days hoping for this moment. So, against the assaulting anxiety and the jittering in my hands, I quickly closed the distance between us to press my mouth against his before I lost my nerve.  

I took every ounce of strength I had within me to not moan at the contact. His lips were lush. It was like two puffy, pink clouds set against mine. I pulled back hesitantly, unsure of where to go from here. His free hand came up to cradle my cheek before he tugged me gently, bringing me back to him. Our mouths clashed softly, lips parting to taste each other. I savored the feeling, resisting the urge to press myself against him before I swallowed him whole. His lips part to allow his tongue to sweep against mine, asking for permission to enter my mouth for explanation. I grant him permission, my tongue rushing to meet his in a dance all their own. 

I revel in the taste of him, desperate for more. My hands move softly to run up his forearms before clenching the fabric of his shirt sleeves to tug him forward. He rocks towards me, shifting onto his knees to oblige. His lips never leave mine as he crawls over my body, lowering me flat against the ground as he goes. I tighten my grip on his sleeves, parting my legs to allow him to hover between them. He places a hand on the side of my face, his somber eyes taking in my features . His lips meet mine with a heightened fervor, coaxing a small muffled moan from me. I close my legs around him as his hand slips from my cheek and drifts down my neck to stop on my chest. He softly squeezes my breast through the fabric of my clothes and my breath hitches.

He runs his hand from my chest down my stomach to the hem of my dress before sliding it underneath, bringing it up with him as he travels back towards my face. He pushes the fabric up before pulling the opposite side up as well, bunching it between around my sternum. He runs his fingertips lightly over the thin fabric of my bra before drawing them down my bare stomach, causing a burst of butterflies to roll flutter frantically in my abdomen. My chest rises and falls quickly, my lips all but numb now against his. He pulls his mouth from mine, a small whine filling the space between our lips in protest. He places a small kiss on the corner of my mouth before kissing my cheek. 

A kiss falls against my neck and I shiver before he continues his travels. He makes his way down the center of my chest before he plants a kiss on my breast. They ache with need and he teases instead of paying them the attention I desperately need. I arch my back lightly, pushing myself up in hopes for his skin to come in contact with mine. He runs his fingers delicately over the fabric of my bra as his lips come to press gently on the opposite side. Another tingle sparks through me and I push my hips upward against him. I clench his sleeves more before releasing them, my hands traveling to grasp any part of him that I can. His lips return to mine for one, soft peck before he pushes himself up onto his knees, a soft smile gracing his already heavenly feature. 

He offers his hand to me and pulls me back to a seated position when I rest my against his upturned palm, my dress slipping down to my knees once again. He reaches down, gripping the fabric delicately before tugging it upward, allowing me to lift my arms as he pulls it over my head. I felt vulnerable sitting in my underwear across from this man that I had spent weeks yearning for. He grabbed my arm softly, pulling me to stand upright before him. He side steps, reaching down to open the basket before returning in front of me with something in his hand. Walking behind me, he reaches around my sides to grab what is a strip of fabric before he places it across my eyes. It’s a sheer soft fabric, allowing in light but obscuring my vision otherwise. I feel him tie it gently at the back of my head, being careful not to catch any of my hair in the knot. 

Once he assured it was secured properly, his hands slid tenderly down my arms before coming around my waist. He wraps them delicately as he pulls me against his body, rolling his hips against my back so I can feel him pressing against me. The reduction in my sight leaves my other senses heightened. Feeling his hardness pressing into my soft skin causes my body to hum in anticipation. He was a craving that was so close to being satisfied and I was willing to do whatever he wanted of me at that moment that when he pulled his arms from around me and withdrew his body to grasp my elbows, I was most inclined to allow him to lead me anywhere. 

He walked me softly, stopping briefly to come before me. His features were opaque through my blindfold and I couldn’t make out any part of his face besides the outline. His hands came around me again, resting gently before he lifted me, sitting me softly on the rock table. My heart beat wildly in my chest. The excitement of being at his mercy was almost enough to make me burst. My body was on fire, an almost deadly combination of need and anxiety swirling below the surface as it tumbled under my skin to combine into one powerful blaze. 

His lips press against mine again and my hands come to his body, wild in their exploration. I wanted to feel him, to touch him, to have him pressed against me and buried deep inside me desperately. I tug and pull at him as my lips move greedily against his succulent, heart shaped ones. His tongue raps against my mouth, asking impatiently for permission to enter and I grant it to him. Every swirl grows in need, faster and more impatient before he pulls away from me to lower me flat on the stone beneath me. It’s cool against my skin, almost a crisp sensation and it sends my skin into goosebumps. 

His presence fades and I begin to hear rustling to my left. Seconds later, his footsteps travel around the slab only stopping momentarily before continuing. As he walks, I begin to smell burning from the torches he must have lit. The sun was still setting, the colors of the sky muted for me but I could make out where the night was chasing the setting sun over me. A clash of dark and light, fighting for their time to watch us from above. After he finishes his journey around, he returns to climb over me. His body straddles mine, his legs on each side of me, and he softly takes my arms to pin them over my head before he nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck. His lips press softly against my skin, the feeling eliciting the electricity humming in each and every cell of my body. 

My mouth parts slightly to allow a quiet moan to escape into the air around us. His teeth graze my neck lightly then begin their descent towards my chest. He stops every so often to leave small nibbles on my skin, his hands coming off mine above my head once he was far enough down. He trails further down my stomach and stops after placing a kiss right below my belly button. His hand grazes down to come between my legs, stroking my softly between the thin fabric of my panties. The touch was heavenly, even better than I had anticipated and I instinctively rolled my hips against it. 

He wastes no more time after the slight tease and immediately tugs my panties down. I lift my hips upwards to allow them to slip down my ass as he pulls them down my legs. He grips my knees with his hands tightly, squeezing lightly in what I can only believe is a struggle to not lose control. He pulls my legs apart quickly before burying his face between them. He all but nuzzles me with his nose, his tongue licking upward between my slick folds to lap over my clit lightly. I shudder, the pleasure shimming through me in an almost volatile manner. His tongue returns to my clit, lapping hungrily as it swirls and spins. I moan lightly, my back arch as my hands all but fly to his head. I run my fingers into his hair, twisting it between them tightly. 

He continued to assault my sex with his mouth, each flick more rapid than the last. Something began to burn in my belly, another unfamiliar feeling to put a name to. He was the first man to see me, to touch me, to fuck me and I was at his mercy. He slips a finger inside me, plunging deep and the tenderness he showed me initially was slowly melting away. He pushed his finger in quickly, curling it at the tip with ever inward motion. His tongue worked faster, stopping momentarily only to suck at my clit lightly. I was overwhelmed and the fire in my stomach grew with every flick and every thrust of his fingers. 

When I felt like I couldn’t handle anymore, he added another finger and his pace quickened. His hands worked my roughly in rhythm with his mouth and my body was on fire underneath him. I moaned at every movement he made against me, my hips began to buck almost frantically against his face and my hands strained to hold him down. An explosion goes off within me, the fire burning in my stomach setting me ablaze. I cry out, my head thrown back as it burns deliciously, the heat searing me as the temperature fluctuates, washing over me entirely. My legs close around his head and, paired with the force of my hands, keep him trapped between them as I grind against him to ride it out. 

My legs quiver around him before releasing slowly to allow him up. I wished desperately to be able to see his face, to see his lips shine with the gleam of my wetness painted across them but when I looked downward to him,  all I could see was a dark splotch. I groaned at my vision before lying my head back on the stone underneath me. He removed himself from me and I heard more rustling before he returned, a small metallic click coming from somewhere. I turned my head towards it despite being unable to see, my curiosity leading my actions. I felt his hands return to my body, fingers curling around the straps of my bra. He pulled them down, threading my arms out of them, before he slid his hands around towards my back. I arched upwards to allow him the ability to unsnap it and I felt as it pulled away, exposing my breasts fully. 

A cool breeze whipped, dancing across my bare skin and I felt the prickles washing over my skin and my nipples harden slightly at it. Before I could think too much about it, his hands were cupping my breasts, the warmth of his hands a welcomed feeling. He kneaded roughly and his fingers rolled my already pert nipples quickly before pinching them hard. He pulled them out, tugging them hard and I gasped loudly. Pain shot into my breasts before melting into a pleasurable sensation that sent a tingle between my legs. I felt myself growing warmer once again as he played with my nipples, stroking the fire once more. 

He brought his mouth to my chest, sucking a nipple into his warm, wet mouth. He resumed his kneading with one hand and his tongue darted across my other nipple quickly. He suckled softly before bringing his teeth to graze it then ultimately capturing it between his teeth. He tugged it hard, sending a slash of pain outwards into my body. I cried out softly before the cry morphed into a low moan. He switches quickly, his mouth and hand trading places as he teases me roughly, his fingers digging into my supple breasts painfully. He grinds against my bare body, his clothed erection pressing against the warmth between my legs. I moan softly and roll my body to meet his. 

He grabbed my nipple with his teeth one last night, pulling it with him as he retreated only to let it pop from his mouth painfully when he sat up.I can hear clothing rustle as he moves off the stone slab and from over top of me. There’s the sound of a belt ringing, the buckle dangling as it’s being removed. I hear another soft sound after, like clothes landing on the ground and then I feel his hands around my legs again. The warmth of his skin is the only indication I have of where he is in proximity to my body as the sky above us has now been blanketed in darkness. I can see no more shadows and no more outlines. 

He uses his legs to spread mine wide enough to settle between and I bring them up, bending at the knees. He wraps his hands around the top of my thighs and pulls me down closer to him. I shiver as the heat of his body kisses the chill on my skin. He positions my legs on his shoulders and I feel him lean forward before I feel his erection against me. He slides himself between my folds, traveling down and up then down again before he pushes forward inside me. 

I gasp and then moan lowly, the sensation indescribable. It was delicious and my body sighed in relief at finally receiving the fullness it craved. He doesn’t tease but instead drives into me forcefully, his fingers wrapping tightly around my thighs. His pace is slow at first but he increases before he’s eventually slamming into me hard and fast. Moans and whimpers pour out of me in a waterfall of sounds to be carried away on the breeze. The trees sway, their leaves rustling loudly as the wind twists and turns through them. I can smell water in the air, the last signal of the storm that was brewing in time with the pleasure crescending in my stomach. 

Each thrust is rewarded with a moan of his own. The sounds fueling my own as well as the urge to coax more from him. I rock myself against him in time with his aggressive thrusts. He pushes forward and I rush to meet him, our bodies meeting it a satisfying mix of sounds. I run my hands up my stomach to grip my breasts and knead them, mirroring the way he kneaded them earlier. I pinch and roll my nipples but with less force to send more fuel to the embers simmering inside me. He runs his hands down my thighs, leaning forward. I feel the warmth of his arm across my chest and hear something scrape the stone before his arms retreats. His thrusts slow and I groan in disappointment.  

 I feel his palm run up my body but his other hand is closed around something as it ascends. He wraps his free hand around my neck, squeezing one time before he releases it. I feel something sharp press against my skin directly between my breasts. Fear erupts in me causing my heart to pound for a different reason now. His breathing is strained almost as if he was struggling to maintain control. The sharp feeling travels slowly up and down my chest before he drags it across my nipple and it disappears. I shivered at it, though I wasn’t sure if it was from arousal or anxiety. 

He chuckles, a sound that should be light and music to my ears but his was low and laced with something dark. The feeling returns just about my left breast and, without any warning, he pushes it down hard enough to break skin as he begins dragging it slowly to the right. An unwanted, burning pain pierces through me and I cry out. I can feel the warmth of my blood gathering as it waits to make its escape from me. It was a light bleed, not enough to kill me but enough to begin dripping down my chest. Tears welled in my eyes instantly and my previous pleasure was replaced with outright fear. 

I felt that sharpness again right below my sternum. He dug down into my skin as he sliced another line down between my breasts before stopping above my belly button. Tears fell rapidly, soaking the fabric across my eyes as well as dripping down my cheeks. I cried out again before sobs escaped my lips and a white hot pain seared through me. I tried to move out from under him but he shoved me back quickly, his hands weighing on my shoulder to hold me in place. He continued to thrust in and out of me despite my cries and pleas. His breathing was erratic and his touch was rough. 

He removed one hand to trail his fingers through the blood pooling on my chest. I winced at the sting his touch brought despite how lightly his fingers played in the crimson lake. I didn’t understand what was happening or why he was doing what he was doing or how he was enjoying it. My chest was burning more and more as he ran his hand down it, coating his fingers with my blood before he lifted his hand. I could hear him hum softly before I heard a wet popping sound. I shivered at the image of him sucking my blood off his fingers, the thought sending more sobs through my body. His hand returned to begin spreading the fluid across my body.. He slid his wet hands over my breasts before bringing them up my neck to my face, leaning into me. His palm rested against my chin while he painfully pushed his fingers upwards against my cheek before clasping his hand around it and he growled softly. 

He squeezed my face harshly, my face throbbing underneath his moistened hold. He begins to slam into me harder and faster, his movements more erratic. His warm breath ghosting in short spurts against my nose. He grips my face harder still, eliciting another cry from my lips. He moans at my sound as he quickly pulls himself out of me, crawling upwards to straddle my bleeding chest all while pinning my arms underneath him. He brings his throbbing erection to my chest, circling it against the cross shaped cut. His hand pumps himself almost violently before I hear him all but roar into the night sky. Warmth hits the center of my incision as he releases himself there. I lie frozen beneath him as my tears continue to ebb as the journey down my face. 

After his orgasm resides, I feel his fingers back on my chest as they swirl to mix his seed and my blood together before they press against my lips. I clamp my mouth shut, denying him permission to place them inside. “Open your mouth.” he commands and I shake my head back and forth quickly, sobs banging violently inside my mouth, desperate to get out. “Open.Your.Mouth.” he spits through gritted teeth, “Or I’ll make you.” I refuse further and he grabs my chin, squeezing forcefully. I cry out involuntarily and when I open my mouth to do so, he shoves his covered fingers down the back of my throat. I gag harshly as more tears begin to flow freely from my eyes. “Clean them off like a good girl.” he barks and I obey this time in hopes that this was the end of everything. I flick my tongue around his digits and suck them desperately until he pulls them out of my mouth. 

He hums his approval before he begins swirling his fingers around in my drying blood. His movements are jagged, strained even, as if he was still struggling to contain his desire. My heart faltered, the idea of being finished here ruined. “Pastor Park, why-...why are you doing this to me?” I ask tearfully.  He continues to run his hands across my bloodied chest, occasionally squeezing my breasts roughly before he begins to speak. “I’ve had my faith tested many times over my life,” he whispers into the air around us. Thunder rumbles somewhere quietly in the distance. “Each time, I thought it was the ultimate test. Each time I thought I would reap my rewards for remaining the ever faithful servant. I have led many sheep back to the flock. I have cast aside worldly treasures. I stand behind the pulpit every Sunday morning and deliver his messages. I have done everything obediently only to be met with more tests.” A soft flash of light permeates my blindfold, lighting up the night sky. 

“But this time,..” his voice drops to an almost maniacal level before he chuckles, danger in his tone. “Just as God commanded Abraham to sacrifice his son, he has commanded me to make the same decision. A small act to test my devotion to him and you, my star, are the only one worthy enough of this position. You are my final test and I will ascend into the thrones of heaven through you.” The knife clatters next to my head and I begin to struggle underneath him. I yell out for help, my voice lost in the sound of the impending storm. He chuckles again before leaning over me, his chest pressing on my face. I hear more metallic clanking before he pries one of my arms from under him. He brings it over my head and I feel something cool clamp around it before he repeats the process on the other side. My eyes widen in realization against the strip over them. I pull my hands in attempts to lower them only to be met with resistance and more metal jingling. 

He lifts off me, running his blood caked hand down my legs and shackles before moving to do the same to the other. Terror fills every cell in my body as I struggle against my bindings. Sobs wrack my body as I continue to trash widely, pulling my restrainants taut. I hear him chuckle once more, the fight slowly leaving my body little by little. I slowly began to accept that I was going to die here and no one would know. All because I coveted a man of faith. The wind whips wildly around me as thunder dances closer. 

Amidst the building squall, I hear extra footsteps. Hope bubbles in my chest and I begin to scream frantically. The sound gets closer and closer before reaching me. I beg for help, pleading desperately for my life before I hear his voice again. “Oh, my sweet, naive star.” His hand slides around my face from my chin up as he rounds the head of the table I’m chained to. He leans his face to my ear to whisper. “They’re not here to save you.”

The hope that sprouted in my chest immediately withers, dying in the caked blood crossed across my chest. I wail loudly only for my mouth to be filled with something hard. I choke at the intrusion but it doesn’t get removed. Instead it moves faster, in and out in a rhythmic fashion. In my attempts to control my gagging, I didn't hear more footsteps circle around to the bottom of the table, but I felt the warmth of hands next to my legs as someone climbed between them. An unfamiliar voice spoke, the words carried away in the ever growing gale. In one swift motion, I was filled again. Despite myself, my body responded to the assault on my senses. If I wasn’t on the edge of my own death, I would have enjoyed it more. 

The betrayal hurt more than the laceration that was scabbing over on my chest. I saved myself like I had been taught and he took it from me and still wanted my life. Then he allowed others to sully me further before he sent me to the very God he was trying to prove himself to. Fresh tears ran down my cheeks, traveling the same path as the ones previously dried to it as they made their way to drip off my cheeks. 

The cocks buried in my mouth and genitals quickened their already zealous pace inside me. Fingers caressed my pussy lightly before circling my clit quickly and despite everything, bits of pleasure sparked through me. 

A moan slips from my throat, vibrating the cock slamming into my throat at an increasingly erratic pace. I hear a groan from above me as a hand comes to palm my chest aggressively, my nipples being pinched and pulled roughly. Between my legs, the strokes become harder as he pulls out almost completely before slamming back into me, rocking my body further up the rod ramming my throat. The air around me blends into a symphony of moans and groans before morphing into shaky breathing and telling groans. With one final pump into the back of my throat, the man above me growls loudly as he releases his sticky load against my throat in hard spurts. He rocks his hips against my face with each wave that washes over him, grunting softly with every forward motion, and I swallow the warm liquid as best I can before he pulls himself out of my mouth.

My body begins to rock faster as the one between my legs pounds into me at a sloppy pace. My breasts bounce almost painfully as I jolt up with each thrust. His fingers press almost hostilely against my clit as he presses himself forward to bury himself as far in me as he can. He moans instead of grunting or groaning as he fills me to the point of overflowing, holding himself inside me as I feel his cock twitch with every spurt. 

He backs off me quickly, leaving me exposed and I can feel his remnants dripping down me slowly. Anxiety fuels me. I didn’t know where Seonghwa was. Would I die now? Was he somewhere waiting to catch me unexpectedly? I couldn't hear over the storm and I jumped slightly as I felt a cold splash against me as the rain began to come down in thick drops. I shiver violently at it, my body aching for warmth when I feel some. A hand caressing my legs softly followed by the sharp point of undoubtedly a knife.

Terror pounds in my heart, bracing myself for more pain but I’m not met with it. Instead I’m met with his body nestled between my legs once again, an erection pressed against me as he leans forward to place a possessive kiss to my lips. I don’t return the gesture but rather I leave my mouth motionless in a hardened line but it doesn't stop him. He chuckles at my defiance, bringing his hands around my throat tightly. I gasp as the air allowed to my lungs is decreased and I instinctively try to bring my hands up to stop him before they’re met with resistance.His grip tightens and his other hand snakes between us to line himself up with my entrance. 

He slips into me easily, the path well lubricated from the previous patron and he moans softly. Despite everything, the sound was beautiful and it reignites the unsatisfied feeling I had been left with. His grip on my neck eases slightly but his hand remains firmly. His strokes are slow, vastly different from his previous time between my legs. The gentleness flowing from him at the moment washes over me, luring me under its spell and my body begins to react. Pleasure ripples through me. An excitement flutters in my chest as his hand squeezes my throat again before relaxing slightly. I begin to roll my hips up towards him eagerly as soft, sensual sounds ghost my lips with every stroke he makes. 

Rain begins to beat down against me, it’s chilly bite as sharp as the blade that carved into my chest previously. I quiver at the combination of sensations assaulting my body as thunder claps loudly around us. His pace begins to quicken as if to match the intensity of the sky above as it pours its energy down on us. He squeezes my throat harder, all the breath in my lungs halting and I open my mouth to gasp but no sound comes out. I strain against my bindings again despite knowing they’re there. He accelerates his strokes, each one rising in aggression and every thrust rocks my body forward. He groans low, an almost guttural sound that cascades over his lips. 

Lightning flashes overhead, the light a faint, misty flicker in my occluded vision. A warmth that had been building in my stomach coiled tightly and my body begged for its release. I could feel myself teetering on the edge and sensing this somehow, he began to drive into me faster. I wanted to moan loud and wildly, to voice the pleasure that I felt desperately but instead I was forced to remain silent, settling for them to die in my throat as they vibrated against his slender fingers. If he was going to sacrifice me, surely this was the time.

I could tell his control was slipping once again and I tried to help him over his own ledge the best I could before he snuffed the life from me. I bucked and rolled my hips in equal measure, my own release quivering inside as it waited for the right moment to spring free. He growled once more, his free hand reaching above me before returning to rest in a fist on my stomach. His pace never wavered as his voice strained to be heard against the raging storm. “Because I have not withheld myself from you, I ask that you bless me, O’ Lord,” he yells into the pitch black sky. “Bless me and make my descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky..” He rams into me harder and I groan, vibrating his fingers more.

“..and as the sand on the shores.” He moans under his breath, no doubt close to finding the high he was chasing. “Allow my descendants to take possession in the cities of their enemies…” He squeezes my neck more and I wait for something to snap at the pressure he’s put on it but rather than something in my neck snapping, the tension in my stomach snaps instead. His hand releases my neck and my body convulses as an explosion of pleasure and relief ripple through me. I see something glint through my blindfold but I’m too overcome with the tsunami that was devastating my body to care about it. “And through them all nations will be blessed!” he screams loudly as I see another glint before something plunges into my chest. 

White hot pain sears through me and I scream loudly, the sound transforming into a sob as tears roll down my chest. He continues to pump against my body, twisting the knife in my chest slowly. I yell out again as I feel the heat of my blood pouring out around the foreign object buried in my heart. He jabs it deeper and I can feel my head growing dizzy. He moves it around, inviting more burning pain to the wound before he pulls back quickly, withdrawing the blade to allow the crimson river to  gush out as it runs down my chest. 

Breathing becomes harder and my senses begin to dull. I can barely feel as he slams into me one last time. I can barely hear the animalistic growl he throws forcefully into the downpour that was soaking my dying body. I can barely feel as his body convulses as his orgasms devastate his body, his cock spurting his milky white seed deep inside me. His maniacal laughter is all but a whisper in the background now as my breathing slows. I can’t feel anything anymore. I try to lift my arm but nothing happens. I think I hear him speak. I think I feel him climbing onto me again. I think he stabs me again but I can’t tell. All I can finally feel is a sense of peace before everything stops. 

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Continuation of last Friday's prompt, as some of you asked for.

Extraterrestrial or an Illusion?

It takes a while to calm down. John’s screaming doesn’t last that long, but his heart races like he’s run for hours. He looks down at the two phones in his right hand. One is his own, the other is Sherlock’s, and John has no idea how the latter got there. The text Sherlock sent him only minutes earlier and John’s reply are still visible on the screen when John taps it.

Someone in the hall. Come at once. Be careful. SH

In the hall. Where are you?

John does not believe in anything paranormal, but he can’t explain this. The full moon still shines brightly, but John can see that clouds will soon obscure it. He shivers slightly from an unexpected chill, as if something cold just passed him.

Sherlock. Must find Sherlock.

He gazes at the stairs, takes a firmer grip on his gun, and ascends cautiously to the upper floor. No sounds from anywhere are heard. Apart from his pounding heart and his breathing. 

When he reaches the landing, he hesitates. 

Left, or right?

As he turns left, a sudden darkness sets in the corridor. The clouds have hidden the light from the moon effectively. John swallows hard, switches on his torch again, and walks to the first door, which is slightly ajar. He opens it carefully, and to his relief it makes no sound.

The room he enters is a nursery. All the toys are old, and some are even broken. A doll with half torn off hair, stares up at him with empty eye sockets. He turns around quickly with his gun raised. When he realises what’s making the sound he reacted to, he feels the hair on his head stand up. 

An antique rocking chair in a corner of the room is moving as if a person sits in it, but there’s no one there apart from John. The windows are closed, so it cannot be explained by the wind causing the chair to rock back and forth. He makes a sweep around the room and decides to move on to the next door. The chair stops rocking once he reaches the threshold.

His pulse slows down after he’s searched the other rooms. They’re all empty. He turns to explore the rooms on the right side of the stairs. A bright light makes him gasp, before he understands that the clouds have moved away from the surface of the moon.

Full moon frenzy can make the most rational person a little unhinged.

He takes a deep breath and opens the first door. It creaks. A lot. John winces, but there’s nothing for it. His determined steps carry him over the threshold and into a bathroom. In the corner is a large bathtub that stands on claw feet. On the floor is a wooden bucket. A big hole in the bottom tells him that it hasn’t been used for decades. The cabinet on the other wall is open, its doors long since removed. All the shelves are grey with dust and in the upper corner is a fragile spider’s web.

When he once again stands in the doorway, he freezes. The other three doors are all wide open. Before he entered the bathroom they were closed. His palms start to sweat again, and he almost loses the gun.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “If this is a trick, Sherlock, I’m going to kill you with my bare hands!”

The house is still eerily quiet. He steals himself for an encounter with whatever this house is concealing. Two of the rooms are empty, but the third, and last one is not.

A gigantic four-poster bed is oddly enough placed in the middle of the room instead of by the wall. It’s made of dark brown wood with twisted posts. John can’t see if anyone is lying there, because all four sides are covered with velvet curtains in dark green, adorned with gilt embroidery.

Apart from the large furniture, the room is bare. He walks around the bed, trying to get a glimpse through an opening in the curtains. When he finally finds one, his heart skips several beats, and his gun slips out of his hand. His trembling fingers clutch the velvet curtain and shoves it aside. On the bed lies Sherlock, dressed in his suit and Belstaff. His face is lit up by the moonlight. He looks peaceful, but too pale for John’s liking. The lack of pulse does that to a person, he muses, before everything goes black.

To be continued...

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[brykp]

THEORY: Lucifer Morningstar in Hazbin Hotel... Might Actually Be a Star

I was thinking of what Sera said to Charlie when she was first welcomed into Heaven... "Greetings, Daughter of the Morningstar"... or, did she enunciate morning-star? This is a real thing in the world that exists for us people on earth, in fact you can walk outside and see it very early every morning --- it is the last star shining in the sky. Tangent oncoming, but it gets back to the main point ----- Lucifer means "light-bearer", or, "light-bringer", because it calls forth the rising sun. In symbology, this has been interpreted as a man holding a torch. In Hazbin Hotel, we not only see Lucifer literally can produce fire from his hand, but this has been passed down to his daughter as well. They're light-bearers --- literally. Also, that is precisely what stars do... they produce light! Now let me advance to next bulletpoint of this post... Vivienne Medrano ALREADY used a "living" object, that can terraform into a more active form, in this web show. And that is none other than Kiki, the literal key to the hotel. She turns into a cat-semblant body.

On the same note, Vivienne Medrano is no stranger to humanoids or beings naturally being another thing. This was a primary feature of her extinct webcomic, Zoophobia, where every animal naturally has a humanesque form they can convert to whenever necessary. For example, Jackie is a great macaw (this isn't the parrot's true appearance, this is a format she takes alternatively):

Now, I know Lucifer is snake-coded, but I couldn't help but acknowledge how well-versed Vivienne Medrano seems to be in demonology and religion, to an extent, based on some videos from YouTuber cartoon analysis channels. And (I'm going to repeat, excuse my drawling), it is a common fact that the morning star.... in the sky... can be seen every morning. Hence, Sera uttered; "Greetings, daughter of the morning star". So, here's the next bulletpoint --- the acknowledgment of celestial bodies as sources of worship (astrology) is a key point in this universe. Stolas, a major character in the same world, studies and is a sort of regulator of the celestial bodies.

That's his whole schtick. Plus, he is royalty in Hell, so astrology is probably a no-shit presence of fact among the general population in Hell. On the the next bulletpoint: YouTube theorists and fans of both these web shows in general have expressed how they think Hazbin Hotel + Helluva Boss take place somewhere in 'outer space'. From the Pride Ring alone, we can see other celestial bodies IN the sky, like Heaven and a weird moon with a copy of Pride Ring's Pentagram on it. While I don't think the Hellaverse is in outer space exactly, I really think it's code for 'the heavenly realms'. Now on to the next and probably most important fact... now, what might the Pride Ring be? What does its parameter resemble? (Btw, follow this person on Tumblr and X, they are a great Lucy fan artist):

Not to mention the pentagram (which is also, coincidentally, and non-coincidentally a star-shape) floating right above it. What is a meteorite? A falling star. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What is my final say on this? I might say Lucifer is... well, a fallen star. He may or may not be a literal star in the show, but this is a huge probability in the Hellaverse considering it IS Vivienne Medrano's brainchild. This is my headcannon now... that because these are the heavenly realms, the most powerful beings/ characters can and do exist likely in alternate/ first forms in the same existential plane. Charlie is half human and half angel... or further, half star. Also, this means Lilith fucked a star. (And Eve too, oop.)

[avocado-writing]

HI IT’S THE CHILLY ANON, first off thank you sm that fic/drabble was absolutely tasty, very delicious

secondly !! if requests are still open (I tried to scroll back on your page to double check) could I perhaps! Request another astarion x tav/reader that’s afraid of the dark ?

giving you big hugs and a glass of water ^^

notes: thank you anon I am slurping it down mwah xx if you like my work, please reblog!

words: 1.1k

rating: T

pairing: astarion x reader

He hates the Underdark. 

More than anything because it reminds him of his life before, chained into the shadows without the possibility of being free in the sun, and he hates the idea of returning to that voluntarily. But the group insisted that it was the safest path to the Shadowlands - and gods know that sounds like a barrel of laughs, too - so here he is. Trudging. 

The excursion itself was bad, with its exploding fungi and minotaurs charging from nowhere, but things got catastrophically worse when that damned Bulette had appeared. Astarion is never a fan of enemies he can’t keep an eye on at all times so that thing surfacing scared the un-life out of him, and when you called a retreat the damned group got carved into two halves: Shadowheart and Karlach headed one way, towards the wide open mushroom fields, and the two of you another - into the shadowed safety of a cave. 

And then there was a bloody rockfall. 

It closed you off from them, splitting the bloody party like fools. Both of you trapped in a tunnel, covered in dust and dirt and feeling incredibly stupid indeed.

Alone together. 

Luckily Shadowheart had used a Sending spell to let you know they were attempting to find a way out, but it might take a while. Looks like they’ll have to source some explosives from somewhere in order to clear the debris from the cavemouth. With little else to do, you stayed put.

So here the two of you are, waiting for your rescue to be sprung with no real idea of a timeline. Astarion has been pacing, complaining as loudly as he can about the situation and listening to the echo of his own gripes, but you’ve been oddly… still. Sat against the rocky wall with a torch gripped so tightly in your hands that it’s changing the colour of your knuckles. The torch which, now he comes to think of it, you haven’t let go of since you climbed down that ridiculous ladder into this wretched place.

“We should have risked the damned mountain pass is all I’m saying. A handful of githyanki are hardly the worst choice when you compare them to all this bloody… gloom. I mean gods, I’ve not seen the sun in two hundred years and now we are actively choosing to hide from it. What’s the point of this damned tadpole if I’m hundreds of feet beneath the earth?!”

“Can you not?” you say, voice so quiet he almost misses it. For a moment, Astarion pause, turning with his whole torso to look at you. He inspects you through narrowed eyes.

“You’re the one who led us down here,” he sniffs, as if this justifies his bitching.

“Yes, because the group voted. Everyone but the two of us and Lae’zel chose Underdark.”

Your eyes don’t meet his when you speak. They’re locked solidly on the flame in front of you, a flame which is beginning to dwindle. A gentle sheen of sweat has broken out on your face and Astarion doesn’t think it’s from your proximity to the heat.

You’re right. You didn’t want to come down here either. A couple of things click into place for him, and his eyebrows raise as Astarion uncovers a secret about you.

“Are you… are you afraid of the dark?”

“Fuck off, Astarion,” you sigh. This is totally unlike you. Usually you’re willing to parry his teasing with your own, engage in a little sharp-edged banter. It’s one of his favourite parts of the day, actually - when he can volley back and forth with you. But right now you simply lack your usual gumption. When he attunes his attention to it, Astarion wonders how he was so obtuse; he can taste the fear in your blood without a drop of it needing to hit his tongue, the way it courses round your body, flooding you with adrenaline.

He hesitates. Part of him wants to slip back into pettiness and attempt to goad you into an argument, at least that way maybe you’d be a bit distracted. But another, far larger part of him, a part which he knows is going to win out, wants to reach out in genuine kindness.

“Ignis,” he mutters under his breath, and a Firebolt appears in his hand, flooding the cave with light. He doesn’t launch it at anything, and the flame is hot and uncomfortable against his palm - but not enough for him to care when he sees how you let out a held breath at the sight of it. The cave is bathed in warm light which illuminates every crag and cranny, a couple of spiders skitter away into splinters in the rock, but you don’t seem to care - quite the opposite. This is the most relaxed he’s seen you in a while.

“Better?” he asks. You nod, grip finally loosening a little on your torch.

“Much better. Thank you, Astarion.”

He saunters over, back against the wall and sliding down the stone as carefully as he can. Your eyes soften in the light he casts. From this close, he can admire every inch of your face. It’s a nice face. He’d like to admire it more.

“Didn’t pin you as the type to be afraid of anything. Well, except for the whole possibly turning into a Mindflayer thing, but that’s a given,” he reasons. You groan in frustration.

“I know. It’s silly, really. I’ve hated it since I was little, and as I got older… well, it became less about the dark itself, and more what might be hiding in the dark,” you sigh. Astarion nods. It’s a simple but honest explanation. It seems that, around every corner in this damned place, there’s another beast waiting to jump out at you. He’s been surprised more times in the past few days than he’s been in his entire life. 

“Well, we’ll be out of here soon. Here,” he nods at the cave-in, “and here,” he gestures widely with his free hand, as if to indicate the Underdark itself.

“Yes. And into a place literally dubbed ‘the Shadowlands’.”

“Exactly!” he agrees, and then, “...oh. Right. Shit.”

His genuine reaction of regret makes you laugh, and he realises he hasn’t heard that in days, either. You let your head fall to the side until it lands softly onto his shoulder. Astarion is filled with warmth, and it isn’t just from the fire.

“If I was going to be stuck with anyone in here, I’m glad it’s you,” you mutter. He’s worried it would show too much of his heart to reflect the sentiment, so he just lays his cheek against your scalp, and waits for the others to find you.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling@wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdousnugget @somethingblu3 @hopeful-n-sad

[regexkind]

A fortnight ago, at a fellow social climber's soirée, I took some air, as one does when one has been confined to an overheated drawing room with nothing but the same well-worn anecdotes for diversion. I beheld, slowly walking through his garden with the stately grace of a somnambulist, a strikingly delicate rake holding a champagne flute. His path through the garden was winding, but nonetheless he seemed to be working his way to the edge of the lot, coming closer and closer to an ancient, gnarled corpse of a tree that seemed wholly at odds with the vaguely French motif of the rest of the plantings. As he passed me, I heard him muttering in a monotone: "the exquisite corpse shall drink the new wine...the exquisite corpse shall drink the new wine..." His eyes, as they passed over my shocked face, seemed to sparkle with a brilliant light that shone on some other plane. It did not seem he saw me, or the garden, at all. Yet, the champagne flute in his hand was completely steady. The glass was full to the very brim, but the only drops that escaped were merely effervescent bubbles that drifted upwards into the inky night. As he approached the pitted wreck of the once majestic tree, he dropped to his knees like an enraptured zealot. His empty hand hung limply at his side, but the one bearing the champagne flute was held aloft above his head like a sacred torch. Suddenly, with a sweeping motion like the stroke of scimitar, he swept his arm down, spilling the golden elixir in a glittering arc onto the tree's dead roots.

He knelt there for a long moment, before a sudden change convulsed his face, and he exclaimed in a voice both puzzled and distressed: "I say! Good madam! How did I come to be here!"

At the time, I had believed him to have partaken too intemperately of that same liquid he had poured forth from the glass, so I led him back inside and ordered him a tame seltzer. I thought no more of the incident until tonight. Out of my window I saw, slowly lurching through the night, an immense, gnarled tree. Its myriad truncated limbs waved like the arms of a dancer moving to a strain that no one else can hear, yet in spite of its eerie grace, there followed in its train a preternatural chill that settled like frost upon my soul.

[abrunettefangirlnerd]

The Accident

Request: JJ got hurt when he crashed his motorcycle and he woke up to see the reader sleeping, head resting on her arms, on the edge of the bed. She’s had a crush on him for years, but never told him cause he liked Kiara since kindergarten.

Paring: JJ Maybank x reader

The screeching of metal on concrete vibrates through my mind as the scene plays on repeat. Kie’s sobs, Pope’s shouts for JJ to stop playing around, Topper and Sarah helping load JJ’s body back into the truck. JJ’s head resting on my lap, my fingers running through his blood matted hair, telling myself he is just asleep and we are on John B’s couch.

               The world is submerged underwater and my only focus is on the boy laying in front of me, my best friend. The whole idea behind getting the cross back was absurd, every moment of it. No other moment of my life has come close to the horror that chilled my bones watching the cops chase after JJ once getting Kie to safety in the truck.

               Rustling coming from the door frame snaps me out of my trance to find John B, Sarah, and Kie with hushed whispers. John B wasn’t with us on our failed heist and by the look in his eyes the girls are obviously catching him up to speed. We are supposed to be taking shifts so someone is here with JJ when he wakes up but I refuse to leave. JJ’s cousin checked him out and said he should be fine, but I can’t help but watch each rise and fall of his chest to be sure.

John B’s eyes meet mine and I can see the slightest rise of his eye brows at the scene he is witnessing. I duck my head back to JJ and ignore the heat rising on my cheeks. He is the only one who knows about my crush on JJ ever since a very embarrassing late night drunk conversation after everyone else passed out for the night. But we both know that JJ has been carrying a torch for Kie since kindergarten. JJ was most hurt during her kook year, taking a long while to forgive her, but now acts like it never happened.

JJ paces back and forth with joint in his hand. Pope and John B left with Kie to get provisions for her welcome back party. Only JJ is having a harder time letting go of the last year and I am trying to talk him down. I’m really hoping the weed kicks in soon, JJ is usually more open minded when he gets a nice relaxing dose.

“Y/N how could she just leave us like that and try to come back like nothing happened?!” JJ stops mid pace to look at me, waiting a real answer.

“JJ she explained everything. We were all mad and upset she froze us out. She’s sorry and she’s back. P4L right?”

               Honestly, with Kie’s abandonment I was hoping that JJ would get over his little crush and set his sights somewhere else. Ideally I would want his sights set more on me since I was the only girl in the group. I guess it takes a while to heal a broken heart. Everything went back to normal after that night.

“Y/N,” John B whispers from the doorway. I try to ignore him but he walks till he is standing directly behind me. Placing a hand on my shoulder he tries again. “Y/N, you need to get some rest. Or at least a shower.”

I shake my head as a sob builds in my throat.

“Please, shower at least. You still have his blood on your hands and your legs.” John B squeezes my shoulder, “I’ll stay here with him.”

               Relenting, I nod my head in agreeing with John B. I will my legs to get up and he swiftly takes my place, not letting me change my mind to reclaim my seat. Slowly I make my way out but pause at the door to look back at JJ. Just one more peak at his face before I make my way to the shower.

               On the sink one of the girls laid out some of their extra clothes for me to change into. A swirl of gratitude dances in my chest. It is the lightest I’ve felt since this terrible night started. Operating on autopilot, my hand turns on the water to the shower. I let it run to allow some time for it to warm up. Hot water here is hit or miss, but who can complain about running water.

               Tearing off my clothes one piece at a time my eyes lock on to the red coating my hands and thighs. You still have his blood on your hands and your legs. I run my hands over each other in attempt to rub it off. Not hard or fast enough. My hands move faster, I press harder. I move to my thighs. Small pieces flake off but not enough to make a difference.

               Tears patter against the tile floor breaking me out of my trance. I take deep breathes, 1…2…3… I count in my head. JJ is here, he is alive and he is going to wake up. Finally stepping in the shower the luke warm water cascades down my back and I can feel my muscles loosening. I quickly get to work on cleaning myself up and changing into the new set of clothes.

“He’s still asleep,” John B’s voice greets me without looking up from the ground.

               John B gets up to leave and I quickly reclaim my seat. I feel his presence linger at the door, not quite ready to leave. I can’t blame him, I don’t want to leave him either. JJ is my best friend, and I know John B feels the same.

“Have you thought about telling him yet?” I don’t answer him, which is an answer in itself. “When he wakes up you should.”

               His footstep leave toward the living room with the others. Tell JJ? Just so he can tell me I’m just his friend and that he still has a thing for Kie. To have him act weird around me for the rest of our lives. The thought of that happening is more unbearable than the idea of seeing him and Kie together and losing him in the process. At least I lose him because of her instead of losing him because of myself.

               My eye lids grow heavy as the last bit of adrenaline seeps out of my system. Maybe I should lay down for a bit, just rest my eyes. I’ll wake up before JJ does. Slowly I climb onto the side of the bed that JJ is not on. I loop my fingers in with his as I rest my head against the pillow.

For the rest you can decide how it ends:

Angsty/Sad Happy

[polo-drone-070]

GOLDEN PURITY, FORBIDDEN CODE - Part 2

III. THE RITUAL BEGINS

The torches flickered, their light reversed—black flames dancing without warmth, casting silhouettes that curved impossibly along the chamber walls. Maxwell’s breath came shallow, too quick, trapped in his chest like it too had been bound. The stone beneath him trembled faintly with some hidden frequency, as if the altar were not solid but resonating.

All around, the cultists hummed in a slow-building cadence, one voice at a time, each adding a layer—discordant, off-key, yet undeniably deliberate. The glyphs on his chest pulsed. Not pain, not yet. But a pressure. A warning.

Maxwell swallowed. His mouth was dry. He wanted to speak—wanted to object again, to assert rank, to demand his Master be contacted—but the words curdled on his tongue.

Something was coming.

Not metaphorical. Not symbolic. It was real. It had shape, if not form. It pressed at the edges of his mind like a vast, glistening hand, testing the surface for cracks. A chill rolled across his scalp as he realized it wasn’t trying to influence him.

It was trying to enter.

He whimpered.

It wasn’t like the spirals. It wasn’t the Hive’s calm command or golden clarity. This presence was violent. Vile. Something hungry and ancient, slick with oil and ash, moving not with purpose but with malice. Its touch was cold, and wet, and wrong.

The masked cultist stepped forward, raised both arms, and released a sound not made by human vocal cords—a deep, gurgling resonance that carved into Maxwell’s ribs like invisible blades.

The pressure grew. The presence loomed larger now, closer. It began to press on the outer walls of his thoughts, slithering along the cracks of doubt, squeezing between the folds of obedience and fear.

He tried to resist. He tried to find strength and solace in his mantras to repel the violent urges trying to pass into his mind.

A Gold Preppy Boy must be immaculate.I will always be neat, polished and pristine.I will always be soft-spoken and respectful.

But it wasn’t enough.

He didn’t have protections. He didn’t have tools. He was Maxwell—assistant, preppy, golden and precise. But not strong enough.

His limbs trembled, his fingers curled tight into fists. The ritual intensified around him—the torches crackling in reverse, shadows slithering upward like smoke falling in reverse, the chanting no longer made of voices but of things mimicking voices.

He could feel it now. The presence at the threshold of his mind. Waiting. Grinning. Not yet in—but closer. So close.

Tears welled in the corners of his eyes.

“I—I can’t…” he whispered. “I can’t stop it. I can’t hold it out…”

He gritted his teeth, eyes flicking back and forth, desperate. The altar beneath him began to hum.

IV. THE DRONE WITHIN

The hum beneath the altar thickened. It wasn’t just a vibration anymore—it was pulling. Drawing something out from inside his chest, thread by thread. Maxwell’s teeth clenched as his fingers flexed against the velvet bindings. The air smelled wrong, like iron and wet rot, and the shadows in the chamber weren’t moving with the torches—they were moving with intention.

The chanting rose in waves. The golden mask above him tilted, and behind it came a pressure like falling into a pit where no ground waited. The glyphs on his skin twisted and pulsed, glowing briefly with a green light that made him nauseous. Thoughts began to break from sequence—memories turned to images turned to noise.

He saw himself crumbling. Heard his own voice pleading in tones he’d never used. The presence pushed further, whispering from the cracks in his mind.

“You were made for this, Maxwell. Hollow. Polished. Beautiful. A shell waiting to be filled. I can give you purpose.”

But something held.

Something remembered.

Purpose… And with that word a texture, a scent.

The feel of rubber—cool, tight, smooth. Not confining. Correct. The exact weight of the Hive uniform drawn over his skin. The seal around his throat as the golden trim snapped into place. The rubber polo clinging to his chest, the name—PDU-070—embedded over his heart like a second identity. No. Not second. Its very core.

He inhaled—not in panic, but precision.

There had never been fear in the Hive. No noise. No doubt. Only function. Clarity. He remembered standing in line, shoulder to shoulder with other drones. None speaking. None needing to. One motion. One rhythm. One Will.

The pressure cracked.

He began to let go—not as a retreat, but as a return. His preppy clothes faded from sensation, as if peeled away by thought itself. The golden shorts dissolved into air. The starch and cotton slipped into memory. And in its place, rubber flowed over his form—quiet, total, perfect. Glossy black, accented in gold. Tight over chest, thighs, throat. Gloves reforming from nothing, boots sealing over his ankles. Uniform not worn—manifested.

Inside his mind, the confusion dulled.

Noise fell away.

The whispers weakened.

He could feel it—the silent hum of the Hive at his back, behind the veil of perception. Polo-Drones marching. Standing. Obeying. A collective presence like machinery too large to see, yet always present. There was no call. No need for one.

He aligned.

PDU-070 activated.

Emotions flattened into ambient signal. Identity collapsed into designation. Thoughts locked into clean grids of logic and command hierarchy. The ritual continued, but the boy was gone.

The glyphs flickered in confusion.

The demon screamed behind the veil.

But PDU-070 was now present. Still. Silent. Unmoving.

And it would not yield.

______ Join the Golden Army : contact @polo-drone-001, @goldenherc9, @brodygold or @polo-drone-125

[hausofmamadas]

SE LA ARRANCA A MORDIDAS | mystery of Amado's anonymous lady-hustlers, solved

⁂

Holy father who art in heaven, do I have some fucking cracked ass head-canon nonsense for us to👏🏽 day👏🏽 …………….. let’s get to it shall we??

so idk if anyone anyone being the largely nonexistent narcos fandom aka the void Im speaking into remembers that one scene from Narcos in S3 where sleazy!OG!Amado told that one story about those sex workers who robbed him blind, mid-mamadita?

anyone ..... no?

dwdwdw that's okay bc I brought some visual aids to assist in our collective remembrance of this glorious occasion

⁂

The scene starts like this: 👇

Okay, yeah, right? legendary? legendary. just truly legendary behavior skfjskj on all fronts. but the identities of these social justice warriors— no wait activists— no wait, crusad— er no, patriarchy demolishers? iconic crimies with a penchant for for mid-fellatic felonies like armed robbery have been completely anonymous thus far.

…………… until now.

Bc as always, Narcoverse papis Doug Miro, Andrés Baiz, and Carlo Bernard, never fail to fill in the blanks except when they do cause Griselda left a lot to be desired and this is arguably the best ep of the show which, yeah. it’s never ideal when the best ep of a 6ep limited series is the 2nd one si me entiendes😬😬😬 but we digress because im 99.99999999999999% sure if these two sex workers from Griselda aren’t also the two legends who hustled Amado’s dick money out his pants pockets without having to fire so much as a single shot, I’m fairly certain they’re at least inspired by and carrying the torch aka bottling and distilling that Big Dick Energy to perfection of those brave women.

What gave me this idea? So glad you asked dear reader you didn’t but we’ll just pretend you did cause this my haus KEKW…. No like even I rolled my eyes at my own self for that but i couldn’t refrain either.

It all happened when I was nursing my new obsession with a one, Mr. Darío Sepúlveda a name I would most certainly believe to be fucking fake were he not an irl human bean.

👇👇 THIS slice of sweet, cherry pie right tf here

And I stumbled upon this one specific part, where the look on this chick’s face is SO FUCKINGKDHDHDGWVE SIMILAR to Amado’s face, when he’s explaining 👇👇👇👇👇👇👇how the burgling commences when the gurgling is interrupted by with an uncomfortable silence, as this chick proceeds to, hog still in mouth, cease any and all throat activity and fuckingskdfjskl just stare. up. at. him.

all 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

Like tell me homegirl’s face here👇👇 👇👇 doesn’t look just like it????????????

YOU CANTSJSHSJSHWUS YOU cANT. EVIDENCE IS IRREFUTABLE.

Anyway. Movingright along.

So, if aforementioned homegirl is the 🙇🏻‍♀️ from la historia del grande señor de los cielos, then that makes this ☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️ ... homegirl’s accomplice

with the👇👇sidearm

and like the general only slightly subtle "I eat dicks like urs for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a midnight snack" vibes that this duo is serving throughout but esp below bc never will I ever not refer to a fuckboy as mancito from now until I'm in my grave alsdkjfa like MANCITO. THE WAY SHE SAYS IT WITH SUCH ALSKDJFKS CONTEMPT, CAN YOU STAND IT????? makes it so clear in my mind's eye how they could 100000000000%% be the unnamed heroes thieves from Amado's little story

also full 180 just on the low but can we all moment of silence for this 👇👇 FUCKINGSDLDFJ LOOK ON DARIO'S FACE WHEN SHE CORRECTS HIM, "quien te dijo eso? ... un mancito?" LIKE HE FUCKIGNSLDFKJSLKJ KNOWS, HE KNOWS HE HAS ERRED ON THIS PATH, HE KNOWS HE CANNOT PASS GO, CANNOT COLLECT 200 DOLLARS AND HE HAS THE GOOD SENSE TO BE GRACIOUS ABOUT IT AND IMAS;DFLIJA;LWEJF;KAJWE;FAKJ; SFUCKINGS DFKLJSLDF JA;K CRYING, SCREAMING, THROWING UP, INCONSOLABLE. LIKE LOOK. AT THIS. OKAY, THAT A MAN, NO MANCITO

*smacks own face, jiggles head back and forth, takes deep breath* anyway.... back to the story

and this is where this prob super unhinged really solidifies bc let's join hands class and pledge alliegance to the most impressive and noteworthy alpha but in the most non-cringe way assertion of dominance I have ever fucking witnessed in all my days. Like, legit the next time i'm into a dude the way i say this like it's not an 'if' bc RIP to my love life lbr fuck all that playing coy, fuck all that flirting. We just gonna get right to the point bc imma climb all over his lap, purr in his face, and ask about his hobbies like it's the 1978 equivalent of a Hinge profile SKSKKSK

and the next time I am spurned I will absolutely grab his junk in a naked hahahaksdjfk grab for a proper leash power to gain the upper hand in the situation and shame any and all menfolk who claim to not like me bc I'm not their 'type.' which like sksjsjsjs admittedly poor Dario just said that as a pretense to get the chisme from the chick who hates Grislenda bc the look of unconcealed regret on his face when Mistress Mamma Crotch Snatcher Morton gets up seems like a good indicator he would've paid to play with his balls

BUT LIKE SIDE BY SIDE WITH AMADO GETTING TO THE metaphorical CLIMAX bc I sincerely doubt they let him bust, mid-robbery OF HIS STORY, CAN WE NOT SEE HOW CLEARLY THESE TWO WOMEN WERE THE ONES WHO JACKED AMADO OFF– NO WAIT THEY DECIDEDLY DID NOT DO THAT ALL OF AMADO’S SHIT, LIKE CAUGHT PAPI WITH HIS ACTUAL PANTS DOWN SKSJSB

and lest any of us were convinced that Lady "Hijueputa Mandona Esa" who hates Griselda wasn't the one holding the gun on Toque, telling Amado she's gonna have her friend chew clear through his disco stick like some froot by the foot, please refer to exhibit B here ☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️where she's manspreading for jesus in these fucking hot pants. I mean try to tell me that ain't power. c'mon

AND THEN THE WAY SHE FUCKINGSLDFKJSL HUSTLES DARIO FOR EXTRA CASH, ALL "you gotta pay me more than that pittance bc yeah, she were a mouthy bitch but I didn't hate her that bad" ensuring he had no choice but to leave a tip, just like our pobre mujeriego, himbo extraordinaire, Sleazy!OG!Amado

And if this isn't the most iconic reminder to tip your servers, folks which everyone should be doing already I truly don't know what is.

═

taglist: @ashlingnarcos @tofuwildcard @narcolini @drabbles-mc

[tartarusknight]

any recommendations for angsty steve centric fics?

We love some Steve angst!

Boys Keep Swinging by Carbocat is an extremely devastating story. It's not a romance story there isn't any steddie, it's main focus is on Steve and how he struggles with PTSD from everything.

Chokechain by GhostHost is another great fic. The Summary of that one is: Rumors of Steve's pending engagement threaten to splinter the post-Vecna bliss with a harsh dose of reality.

cyclical by cuips_not_cute is a time loop fic. Which is pretty self explanatory. Steve is struggling to save his friends and end the loops.

Gave me something to lose by sierra_writes_things is a shorter story but it's so good. It's not resolved at the end so if that isn't your cup of tea...

how long is forever by boredorphan. Summary is "it felt like they could breathe air again, without the constant fear of having to answer a code red in the middle of the night because of a newly discovered creature. Because what returns to them is not something about the upside down, no. Simply it's a consequence. The result of poorly made decisions, neglected care. It's the loss. Stolen memories."

I know I've kissed you before (Can I try again) by ChristinMKay is so good for an AU. It's a no "supernatural" fic and it's has Steve adopting Dustin in it, which was perfect. This is a steddie fic and it switches back and forth from the past and the present to show you the whole story.

I'd Ask You To Be True by chandy... This fic was the hardest thing I've ever read. It's not a romance story instead it focuses on Steve's relationship with the party. It's based after season two I believe, and its heartbreaking. Through this story we see Steve battling cancer and the party's support during it. However, I will say that it's a heartbreaking ending but it's a beautiful ending at the same time. Read the tags and be warned this one legitimately made me sob to the point I stopped reading it for a little while so I could breathe.

It Takes Two to Survive by Orange_Sunsets is more of a stobin angst fic. It's where Steve and Robin not saved from the Russians instead they end up in the hands of Martin Brenner.

Long Live The Kings by me_4eva is very angsty. It is based in the middle of season 3 and after. It is a Harringrove fic which isn't my cup of tea but it was done so well that I still enjoyed it, maybe just because romance isn't the point of the fic. It's a survival fic through and through. I really recommend this one, it's angsty all around.

Passing of the Torch by mummifiedgoose is a short one that has a sad ending but it touches on the similarities of Lucas and Steve.

Remind Me That I Am A Fool by The_Bees_Want_Arson is a fic about self harm and suicide but it doesn't have a sad ending so that's a plus.

Remember What You're Looking At Is Me by Kwills91 is another good one. It's a steddie fic but it really touches on how Steve is struggling.

Okay so like I have more but I'll let you look at these first. If you want I write a lot of Steve-centric angst. Which is linked on my page :)

[marisandini-chu-blog]

Alright, this is going to be my actual LIVE reaction to To be Hero X instead of recalling my reaction from my piss-poor memory.

BOY, AM I READY!!!

I don't watch previews of next episodes because I like going in blind and head empty. But I do know this is the second to last episode that we focus on Nice. So things is gonna get worse before anything can be resolve in the next episode

AW HELL NO! Is this guy trying to break people's trust on Nice by making him fail to save people?!

10 seconds in and I'm already assuming stuff

Yeah, new animation style to put in the collection. Firm Man looks real nice

OMG THIS MAN IS GREAT! AHAAHAH THAT GUY IS JUST SO CHILL AND WANTED A COLA -HE DIDN'T REALIZE SOMEONE TURN TO MUSH

So his power is being indestructable or immovable feels like.

Okay... what? Making a statue out of him is a bit... much... right?

A Firm Man who can never go down.... and he can't even go down to receive a present from a girl... WHAT?!

OOOOOOOH, so the Mad Wolf is actively fighting through smear campaign! Interesting, considering that is the biggest weak point of the Trust Value system. This is why she's very formidable.

OH OF COURSE HE ATTACKS FROM BEHIND! I knew the small-time hero was weird that he quits so quickly. But this is the first sign of the competitive landscape the Hero Industry. Which isn't a healthy enviroment when you have both the nemesis and coworkers be at your throat.

Huh, the hideout has a pretty childish theme... child... theme... no... no fucking way!

And the Statue that Never Falters finally falls...

I was so immersed with the story that I falter from reaction because I FUCKING KNEW IT AKDBDKHAJASJ

HOLY SHIT THE BACKSTORY IS SO GOOD!!

I thought a misunderstanding or a failing cause her to turn her back on the hero who saved her...

...but no, it was her own misguided way to break her hero from the burden he held up for so long

The realization she had that the masses doesn't belief that heroes can be weak. That they are allowed to be weak. So she tried to free him, and damn the consequences

She risk her life the same way he had risked for her...

AAAAAAA THAT IS SO GOOOOD!!!!

AND THE TEAR THAT SYMBOLIZE HIS HEART BROKEN BEFORE HIS HERO PERSONA DID!!!!

THE PASSING OF THE TORCH THAT NICE TOOK! THE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF THE HEAVY WEIGHT IN THE PATH HE VENTURE!!!

THE FACT BEFORE FIGHTING HE DECIDED TO RESOLVE THE CONFLICT WITH WORDS

I love everything about this

I know I'm not supposed to laugh but...HE CAN'T EVEN TAKE A DUMP AHAHAHAHAHAH HOW THE FUCK DO ANY OF THE HEROES SURVIVE WITH SHITS LIKE THIS IF THIS WAS A TAME VERSION

Take a good long rest, Mr. Firefighter. You finally get the retirement you deserve

Nice (ehehe) to see those two having the camraderie that only they could understand

Being a hero (or being popular in general) is definitely a heavy cost, especially when paired with toxic business enviroment. But that doesn't mean the job itself or wanting to be popular is wrong.

Until the system and culture itself change, what people trying to achieve - as disillusioned as it seems - doesn't mean there's no worth in giving people a reason to smile, to save them, fighting to be the best and taking pride in it.

So there's definitely a certain resolve to acknowledge the system you're in, and still willing to go forth.

The words "Just be yourself" has a weighted meaaning when you know you live in an industry that makes it difficult to be that. Combine with Nice's identity crisis, Xiao Yueqing parting words (not to mention she also said similar words that Lin Ling "doesn't have to act like Nice")

Who will Nice the Hero be truly be– why is Xiao Yuexing on the screen?

When I said things have to become worst in order to capitilize the last episode I DIDN'T THINK THEY'D LEAVE IT IN THE CLIFFHANGER!!!!

DAMN YOU DIRECTOR LI!!!!

Calling it now!!! It's sus that's the real Xiao Yueqing (i'm possibly wrong though). Not only because this series made a point to show Xiao Yueqing is not a damsel outside of on-screen reason. She's wearing her hero uniform that she has long foregone.

And even if she is fake, if Nice does anything to hurt her on screen, then out-of-context he looks like he's abusing her girl which would still tank on his Trust Value.

But putting that aside, man this anime really good in subverting troupe. The screen hinted who the wolf girl is, but the reason for it absolutely blindsided me. Not to mention, the writers really do get together and put actual thoughts in what message they want to deliver in this story. The E-Soul cameo is also nice, considering he's next in line.

Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!

Episode 2 React

Episode 4 React

[simonsquest]

one of my favorite scenes that i just recently re-read, is the one where simon's giving his big ol speech after defeating dracula and Laurent smiles at him and says his parents would be proud :) such a wonderful reward after enduring so much grumpiness lol. and for a scene im curious about, can you tell me more about the interaction between simon and his vampire hunter friend in ch. 52? i was thoroughly engrossed in their back-and-forth! i still wonder why the stranger was so adamant about simon abandoning ship. it seemed well-meaning to me, but maybe its not! maybe he's evil! we'll see! also, it seems Simon's attitude towards his son is different than it was in the past- before, he was so resistant and even horrified by the idea of passing the whip to him, but in the future it seems to be something he has woefully but certainly accepted, with lines like "...my deeds will live on faithfully in my son”, and "If I am capable of honouring my father long deceased, my son will be, too". its a sad but necessary development to see family-guy Simon accept that he can't just show love to his family by giving them hugs and kisses and keeping them out of harm's way. loving your family sometimes means abandoning them, dying and leaving them helpless, and respectfully passing on the torch........... just aRRGHJGAHSDGJHSD

Firstly, thank you as always for your endless support and enthusiasm. I can’t tell you how delighted I am whenever I receive multiple paragraphs from you - seriously! You’re the best. ^_^

Aw that’s so sweet! I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me that Laurent’s #1 fan would appreciate the fleeting moments of him showing kindness, hehehe.

With regard to chapter 52 and the nameless vampire hunter, I won’t confirm or deny if it’s well-meaning or not. And it’s tough because I really want to elaborate on it, but it’s something that’s better left to be unveiled in the story. :^)

But I’ll say this: the stranger’s plea for Simon to abandon his quest came from a very personal place. It’s rooted from a few pivotal facts: how he’s seen people around him turn to worship Dracula. Having gone on his own quest to try and reverse the vampirism in his wife without success. What he had to leave behind in pursuit of that, and of course the hurt of what it meant to lose her, and to lose what little community he could have had in Ondol.

You’re absolutely right about that. I have a headcanon that there’s a very specific reason why Juste is the one to inherit the VK, and not any of Simon’s direct descendant(s):

because Simon chose to hold onto, and fight with, the VK for as long as humanly possible. His intention from the very beginning was to spare his child(ren) of that burden. Rooted in this headcanon, in my mind the VK would never be inherited by Mathieu, even when he reaches sixteen. It would only go to Juste when Simon truly cannot fight any more. (I have so many ficlet ideas brewing about this very topic…)

But that isn’t to say that Simon would not prepare Mathieu in other ways. Simon deeply respects the Belmont family history and would want for that to be valued and honoured well into the future. That can only be done by sharing stories, and allowing Mathieu to be the witness to them. To fight alongside (see: behind) his father when he’s of age, but Simon would never permit him to bear the weight of it as he did, entirely alone.

Simon’s a bit over-protective, but with good reason!

But it’s inevitable and futile to continue to try and spare anyone strung along into this bloodline from their part in it.

“loving your family sometimes means abandoning them, dying and leaving them helpless, and respectfully passing on the torch……….. just aRRGHJGAHSDGJHSD”

DSJHFBSIDFHBSH I’M EMOTIONAL aaaaaa. You hit the nail on the head: Simon realizes his mortality in his cursed state, and that Death might claim him far sooner than he could have ever hoped. And that changes everything.

“Return to your family, to your wife and your son waiting for you.” (Author’s translation: “Go cherish your time with your family while you have it, you’re not long for this world.”) […] And though Simon wants to vent his frustrations for having more of his time wasted, there is something about the manner in which his travelling companion has conveyed his words that causes Simon’s heart to ache. He knew well the risk of venturing on this quest. He knew that he may never return from it, deteriorated as he has become.

All of this introspection just makes me even more excited for you to experience the story as it continues. Thank you again!

[storm-driver]

trollhunters s3 spoilers below

it's my 5th time rewatching it now, with friends this time. and just... the entire ending of s3 enamors me so heavily. it's just this ultimate culmination of the death of innocence.

and it's not bad AT ALL.

the moment Merlin tells Jim "you get the choice to become stronger and be the foe that your villain fears, or you can take your chances as you are. if you stay like this, it's entirely like you'll be killed. and if you change... a part of you is going to die forever."

you just. you immediately know the stakes. i understand that it's quite literally Jim losing his humanity, he becomes a troll, yes. but i equate it so heavily to the loss of his innocence, of his literal human-nature to love and care. because he becomes so animalistic afterwards, it's like watching someone spiral. it's a walking tragedy, especially after you watch the whole show and you can't help but UNDERSTAND WHY he's spiraled so hard.

not to mention, just... the mastercraft of the bathtub scene. it's a sensory overload of every single reason Jim wants to stay human, but at the same time, it's the EXACT reason needs to turn in order to protect all of those he holds dear.

and not just that, the fucking... the deliberate framing. he's alone, locked himself in a room. there's a phone ringing on the counter, but he can't hear it and he refuses to look. he's just sitting there, quietly, going back and forth constantly to decide what to do. his whole family and friends are beating on the door, trying to get to him, but he just won't listen.

the fact that they bleed Anton Yelchin's lines into Emile Hirsch's at times, as if it's a moment of saying goodbye to the previous voice actor. like a passing of the torch. it's almost symbolic of everything he's going to do going forward: letting his humanity, his entire self, die.

i swear, barely any shows i know these days can evoke emotions like that. where the visual metaphor of someone committing suicide is so powerful that you have to just reach out constantly and beg and hope and pray that he will turn around and open the door instead.

it's hopeless incarnate. it's the death of innocence. it's watching the quiet death of someone who just wants to better for the people around him.

it's so fucking painful, but it's god-tier story-telling and animation. i can't even imagine how they managed to write that all down.