#manips from hell

[buggy-d-hoe]

Romance Dawn

What does a princess have in common with a chaotic group such as the Straw Hat Pirates? Absolutely nothing. So maybe it wasn't the best idea for Sumi to sneak onboard the Going Merry, but hey...what can go wrong? Answer? Absolute everything. Sanji x OC

[saebyeokbliss]

IF YOU EVER HUNGER, HUNGER FOR ME

synopsis: you never expected to see your ex, kang saebyeok, again—especially not as a masked guard in the squid game. it’s been two years since your messy breakup, and now here she is, staring you down from behind that cold, faceless mask. after surviving the dalgona game, you’re dragged out of the warehouse by a guard, confused and terrified, only to discover it’s her. warnings: angst, violence, death games, unresolved feelings, heavy kissing, minor manhandling, toxic dynamics, implied trauma

pairing: sae-byeok x reader

a/n: i cooked with that manip of saebyeok as a guard RAHHHH

i need her so bad its not funny

The first time Kang Saebyeok saw you again after two years, it was through the scope of a rifle.

You were standing in the middle of the field, frozen in fear, breathing hard as the haunting voice of the doll echoed: “Red light.” She couldn’t believe her eyes.

Her heart stopped when she saw you among the players. You shouldn’t be here. You had no business in this hellhole, playing this twisted game. She didn’t even realize she had been glaring at you with her finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger.

That anger bubbled up inside her quickly. Anger at seeing you again after all this time, anger at herself for letting you go in the first place, and most of all, anger at the fact that she still cared.

When the doll announced “Green light,” she watched you stumble forward, hesitating, tears streaming down your face as you tried to move. Her grip on the rifle tightened.

You idiot. That’s all she could think. What the hell are you doing here?

The games had already taken two rounds of victims. First, Red Light, Green Light, and then the Dalgona shapes. She’d watched you trembling, licking at the fragile, honeycomb outline of your star. Somehow, you’d survived both times. Saebyeok knew you were tough—she had fallen for that fire in you years ago—but the fear in your eyes now was something she had never seen before.

And she hated that she couldn’t do anything about it, not yet.

When the guards marched the players back into the warehouse, locking you all in like animals in a cage, Saebyeok’s mind raced. She had to speak to you. She had to know what you were thinking, why you were here, how the hell your life had gone so wrong that you’d ended up in this deathtrap. But most of all, she had to see you up close, to confirm you were real.

She formulated a plan, careful not to draw attention to herself. Being a guard gave her certain privileges, but even she had to move carefully to avoid suspicion. She waited until the lights dimmed, watching as players huddled together, either to rest or to protect themselves from the inevitable violence that would break out.

Her eyes zeroed in on you sitting in the corner, knees pulled to your chest. You looked so small, so scared. She clenched her fists and turned to the nearest guard.

“I’ll take her to the restroom,” she said, her voice muffled through the mask but loaded with authority. The other guard looked at you, shrugged, and nodded.

Saebyeok approached you, her presence towering over your curled-up form. “You. Get up.” Her voice was sharp, commanding. You flinched, looking up at her with wide, tear-streaked eyes. You hesitated, unsure if you’d heard her correctly.

“I said get up.” She grabbed your arm roughly, though not hard enough to hurt, and pulled you to your feet. You whimpered softly, not wanting to cause trouble, and followed her out of the warehouse.

The restroom was dark, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. Saebyeok locked the door behind you, her back to you as she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She could feel your nervous energy, the way you shifted uncomfortably on your feet.

“I don’t… I don’t need to use the restroom,” you murmured quietly, your voice trembling.

Saebyeok didn’t respond. Instead, she turned around and pulled off her mask.

Your breath caught in your throat. “S-Saebyeok…?” you stammered, taking a step back in disbelief. “No… no, it can’t be—”

“It’s me,” she cut you off, her voice low and sharp. Her dark eyes bore into yours, filled with a mixture of anger and something else you couldn’t quite place. Relief? Pain? “What the hell are you doing here?”

You stared at her, your mouth opening and closing as you struggled to find the words. “I-I didn’t have a choice,” you finally whispered. “I needed the money. I—”

“That’s bullshit,” she snapped, stepping closer to you. “You shouldn’t be here. You don’t belong here.”

“And you do?” you shot back, your voice rising despite the fear clenching your chest. “Why are you here, Saebyeok? Why are you dressed like one of them?”

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, she didn’t answer. Instead, she grabbed your face with both hands, forcing you to look at her. “You shouldn’t have come,” she said, her voice softer this time, almost breaking. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know it would be like this.”

Her thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “You’re so stupid,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “So fucking stupid.”

And then she kissed you.

The kiss was desperate, angry, and full of pent-up emotions neither of you had addressed in the two years since you’d broken up. Her lips were rough against yours, her hands gripping your face like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go. You melted into her, the fear and tension of the last two days momentarily forgotten as you kissed her back with just as much force.

Your hands found their way to her waist, clutching the fabric of her uniform as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded. She pressed you back against the wall, her body flush against yours, her lips never leaving yours. For a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist, like it was just the two of you again, tangled in each other, lost in the heat of the moment.

But reality came crashing back all too quickly.

“I have to take you back,” she murmured against your lips, her forehead pressing against yours as she tried to catch her breath. “They’ll notice if you’re gone too long.”

“No,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “Please, Saebyeok, don’t leave me.”

Her eyes softened, and for a moment, she looked like she might break. But then she stepped back, putting her mask back on and straightening her posture. “I’ll find a way to help you,” she said, her voice cold and detached again. “Just… stay alive.”

She opened the door, her hand on your arm as she guided you back to the warehouse. You kept your head down, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to process everything that had just happened.

When she left you back in your corner, you felt the weight of her absence like a physical ache. And as the lights flickered and the sounds of other players filled the air, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever see her again—or if this cruel game would take her from you for good.

taglist (based off of who actually wanted me to do this): @knfthxv @yenyu1s @m0rtifiedg0th @madebysae

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Songbird

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

My Masterlist

gif by me

Summary: Angsty blurb about Matt hearing you after your breakup and yearning to be yours again.

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks!*

WC: 696

Matt's hand tightened around his cane as he walked, almost trance-like steps taking him the few blocks north of Hell's Kitchen. He knew it would only be another moment or so until he could hear it.

The bustling streets in the breezy summer evening were packed with people, barely paying attention to the blind man as he passed by. He tried his best to tune them all out; the tourists leaving Central Park for the evening, the hotdog stands selling their wares, the New Yorkers eager to get home from work and to their evening activities.

He only sought out one sound. You.

As his feet reached the steps leading up to the Metropolitan Opera, he could finally hear it. The melody that haunted him cut through the walls and windows and straight to his ears. He held his breath as the words rang through all the other noise and struck his heart.

"Mi chiamano Mimì, ma il mio nome è Lucia. La storia mia è breve. A tela o a seta ricamo in casa e fuori…"

Spanish and Italian were sister languages and the little he’d studied in college always allowed him to get the gist of the Italian lyrics you sang. His heart swelled with pride to hear you now executing them flawlessly, though the sorrow behind them stung at his heart like a swarm of bees.

Your voice is what made him fall for you in the first place. Hearing your clear soprano sing out through the streets of Hell's Kitchen as you rehearsed in your apartment. Perfectly in tune and flawless.

"Mi piaccion quelle cose che han sì dolce malìa, che parlano d'amor, di primavere, di sogni e di chimere, quelle cose che han nome poesia… Lei m'intende?"

A tear slipped down his cheek as you continued your aria to a packed auditorium behind the doors which he stood on the other side of. If only things had been different, he could instead be inside. Sitting in the front row in his best suit to witness the biggest moment of your career. You’d probably have whispered a sweet message to him from backstage, meant for only his sensitive ears to hear before you stepped in front of the lights and dazzled the public with what he knew from the moment he met you: that you were the most spectacular person he’d ever met.

"Mi chiamano Mimì, il perché non so. Sola, mi fo il pranzo da me stessa."

If only he hadn’t messed it all up. His double life as a lawyer and vigilante keeping him so busy that you always came last on his priority list. As your opera career grew and grew, the nights apart did too. You in some city halfway across the world and him in a courtroom or an alleyway. When you came home how you’d beg for connection that he couldn’t quite give to you. Then came the fighting and the tears. Then the making up only to run into the same frustrations a few weeks later. And through it all, how he could never quite be there for you in the way you were for him.

You finally wised up and one day had enough. All he had now was a voicemail from you saying goodbye and the scent of you that hung around the apartment and haunted him for months. 

Now here you were, the biggest job of your career. A principle role with the Met. Mimi in La Boheme. And he wasn’t by your side to enjoy the moment with you. He yearned to hear your voice ring through his apartment once more, to be beside you as you celebrated this achievement. Together.

"Ma i fior ch'io faccio, ahimè! non hanno odore. Altro di me non le saprei narrare. Sono la sua vicina"

The final note as you finished your aria hung in the air and he felt the oxygen finally fill his lungs in the moment of silence before the audience erupted into applause. He wiped away the tear on his cheek and turned to walk back to Hell’s Kitchen, determination etched in his face. He had to get you back. One way or another.

[h50europe]

MERTHUR

You got your demons, spent seasons on the dark side of the moon

Don't try denying 'cause you know that I've been there too

Right now, I know how it feels like the world's gonna end

But I'll get you through if it's the last thing I do

I'm gonna love the hell out of you

Take all the pain that you're going through

I'll bring you heaven if that's what you need

'Cause you've always loved the hell out of me

You brought resounding techniques for my grounding when I

Had lost it a little, too far from the middle to find

Some solace from all this exhaustion and monsters of mine

So, you better know that I'll bring you home

(Love the hell out of you - Lewis Capaldi)

my manip, my edit, Photoshop, Corel, Huiontablet

[helloliriels]

GIFT WRAPPED 2024

SENDING OUT A GREAT BIG THANK YOU to everyone who made this year such a lovely experience!!! Including those that came to the Writers Retreat; to @friday411 @ghostofnuggetspast and @calaisreno's for the May Prompts challenge and sucking me into Limerick writing; Plus the IRL chatting of the Johnlock Community (at long last!) and special encouragement of @totallysilvergirl and @thegildedbee! Tysm you two!!! I owe you both so so much!!!

And since fandom gifts are meant to be shared, please go and share some love for these amazing authors and artists!! 💋xoxo - Liri

🎁 SH-221 by ??? (TBA!!!) a Holmestice Winter 2024 gift

The year is 2035 and John Watson is desperately looking for a job, trying to survive in a dystopian world run by technology. But Mike Stamford might just have the offer he needed: partaking in an experiment with a unique new android.

💝 H.O.U.N.D. by @k2ntwo

Behind the facade of Baskerville, Sherlock suspects there's a darker trial being run. One that involves a very human subject! It will take all of his courage to unleash the H.O.U.N.D.

🎁 Ode to Your Hands Upon My Waking at 3AM to Hear the Violin by @ghostofnuggetspast a poem response to 36 Views of London!

John turns to his hidden journal to let off a bit of steam in a (maybe?) healthy way. Well, it's healthy as long as Sherlock doesn't find it. O_o

💝 The Part of You That Stays by @holmesianlove @was-fuck-off-watson a FTH 2024 fic, brilliantly written! xoxo

Sherlock comes home a broken man and after serving as John’s best man he seemingly has a mental breakdown. Checking himself into a mental rehabilitation center. The medicine he needs is his Doctor ... but will John be able to put all of Sherlock’s broken pieces back together in time?

🎁 Sherlock and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week by @chriscalledmesweetie

John is away. Sherlock is NOT pleased.

💝 And Back Again by @anyawen a FTH 2024 gift poem remix

A book familiar and meaningful to both men offers guidance and hope.

🎁 What If I'm Not? (fanart) by @safedistancefrombeingsmart a FTH 2024 gift GIF image.

A stunning visual for the fic 'What If I'm Not'

💝 Body of Years by @gaylilsherlock (LipstickDaddy)

Sherlock has been dead for two years, fighting to stay alive each day to see John again. So, when he comes back to London and sees John about to close the door on their life together, he reaches a breaking point.

2023

💝 Of Scars and Revelations by @catlock-holmes for Holmestice Winter 2023

Sherlock has returned from his presumed death, but he isn’t the same he used to be. John isn’t the same either. Can they rekindle their friendship, or maybe even become something more?

🎁 Human Urges by @topsyturvy-turtely

John hated it. He utterly and truly hated it. Despised himself for it … That stupid, always present, torturing urge to be kissed!

💝 The Case of the Serial Secret Admirer by @hasenkind687

It is seven days until Valentine’s day. Humbuk - if you ask Sherlock. But then, anonymous gifts appears!

🎁 “John what the bloody hell are you doing?” by Atrocious_Magpie

Sherlock catches John baking cookies while listening to abba, what do you think happens next?

💝 This perfect JOHNLOCK IMAGE photo manip for ‘It Belongs in a Museum’, a gift made by @a-victorian-girl

2022

🎁 Live from the Morgue by @disfictional Holmestice Winter 2022.

A very special podcast episode 'Live from the Morgue’ with Molly Hooper, featuring guest star Sherlock Holmes, discussing his years away playing dead - while John listens … Brilliant!

💝 Mrs. Hudson’s Crack Brew by @chriscalledmesweetie for 2022 Year of the Crack Fic!

Mrs. Hudson is beginning to regret the part she played in bringing Sherlock and John together. Not to put too fine a point on it, those boys are LOUD. XD

🎁 Knitting Needles Out by @fluffbyday-smutbynight

Knitting. How hard could it be? Pretty hard, as it turned out. Especially cable knitting. Bahaha!

💝 This lovely GIF collab made by @liquor-liquor-lips for 'pack up the moon, and dismantle the sun’ quote by W.H. Auden and the reichenbach feels. 💋

2021

🎁 Shared Proximity by @fluffbyday-smutbynight for Holmestice Open Promptfest Winter 2021

“As ever, you see but you do not observe. Our respective lives are so enmeshed together, that such labels - like flatmates or colleagues or, yes, even friends - evidently fall short. Partners might do, and it’s not a coincidence that it’s a stand-in for couple.” A definition might prove necessary, but still not enough in itself. What’s the next step?

💝 (Full) Contact With Nature by @fluffbyday-smutbynight

John’s abs and thighs harden as he bucks up to get into a sitting position, but Sherlock puts all his weight on him pushing him back on the ground, and simultaneously catches John’s arms and pins them down by the wrists at the sides of his head.

🎁 A Story of Scent by maelle_lardeux & 💝Un affaire de sentur by malle_lardeux (french translation) 🥰 for @ohlooktheresabee & me

It’s amazing how smells can affect people’s emotions, in a good or bad way.C’est incroyable comment les odeurs peuvent affecter les émotions des personnes, d’une bonne ou d’une mauvaise façon.

🎁 The Mystery of the Red Pants by @simplyclockwork for Holmestice Summer 2021

A few spectacular laundry mishaps lead to revelations between Sherlock and John - and maybe a bit more …

💝 Practice Date by Fantasy_Fan_26

Sherlock wants to go on a date with John to figure out his feelings, but doesn’t want to be rejected, this is the plan he comes up with.

Plus these translated fics 💖:

🎄Шерлок – это женское имя [Sherlock is a Girl’s Name] translated by Flamyenko_No_Kami 🎄Бутылочка [Spin the Bottle] translated by Flamyenko_No_Kami 🎄Таксофон [Payphone] translated by Flamyenko_No_Kami  🎄Эксперименты по проводимости [Experiments in Conductivity] translated by Little_Unicorn 🎄【福华福】[授翻]Kiss Me Now Before You Go／离开前请吻我 translated by 十三横夏 [Whale_Juan] 🎄Dawno utracone [Long Lost] translated by Tulippa 🎄Помни меня [Remember Me] translated by Little_Unicorn

Is there anything better than a fandom gift??

[kissingghouls]

The Emperor (Suck Club IV)

Part Three: The Fallen - (Part One, Part Two // ao3)

Vampire Primo x Female Reader

Summary: The vampire returns to explain some things (and sends some emails.) Tags: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, dual pov, flashbacks, vampire violence, references to blood drinking, blood, (eventual) smut, and more tags on ao3 // 3700ish words div by @gothdaddyissues ♥♥♥

-Primo-

The air in the city was still warm, heat trapped beneath pavement and an atmosphere heavy with humidity and pollution. Primo wiped the blood from his mouth, a bead of sweat forming on his temple as he stood. The pallid, lifeless body of a vampire hunter lay at his feet—the third in the last few minutes and he still wasn’t quite satisfied. The burn of hunger was still there, infecting every thought as though he were newly turned again. A man full of the reckless impulse to seek instant gratification. To kill.

To feed.

Over the last twelve months he taught himself to push against the feeling as much as possible, but the mere sight of you had ripped away any semblance of control he might’ve reclaimed. It had taken everything he had to pull himself from you and find a few others better suited to join such terrible dinner plans.

He wandered through the empty streets, making his way back toward the densest part of the woods that separated the city from the Valley. Separated him from you. Returning to you was probably the worst idea, but he couldn’t help himself. Not now. Not while you might be in some kind of danger and especially not after you had seen what he’d become. He owed you an explanation, perhaps dozens of them, each one harder to believe than the last.

You deserved better. Better than this, better than him, better than whatever hand waving and fumbled words he would use to try to make you understand.

The trees surrounding the cottage were still thick with the scent of whatever impossible beast had followed you there. He no longer sensed its presence, but it set his teeth on edge knowing this thing was likely still lurking around, unburdened or unbothered by the knowledge of where it was. Even if it couldn’t get into the cottage, it had gotten too close. Close enough to send him ass-over-elbows through his beloved conservatory. It was strong and possibly intelligent which made it a hell of a lot more dangerous than his usual enemies.

Dangerous enough to draw him right back to you.  Oh, what a fool he was.

-x-

Sunlight warmed the room with soft, golden tones, the glass roof catching and refracting little bursts of color across the floor. Various plant-life filled the space, leaves of impressive size in deep, rich green shielding you and the vampire from the setting sun. It smelled of dirt and grass, like afternoon at the height of summer with just a hint of citrus and flora. But—for reasons unknown—there was a plush, button-tufted sofa in the middle of what appeared to be a greenhouse. Opposite the sofa was a large table filled with flasks in varying sizes, dusty old tomes, and a desk with a surprisingly up-to-date laptop.

“How many vampires have you met?” Primo asked causally, eyes never leaving the screen as he typed.

His fingers danced across the keyboard in a dizzying rhythm, seemingly never striking the wrong key. His movements were so fluid, so flawless, and so assured of their actions that you couldn’t help but watch in awe. In what fucking world did Primo Emeritus need to send emails? As text began to fill the screen, it occurred to you that he was notably older than email, older than any computer you had ever heard of.

If he truly was 900 years old “give or take,” he was a great deal older than most things you could name.

“You jealous?” you countered, deflecting the conversation and attention back to him.

He scoffed but said nothing.

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t call myself an expert,” you admitted vaguely, trying to assess exactly how much truth to include in your answer. Normally, vampires were tricky, ten-steps-ahead types. Overly cocky. Manipulative little shits with nothing but time to perfect their technique if they were so inclined. But Primo was different than the other vampires you had encountered. Nothing he’d said or done seemed to have any ulterior motive—not that you could spot anyway. It was unlikely the First Emeritus—an immortal vampire with great wealth and even greater power—could need or want anything from any human, let alone you.  

“I’ve run into a few here and there. Mostly just low-level guys pretending to be more powerful or important than they are. But I know enough not to get involved in their business. Usually.”

“Ah,” he replied with a nod, still typing furiously.

“What are you doing anyway?” you asked leaning over his shoulder to scan the screen. The wording of his email was formal, perhaps a bit private, but he didn’t stop you from looking.

“Vampire business,” he teased and missed your dramatic eye roll completely. “It’s not much. Just part of the plan to protect you.”

“There’s a plan?”

He finally looked up, narrowing his eyes in confusion as he stared at you. “Of course there’s a plan. I always have a plan.”

“A vampire email plan?”

-x-

-You-

Not safe. Primo had said it so definitively you couldn’t help but repeat the words in your head, over and over until you’d spiraled out and crashed against the soft cushions of the reading nook. In your time with Primo you’d felt many things, but fear was normally so far down on the list that it barely ever surfaced even over the last year. Most of the time you’d been more worried than afraid, wondering where he was and what could have happened.

Now fear burrowed under your skin, a nasty little parasite feeding on your dark thoughts.

Primo was an immortal vampire. An untouchable, unstoppable force. Or at least he was supposed to be. You frowned at the book in your lap trying to will the text to give you the answer, to make sense at all. Trying to make anything make sense. How could Primo’s face—a kind and lovely and wonderful face you’d studied quietly for years—just change? You’d seen more than your fair share of weird shit in a world full of vampires and the occasional werewolf, but this? You couldn’t find anything like it in the dusty catalog of aging texts that lined the cottage shelves.

Why did he have to run away like that? Why couldn’t he just talk to you and tell you what the fuck was going on?

You were still lost in thought as Primo softly cleared his throat and entered the room as a younger man would, unbound by stiff joints or the weight of the entire world.

“Is this part of your big plan now? Running away?” It left your lips before you could think to stop it.

Primo frowned, all those little lines forming in places that used to be so prominent. “You have every right to be angry—”

“Oh? Thank you so much for the privilege,” you spat as you stood and shoved the book toward him before stomping past to make your way up the stairs.

“Wait. That’s not—”

“For the record, I’m not angry, Primo,” you admitted, your voice breaking around the words. “I’m fucking scared. I’ve never been more afraid in my entire life. What—what did I do to—”

In a split-second he climbed the stairs and cut you off by wrapping his arms around you. He rested his chin on top of your head while he smoothed a hand over your back as he spoke softly. “Nothing, Diavolina. None of this is your fault. I don’t want you to think this had anything to do with you for a second.”

“Well, what the fuck was I supposed to think?” you asked, pressing your face into his shirt as tears began to fall freely. “Thanks for the free house?”

He laughed lightly and pulled away to bring his hands to your face. Gently, his thumbs traced along your cheeks, swiping away at the tears that didn’t seem to stop. “That would be better than the alternative, don’t you think? Is that why you’re running around in my clothes?”

Your face felt hot. “That can’t possibly be what you really want to talk about.”

“It’s a start,” he replied with a shrug. “We are always safe in here, you know? Whatever’s out there can’t hurt us.”

“What about the things in here?”

“Cara, I would never—”

“What happened to you?”

Primo bit his cheek and cast his gaze at the floor. “It’s—it’s fate, I suppose.”

“Not this again,” you groaned and pushed him away, unwilling to accept the same bullshit answer he always gave when things were more complicated than he cared to explain. After all this time, after everything you already knew and accepted he still kept you at a distance. Maybe he always would.

“I’m serious,” he called after you. “I bargained my own life to save my brother.”

“What?” You spun around and quickly made your way back to the landing. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means I have a lot to answer for, tesoro,” he replied quietly, reaching for you.

The vampire took your hand and led you down the stairs, past the chaotic nest you’d built in the nook and into the kitchen without a second thought. He motioned for you to sit while he moved through the room. Everything was exactly as he had left it, exactly as it had always been, but he frantically searched the cabinets like it was someone else’s home. He found the old, dented kettle and filled it with water before turning to fiddle with the stove. The knob turned, letting out a few clicks and the brief smell of gas, but it didn’t ignite. He tried three more times without success before slamming his fists against the counter so hard you thought the stone might break.

You slipped from the chair and placed a comforting hand on his back. Turning the knob with your other hand—two quick clicks to the left and one to the right—the flame caught instantly, Primo’s small misstep easily fixed. He always forgets. How does he always forget?

“I have been lost without you,” he admitted softly.

“Are you talking to the tea?” you asked, moving the kettle to the stove.

“You know what I mean, tesorino.”

“We’re both here. No one’s lost.”

He nodded once. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

He smiled, that same real, genuine Primo smile that turned the corners of his mouth and scrunched up his eyes. He was still the same handsome devil you’d always known, just a little softer. A little smoother. You couldn’t help but touch his face, tracing where the lines used to be and might hopefully be again. His skin was warm to the touch like it always was after he’d fed well, his core temperature burning hotter while repaired and replenished itself.

He'd tried to explain it to you once, comparing the mechanics of vampires to nuclear reactors. Something relatively simple yet powerful at its core, this plus that. But without obedience—his words—vampires were nothing more than a perfect recipe for disaster, a catastrophic, destructive force. It never made sense to you, the way he would often try to present himself as a thing instead of the caring and giving man he truly was.

He leaned into your touch, shoulders releasing their tension as his eyes fluttered closed. A soft, contented sigh fell from his lips as he pressed his nose to your wrist and breathed the scent of your skin.

“What happened?” you asked gently. “How did you—”

“Get like this?” he finished for you and sighed heavily. He opened his eyes, watching you curiously as he brushed a stray hair from your face. “Where do I begin, my little devil?”

“Start with when and we’ll work our way up to how.”

He reached across the stove and grabbed the kettle before it could start to whistle. There was a certain comfort in watching his movements, the familiar dance of making tea in that odd little kitchen, even if he was ignoring your question or simply prolonging the explanation. He prepared each cup with care, as though he was savoring the simple moment, holding it with gentle hands. Like showing kindness to an injured animal, hopeful and hesitant, he passed the faded mug to you.

Everything’s better in Aurea Valley!

“It is a long story, I’m afraid,” he warned.

You smiled softly. “I have time.”

-x-

-Primo-

Primo understood anger. He knew the visceral heat of it intimately, knew exactly how it could swallow someone, consume them entirely and grow within them until it is all that they are. Many desperate lifetimes ago it was rage and fear that sustained him; he lived with the pain and isolation it brought. And with shaking, unsteady hands he clawed his way through the nine circles of Hell to free himself from it, to break whatever bonds had forged in the Pit.

He understood it. He knew it. He expected it.

But you weren’t angry and that he couldn’t quite understand. You looked so soft, so perfect sitting across from him in the cramped kitchen. Too perfect for someone like him. He would have given anything to save his brother, but it wasn’t until your fingers gently intertwined with his that he finally realized everything he was going to lose.

“Primo? You’re awfully quiet,” you prodded gently.

“Mi dispiace, Diavolina. My mind got away from me.”

“It’s ok, you know. If you can’t do this right now—”

“My mother was the one who taught me about plants, did you know?” he admitted without much thought. “She was truly gifted—a green thumb, as they say. Of course it was dangerous for a woman of her time to possess any sort of knowledge, but I suppose that’s hardly changed in the last millennium. She never cared much about what others thought; she just wanted to share her traditions with her son. So she did.”

You offered him the softest smile. “So that’s where you get it from.”

“It’s a way to honor her, I suppose. After all this time, after all my stupid mistakes and missteps I can still plant a seed and watch it grow and hope somehow her spirit is…proud of me?”

“900 years old and you’re still seeking your parents’ approval,” you quipped.

“Only my mother’s. But I have spent much of my life searching for something, collecting these tiny pieces of knowledge and traditions to appease some distant memory of her. To assuage my own guilt, in a way. Love has been called a weakness so many times—and maybe it is, I certainly don’t know—but it is why I will not hesitate when it comes to my brothers—to my family. And now that they are hellbent on expanding the Emeritus line, their actions have attracted some unwanted attention.

“I do not regret what I have done to save them,” he admitted quietly, unable to meet your eyes any longer. He sighed and began to dig his thumbnail into the soft wood of the table. He scraped at it, absently picking at a gouge in the wood left by Terzo sometime in the 1970s. What possible explanation could he give you now than the absolute truth? The ugly, awful truth of who he was and who he had become. You deserved so much better than this, better than his failures and inabilities. Better than to be trapped within this Emeritus curse, doomed to a life stained with blood.

He finally looked up, eyes tracing over your skin to recommit every feature to memory. The crease of your brow, the pout of your lips. Your eyes mirrored his movements as he studied you, concern evident on your face. In the dim light of the kitchen you looked almost heavenly despite the silly nickname he had given you years ago.  You were still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen—a man who had witnessed so much and still knew so little. How had he let himself get so tangled up in you? How could he have ever run from you? How could he let you go even if you weren’t his to keep?

“I am not a good man,” he began uneasily. “But I could not let him suffer like that.”

“Primo—”

He held up a hand to stop you. “My brothers and I are grown men nine times over, I know. But it’s instinct, I suppose, even after all this time. For months I watched Terzo wither away, utterly powerless to provide anything but a temporary reprieve. I watched as that same sadness ate away at Draculina’s soul day after agonizing day. I had to—I hope you can understand that the choice I made was not an easy one. They had both become so small and I—”

You jumped from your seat as his voice broke. Before he could even think to argue, you’d wrapped your arms around him and offered comfort he didn’t deserve. “It’s ok,” you whispered into his hair. “I know you can’t stand to see anyone hurting.”

“But where did that leave you? I’ve spent so long trying—what if the ritual had killed me? What if I had left you here unprotected? What if—”

“Primo Emeritus, you know can’t sustain yourself on what ifs.”

“That’s not—this isn’t,” he grumbled with frustration as you slid back in your seat with a roll of your eyes. “Diavolina, I—we—could have died. We could still die.”

“Since when are you afraid of death?”

“I’m not afraid of my own,” he corrected gravely. “I’m afraid of yours. That ritual took so much—I knew better and I still did it anyway. I’m not sure if that is simply desperate or stupid, but it did help him. Terzo is perfectly fine now, off somewhere sunbathing with Draculina. But the cost was high and the weight of it all…it’s as though Fate herself sits on my shoulders. And the hunger—it’s not something I can easily describe. And this,” he paused, motioning toward a face missing the familiar creases and age lines. “This is a side effect of my efforts, of my own self-destructive bargaining. I have lost my control.”

Your eyebrows pinched together as you considered his words. “Your control? You mean feeding?”

“It’s…too dangerous for me to be here, to be around anyone. I could never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“Primo, you don’t have to protect me.”

“It’s not quite that simple. It’s dangerous and I shouldn’t be here, but there is something…pulling me here. Pulling me to you.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you replied with a smirk.

“Diavolina, be serious! This—this bond is dangerous—”

“So you’ve said.”

“I could hurt you—”

“Yeah, and maybe you won’t. It’s not like this hasn’t been a possibility for us all along, but I trusted you anyway. I still trust you. You’re the one person—the only person—in this entire stupid world that I trust. Someday you’re going to have to accept it.”

He shook his head. “Why would you trust me? Why did you stay—”

“Primo, don’t be fucking stupid,” you replied flatly.

“I—what?”

“It’s you, Primo. It has been since the beginning. It’s always been you.”

“I—you…you can’t be serious.”

“Why not? We can’t choose these things, so it doesn’t really matter how I feel about it. It just is. I’ve dealt with it long enough—”

“Dealt with it?” he repeated incredulously. “Diavolina, this is not something one can simply—”

“I never said it was simple. Everything with you is complicated, why wouldn’t my feelings be too?”

“But you deserve—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that ok? We are both extremely flawed people in a fucked up universe that brought us together for some reason. I don’t know what that reason is and I might never know, but I’m not going to just give up and walk away because you can’t love me back. That isn’t what our lives here are about—”

“Dia, I do love you,” he confessed quickly.

“Huh?”

“I…I have loved you for a long time now.”

“Well…ok. Good. Great. So we’re all caught up then.”

“I suppose we are.” 

You stared at him for a moment. “You really didn’t know?”

He gave you an uneasy shrug and went back to picking at the table. “I haven’t always allowed myself to believe such things were possible.”

“Primo,” you started sadly. “You are worth so much more than you will ever know.”

“I’m afraid what you see is just a reflection of your own light, Diavolina.”

“Say it again, please?”

“I love you, my little devil,” he whispered and leaned over the table. His lips met yours with a sweet softness and he took your face in his hands with that same beautiful tenderness he had always reserved for only you.  “Forever, for always,” he promised, pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you.”

-x-

Primo stood at the front door, waving off the flattery of a younger vampire in a crisp delivery uniform. The kid continued, unaware of Primo’s growing annoyance, but you could see it set in his shoulders a little more with each word. The more time you spent with him, the easier it was to read his body language. It was especially easy in moments like this, when a well-intentioned groveling carried on a bit too long and kept him from tending his plants.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” he asserted with a wave and quickly closed the door. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fan club meeting?” you teased from your spot on the sofa.

“Hardly,” he grumbled before shuffling through the room and dropping a thick envelope in your lap.

“What’s this?”

“Your protection.”

You raised an eyebrow and tore the little strip from the edge before peering inside. “Uh…how is this supposed to help me?” you asked and dumped the contents in your lap. “It’s a bunch of paper…and someone’s passport? Who the hell is Gia Emeritus?”

Primo shrugged. “No one until a few days ago. Now she’s you.”

“Come again?”

[spngraphics-archive]

SPN ABC's April Challenge

This month's creation challenge is simple: each day from April 5th - April 30th will be devoted to one letter of the alphabet. And you are invited to create any type of graphic or gifs pertaining to something SPN related with that letter.

For example: For letter "A" you could make a graphic of Abaddon, or a gifset of various SPN Angels, or a collage of multiple characters whose names start with "A", or a moodboard for a pairing whose ship name starts with "A", etc etc.

What Can You Make?

Any type of graphic! Edits, manips, moodboards, picspams, collages. Gifs are also accepted, though we'd like to see gifsets that play creatively with color, layout / form, typography, and/or textures.

Letter Prompts + Dates

While this is a monthly "challenge", please do not feel pressured to do every single day.

Additionally, these dates are not hard "deadlines." We'd like to see whatever creations you make, whenever you make it!

April 5th: Letter A (ex: Anna, Amara, Adam, Angels…) April 6th: Letter B (ex: Bobby, Bela, the Bunker…) April 7th: Letter C (ex: Cas, Claire, Charlie, Cassie…) April 8th: Letter D (ex: Dean, Death, Demons, Donna…) April 9th: Letter E (ex: Eileen, Emma, Ellen, the Empty, Enochian…) April 10th: Letter F (ex: Fergus, Famine, Faith, Fire…) April 11th: Letter G (ex: Gabriel, Gadreel, Garth, Ghosts, God…) April 12th: Letter H (ex: Heaven, Hell, Hannah, Hael, Home…) April 13th: Letter I (ex: the Impala, Ishim, Illusions…) April 14th: Letter J (ex: Jack, Jo, Jody, John's journal…) April 15th: Letter K (ex: Kevin, Ketch, Kelly…) April 16th: Letter L (ex: Linda, Lisa, Lebanon, Lily Sunder…) April 17th: Letter M (ex: Mary, Missouri, Meg, Michael…) April 18th: Letter N (ex: Naomi, Novaks, Nephil, Nightmare…) April 19th: Letter O (ex: Oskar, Optimism, Ouroboros, Ostium…) April 20th: Letter P (ex: Patience, Purgatory, Prophets, Psychics…) April 21st: Letter Q (ex: Queen of Hell) April 22nd: Letter R (ex: Rowena, Ruby, Raphael, Rufus, Reapers…) April 23rd: Letter S (ex: Sam, Sarah, Scoobynatural, Shapeshifters…) April 24th: Letter T (ex: Tessa, Toni Bevell, Tyson Brady...) April 25th: Letter U (ex: Uriel, Undead, Unhuman Nature, Unity...) April 26th: Letter V (ex: Victor, Vampires, Vessels...) April 27th: Letter W (ex: Winchesters, Werewolves, Witches…) April 28th: Letter X (Ex's / Divorce arcs or Wild Card) April 29th: Letter Y (ex: Yellow Eyes, Young Version of characters...) April 30th: Letter Z (ex: Zachariah, Zanna, Zombies...)

Rules

🚫 NO AI generated content. 🚫 NO incestuous or adult/minor relationships. 🚫 Goes without saying but, no hateful / bigotted content. 🏷️ Please tag any NSFW content accordingly. 🏷️ Please tag for any additional content warnings.

🌟 Additionally please @ us or use our tracked tag #spngraphics-archive so we can see and reblog your creations!

[ms-demeanor]

I'm all for sex work on Tumblr cause like hell yeah going back to our roots. But now that I'm a grownass adult with a job that involves a lot of waiting around with other people, I think that people can at least tag their NSFW NSFW so I can save that NSFW for later when I am not idling around Tumblr waiting FW

that is very different than the tumblr live avatars and if your coworkers are getting offended by the tumblr live avatars they are looking too closely at your phone.

But also block and move on. If you can't trust someone to tag their nsfw and it's causing a problem for you, block that person. Curate your experience, bud, or create a tumblr account that you just use for scrolling at work and only follow people who post safe for work sasuke before their hole pics.

Like. It used to be a sitewide joke that you were taking your life into your hands when scrolling tumblr in public, let alone at work. Tagging NSFW isn't going to keep teen and up Onceler/MLP manips from drifting across your screen.

This is why the safe bet is to only look at boring blocks of black and white text on the clock so that no one can tell that you're reading E-rated onceler/mlp fics.

It is *polite* for people to tag NSFW but if you make it a hard fast rule to always tag everything that could possibly be interpreted as NSFW you start blocking truth coming out of her well to shame mankind.

[getvalentined]

I love when folks ask me Fandom Old questions and I get to be like "Yeah, uh, that's from my old online RP group, no it's not canon at all, yes we just made it up, no we did not claim it was canon but the mid to late aughts were a strange time."

It's honestly a shock to realize how often this has happened. I mentioned earlier that Reno's fanon surname came from this same group, but that's not even the half of it. I once made a bunch of screenshot manips based on the most ridiculous ships anyone could think of—someone slapped a random line of text onto one of them and to this day it's used as a "cringe FF7 fandom" meme. I saw it on the twits a bit back and almost fell out of my goddamn chair.

If you've ever heard Scarlet referred to with the surname "West," read about Tseng fighting with metal fans, seen Elena's older sister being called Anna instead of Emma, come across Vincent portrayed as having a PhD in spite of being a Turk, or caught references somewhere to Grimoire experimenting on Vincent as a child, that started with this group. That was us.

One of the funniest examples of this, for me specifically, is that we don't actually know which arm Veld is missing? The fandom generally goes with his left because that's how I drew him in the first picture of the guy ever posted on devart way back in 2005, but it may very well be his right. I've seen people offer "proof" that it's his right based on a scene in the opening cutscene, but you can't tell there either, and with BC's graphics there's literally no way to tell on his sprite.

Hell, this year we found out everyone's assumed timeline of the Kalm fire is wrong, and that's our fault too because we made some assumptions about Felicia's age for an LJ RP that were entirely wrong. She's around Zack's age, not Sephiroth's! She's old enough to run with a terrorist group in BC, but she was a child when Kalm burned, and that happened in 1997—we know this because NPCs in Rebirth literally refer to the fire in Kalm having happened "just ten years ago." Veld has only had his prosthetic for three years when BC starts. (This also implies that, contrary to popular belief, Veld may actually be younger than Vincent. Vincent may have been the senior partner, and that's why he was sent to Nibelheim alone while Veld was left at headquarters.)

We were really wrong on this! But we were working with what we had. There's no canon evidence for the vast majority of these things (the most notable exclusion here is Vincent being educated) but we weren't claiming there was. We were filling gaps, and canon was so sparse that we had a lot of gaps to fill. So if it turns out that Veld lost his right arm, then I'll just have to start drawing him that way—because losing his left was never canon.

Tragically, there's nothing any of us can do to make people stop assuming these things are canon at this point; there aren't a lot of us still in the fandom, and it's not like any of us have those old chatlogs anymore. People from this RP group have DIED since those days. It's been over 20 years since most of us met, and around 15 since most of us were in a public fannish space together.

"Prove it," people say, and I literally can't. Do you know how many computers I've been through since then? 75% of the platforms we used no longer exist. This all started on a BBCode forum! There is no proof!

But...there's no evidence any of these things are canon, either, so maybe think about that? The Kalm fire, Tseng's weapon of choice, Veld's arm, character surnames—none of these are retcons because there was no lore there to retcon. We made it up for our specific purposes, and it escaped containment in an era when there was really no way to do online contact tracing.

It's just one of the weirdest feelings in the world to see younger folk arguing about A or B point in canon, about X or Y retcon—referencing something my friends and I thought up at like 10 o'clock at night on a now-defunct IM client in August of 2005, because we needed something to refer back to for a specific scene in an RP and the source material had nothing to offer.

Absolutely fucking bonkers.

[gyunglitter]

sick day

- just you dicking around with txt college!au besties

warnings: cursing, tsunderes ahead, I USED A MANIP😭, jujutsu kaisen spoiler at the end, txt being clingy

tags: txtxreader (platonic), non-idol!au, college!au, txt, lag, tomorrowxtogether, lesserafim, hansohee, drabble fics!, bulletpoint fics!

notes: was this a lil self indulgent since i am also sick in bed? maybe. but at least yall got content from it!

ALSO? why are 4th gen manips so good?? i dont ship idols, but i was just searching on pinterest for fun and figured i could use one for this post (as you can see), but was flabbergasted by the results?? i remember 3rd gen manips were SO BAD, but these 4th gen ones are actually kinda believable?? im so scared of yall😭

⚤ masterlist

when you get sick

these guys really try to act like they don't care

but god, do they care :(

they will drag you to hell and back in the gc for just existing

but they will also show up at your doorstep with soup, crackers, and your favorite ice cream to cheer you up

as well as yeonjun's netflix and disney+ passwords to watch your favorite shows and movies

expect to be pampered with the most love while they complain and act like you inconvenience them SO MUCH

the guys nursed you back to health in no time

all while making fun of your sick voice and calling you lisa zemo

“isn’t that that one canadian kids show that all the child actors were secretly hooking up with each other the whole time?”

“moze had more bodies than me”

“that’s not saying much, beomgyu”

“neither’s gojo, soobin. eat a bag of dicks”

“you bitch”

[sgiandubh]

Umpteenth (and blocked) Gay Anon

You just couldn't help yourself. Again. Just had to do it yesterday: what the heck, let's try and see if it sticks. Again.

Uh, oh. To no avail. Again.

But because I had no fucking idea of what you were talking about, I took my Hazmat suit and went for a stroll on Data Lounge.

And yeah, surely enough, it took me just about 15 seconds to hit the crap-pot:

You're that transparent. Same grammar mistakes as my particularly challenged Anon I am regularly torturing in here. LOL?

But God forbid you'd notice the common sense fact that Tovey posed with just about everybody in attendance the same way he posed with S:

And God forbid you'd notice also that, when snapped unaware, the pic tells a different story: a relaxed conversation between two pals, one of which has buried his hands in his pockets (S) and the other is blocking with the wine glass (R).

And FYI, your best frenemy, *urv, didn't go anywhere. She was just baiting her inane mob, throwing in a (plaintive violins, please - no drums) pathetic medical narrative, for sympathy:

Best part? "I was never into Sam". 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😵🙄

Hell just froze. Sure enough, she was never into S. Not as *urv, anyways, but as Scilla - her avatar in the Twilight fandom. Puffy lived enough to tell that tale:

You'd profitably also read this post from Puffy, btw: https://justmakeitadouble.wordpress.com/2018/09/27/stalking-101-the-manip/

*urv still uses even today the same sharpie blackout technique on the pics she is posting (now using Tipp-Ex white, who the hell does this woman think she's fooling?). But gave up the inserting 'erself in the pics part: at 50+, it's a bit late for this particular kind of shit game.

Also, this:

Sounds familiar? It should, she does this every single time a 'new crush' hits the billboard.

Thought it would be a pity to lose all this historical info. But cue in 'you're Puffy' Anons in 4, 3, 2...

ROFLMAO. The true story is always more interesting than this rubbish.

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

The Thunder That Follows | 1. Do You Think I'd Give Up?

Frank Castle x Fem Reader

next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist

summary: Frank meets a mysterious new foe.

warnings: None for this chapter

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks!*

word count: 933

Frank Castle was not used to competition in his line of work. Sure Red was a pain about the ‘no killing’ thing whenever their paths crossed, but there weren’t exactly a lot of people (except the scumbags he was after) getting in the way of his work. That was until tonight.

The HVAC system of the building hummed in his ears as he stalked the halls of the 72nd floor of the Skyward Airlines corporate offices. Every corner he turned led to a different executive suite, each one more plush and lavish than the last with modern furnishings and stunning views of the New York skyline. Not a soul was around to enjoy the luxury and he was growing more agitated with every room he entered that turned up empty. The bastard had to be in here somewhere.

He took the stairs two at a time to the 67th floor, wondering if C Suite assholes like Herman Douglass even knew his company had space on the lower floor, where all the underpaid employees - regular people with rent to pay and families to feed, worked overtime to make sure he could buy a yacht that sat empty docked in the Hudson most of the year.

He sighed with relief as he turned the corner and saw a light coming from under a door in the long hallway ahead. A woman’s voice giggled from behind it and he heard his target hum in agreement.

Having an affair with his younger secretary, how cliche.

Frank waited patiently for a few moments, listening to see if there was any chance the woman would slip out of the room and leave him the opportunity he was there for in the first place.

“Oh darling, there’s a special gift for you I forgot on my desk upstairs. Why don’t you be a dear and go get it?” the male voice said from behind the door

Perfect.

“Oh yes, Mr. Douglass!” she agreed with another giggle

She didn’t see Frank standing in the shadows waiting as she flung open the door and traipsed down the hallway, hips swinging as she went.

Frank took the opportunity and slipped into the conference room where Douglass sat, leaned back in a chair with his feet on the conference table. He had a smug expression on his pudgy, red face as he undid another button on his dress shirt.

The click of the gun alarmed him as he spun in his seat, sputtering and scrambling to his feet to meet his visitor.

“What… what could I possibly be… The Punisher… but I’m not some low life.. I mean, I…” Douglass stammered

“Shut it Douglass, like all those heroin strains being laced with whatever fucked up shit that’s killing people ain’t getting transported on your planes.”

“I don’t know anything about heroin transportation you must have the wrong…”

Bang.

The sound of a gunshot rang out through the conference room and Herman Douglass flinched, ready to meet his maker.

But it seemed as if time stopped and both he and the man who fired the gun stared at the bullet, suspended in mid air.

A woman appeared between them, holding the bullet between her index finger and thumb.

“Who the hell—?”

But before he could finish his sentence, she spun around and landed her fist right on Douglass’ temple, rendering him unconscious as he slumped against the table.

She turned to face Frank, combat boots thumping on the grey carpet as she threw the bullet on the floor and stepped towards him.

“This one is mine, Castle.” she exclaimed, stepping on her tip toes to nearly press her nose to his. “There’s more to this heroin transport than just him. I need him alive. For now.”

Frank could see the anger in her eyes. After all, it was about all he could see of her. The cowl of her grey athletic zip up and a black beanie covered most of her face, and her black cargo pants hid the rest.

“Can’t let that happen.” Frank replied

“And why not?”

“Cause he’s been facilitating some nasty drug trafficking, the kind that’s been gettin’ people killed.”

“I’m aware of that. Why do you think I’m here?”

“Honestly, not a fuckin’ clue. Don’t even know who you are.”

“You don’t have to. I’m here about his crimes too and he will be dealt with. But later.”

The woman waved a keycard in Franks face. Herman Douglass’ work keycard to be exact.

“This is my ticket to figuring out just who is paying him to move the drugs. But I need him alive.”

“So I’m just supposed to go on my merry way then? Huh? That it?” Frank asked “Look lady, I have no idea who you are or how you stopped my bullet out of thin air or just… appeared. But I ain’t about to just take the word of some stranger that he’ll end up dead and not just kill him myself right now.”

The woman shrugged.

“Just stay out of my way, Castle.”

Frank barely had time to react as the woman disappeared before his eyes just as she had been before. He had no idea where she was until his gun was out of his hand and striking him against the forehead. Then it was black.

The alleyway where Frank woke up smelled of hot garbage, reeking of a New York summer air that lingered in your nose for days. His head pounded as he tried to recall how he’d ended up here.

A woman, who was there then not? No that couldn’t be right…

[dbmars]

Full disclosure, this is my first foray into writing Duncan or Jack even though I love them so much. I'm actually really disappointed that there haven't been any comments or anything on Ao3 or social media. Maybe I should stay in my lane! (Hannigram) or maybe I'm HORMONAL! (also true) And y'know what I'm really proud of my little photo manip job up there too.

Excerpt from this chapter nobody's read:

Jack stood and turned to Duncan. “I know what you’re thinking. We needed to get inside the house. We didn’t know Jacob was home for the break, and I should have just let those guys kick his ass and leave him in a ditch, because then we could have just walked in, no problem.” 

Duncan grunted. Jack glowered at him, bottom lip sneaking out. “Catch more flies with honey than vinegar. And… y’know what, I’m not sorry I kicked a bunch of bigots’ asses. I know we’re not supposed to beat up on humans but I don’t give a shit.” 

“Supposed to be quiet.” Duncan opened up his inner coat pocket and slipped out a pack of cigarettes. “Not draw attention.”

Jack scoffed dismissively, and opened his mouth to say something, but Vizla suddenly had him by the arms, and pushed him back swiftly into the wall with a soft thud. A curio cabinet rattled dangerously as the Black Kaiser easily forced Jack’s wrists against the wallpaper at shoulder height. They’d both gotten the same serum initially, but the extra doses needed for the eye surgery, coupled with Duncan outweighing him by fifty, sixty pounds, maybe more, made it no contest. 

“Vizla—!” His name was a sharp exhale as the breath was forced out of his lungs. “What the fuck?” He tried to wiggle free, push back. His wrists came away from the wall an inch, trembling with exertion, before Duncan forced them back down. The Black Kaiser was granite-strong, as always. What was more alarming was the warmth that spread up from Jack's groin and the shiver that snaked through his body.  

“Taking a page out of Will Graham’s book?” Duncan rasped, close to his face, his breath smoky and dangerous.

“What?” Jack’s mouth felt numb and stupid. 

“Fucking everything in sight to get close to the target. That’s his MO.”

Anger flared, unfurling in his gut like a flag in the breeze, snapping in the wind. “I’m nothing like Will Graham,” he snarled. 

“Maybe he’s taking a page out of yours.” Duncan released him suddenly and stepped back. It always threw Jack for a loop, how fast he could move despite his size, his coat rippling in the breeze of his movements. 

Jack stepped unsteadily away from the wall, rubbing his wrists. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Vizla finally lit the cigarette behind his ear he’d somehow tucked there. Smoke curled up from the ceiling and the cherry glowed like a tiny piece of hell stoked by his breath. He didn’t answer. 

“Are you talking about Paris?”

Again, Vizla didn’t respond, just raised the cigarette to his lips between two long, scarred fingers, the smoke tickling his mustache. His stupid fucking mustache, Jack thought. “You are talking about Paris,” he answered for himself. “You’re talking about Sarah.”

“Your sugar mommy.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jack demanded, his body taut from head to toe. He was trembling with fury and hated that it was no doubt visible to the Kaiser’s trained eyes, both human and vampire. “I was supposed to get us into the house, and I got us into the house. The only evidence we were ever here is a posse of good ol’ boys with broken noses who’ll probably be too ashamed to tell anyone they got their asses kicked by one guy. Things are fine as of right now, anyway, because the longer we’re fucking standing here–”

Vizla closed the space between them in a preternatural blink that left Jack disoriented, the assassin wrapping a hand around the collar of his shirt. Jack instinctively gripped his wrist, then glared up at him. There was a thorny silence that ended when Duncan said,“Your bag’s by the front door. Get back on schedule.” 

With that, he released Jack’s shirt. Jack, fuming, retrieved the large black duffle bag from the foyer and slipped it over his shoulder.

[thisweekingundamwing]

This Week in Gundam Wing 7-19 October 2024

Here’s the roundup for October 7th - October 19th, 2024!

Remember to give your content creators some love! Be sure to join in on the events at the bottom! And remember to send in any new works you see or make this next week!

~Mod Hel

Fanfiction/Ideas/Snippets:

@bryony-rebb

https://www.tumblr.com/bryony-rebb/764587335635599360/dragging-myself-kicking-and-screaming-back-to-my

*dragging myself kicking and screaming back to my word document after one million years*

"Maybe we should try to delay our departure by a few days? With the right shuttle we could still catch up with the main fleet."

@duointherain

Apex Predators https://www.tumblr.com/duointherain/763789949468278784/fic-apex-predators-11

Note: Smelting temp for aluminum is 800 degrees. My roommates will not let me do this in the kitchen.

Quatre arched an eyebrow, looked down at the little individual hand blender next to his plate, then back up at Duo. “You made these mixers from aluminum you found on the beach, the streets?”

@miyurinq

3 x 4 Drabbles https://archiveofourown.org/works/59356291/chapters/151381402?hide_banner=true

M/M, Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner

Not Rated, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Torokatober2024, Trowa x Quatre - Freeform, Melancholy, Fluff, cute stuff, little drama here and there, English

a collection of drabbles for the Torokatober 2024 (Tumblr)

@ms-miserable-misery

https://www.tumblr.com/ms-miserable-misery/763607680110706689/day-6-im-not-giving-up

Day 6 - “I’m not giving up”

https://www.tumblr.com/ms-miserable-misery/763714563950690304/day-7-follow-me-if-you-want-to-live

Day 7 - “follow me if you want to live”

https://www.tumblr.com/ms-miserable-misery/763796881996398592/day-8-are-we-happy

Day 8 - “are we happy?”

https://www.tumblr.com/ms-miserable-misery/764091894482468864/day-11-well-that-worked-out-great

Day 11 - “well, that worked out great”

https://www.tumblr.com/ms-miserable-misery/764155181613170688/day-12-did-you-hear-that

Day 12 - “did you hear that?”

https://www.tumblr.com/ms-miserable-misery/764316843572969472/day-14-did-you-stick-to-the-plan

Day 14 - “did you stick to the plan?”

https://www.tumblr.com/ms-miserable-misery/764404078871773184/day-15-lets-try-this

Day 15 - “let’s try this”

https://www.tumblr.com/ms-miserable-misery/764497112231788544/day-16-no-im-not-okay

Day 16 - “no, I’m not okay”

https://www.tumblr.com/ms-miserable-misery/764589228684460032/day-17-strangest-thing-i-ever-heard

Day 17 - “strangest thing I ever heard”

Arts/Crafts/Photo Manips:

@alphamecha-mkii

https://www.tumblr.com/alphamecha-mkii/763722028479119360/deathscythe-hell-custom-by-amasaki-yusuke

Deathscythe Hell Custom by Amasaki Yusuke, fanart

@hyper-girlcrush

https://www.tumblr.com/hyper-girlcrush/764107565058719744/trowa-based-on-endless-waltz

Trowa Barton, fanart

@siodam

https://www.tumblr.com/siodam/764586285623066624

Heero/Relena, fanart

Photosets/Gifsets/Screenshots/Manga Pages:

@janaverse

https://www.tumblr.com/janaverse/763820192832815104/more-sheepish-duo-i-have-never-seen-heero-do

Duo/Heero, Sims, screenshot

https://www.tumblr.com/janaverse/764185464732303360/duo-in-spandex

Duo Maxwell, Sims, screenshot

https://www.tumblr.com/janaverse/764688856747524096/there-is-no-universe-where-wolf-nap-will-not-be

Heero, Duo, Sims, screenshot

https://www.tumblr.com/janaverse/764742385918001152/sneaky-i-am-sure-duo-would-let-him-play-with

Heero/Duo, Sims, screenshot

@therosecrest

https://www.tumblr.com/therosecrest/763872322771894272

Iria Winner, gif

Head Canons/Meta:

@a-river-of-stars

https://a-river-of-stars.tumblr.com/post/763718344427847680/

Gundam Wing supports your right to leave behind your deadname

https://a-river-of-stars.tumblr.com/post/763721062511984640/

Live-action Gundam Wing characters as headcanoned by a-river-of-stars (AI images generated through text prompts and edited in GIMP)

Fandom Discourse:

@emiliabeville

https://www.tumblr.com/emiliabeville/764006239523028993/seriously-struggling-to-get-through-gundam

Relena, official art

I hope you can get through it! It’s a wild ride. ^_^

Calendar Events:

@gwcocktailfriday

Cocktail Fridays!

Post responses on Friday, during Happy Hour between 3 & 5 pm in your own timezone.

Here’s the prompts for Friday, October 25th: https://gwcocktailfriday.tumblr.com/post/764767710938808320/cocktail-friday-post-responses-on-friday-october

In need of prompts!

@gwoc-october

Prompt List 2024: https://www.tumblr.com/gwoc-october/763150907755134976/gw-oc-october-is-back-going-a-bit-more-generic

@thisweekingundamevents

Events Calendar https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/730188053636841472/updated-events-calendar

If you are hosting an event currently, or are planning on one, hit us up with links and dates! We’ll add them to the Calendar and reblog your notices to get the word out!

GW Holiday Gift Exchange 2024

Assignments Sent out! Check your emails: https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/763976851818512384/all-gw-holiday-gift-exchange-assignments-have-been

GW Hallows 2024

https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/763151583438618625/gw-hallows-2024

[darklydeliciousdesires]

New story announcement!

So, it's been all go here at the DDD writing room! I've almost finished Light on the Darkside, and for the past few weeks, I have embarked on a brand new original story I am excited to share with you guys eventually.

Let me introduce you to my lovely OC's, Holly and Nathan :)

Picture manip by the immensely talented and all-around lovely, lovely person @jemmalynette! Face claims are Emilia Clarke and Graf Von Baphomet, who completely barged his way into being Nathan's faceclaim after I spent weeks imagining him as someone different, lol!

And now an excerpt from the story:

Dancing slowly, she smiled up at him, the radiance she felt inside reflected back in his adoring gaze, the green of his eyes alight like emerald fire. Still, there was something there she caught, a tiny shadow blighting him that only she would have noticed. She always did whenever he faltered. 

“This,” she spoke, gently stroking the furrow between his brows. “What’s this for?” 

Damn his insecurities to hell, for ruining a moment he wanted to remember forever, not have it besmirched by the emotional burdens of his past. “Because I... I..., ahhh, pissing hell.” Resting his forehead to hers as they swayed, he groaned softly, feeling her hand stroking his chest right above his fluttering heart. “Should be easier than this to say, because it is easy. Everything is with you.” 

Her smile spoke of her silent understanding, softly biting her lower lip, moving her hand to cup his face. “If you tell me, I promise you, I’ll say it back.” 

And with the freedom she’d given him, the safety of her sanctuary, he finally let himself have enough trust to tell her. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Nathan.”  

It's going to be angsty, but also funny and light. Oh, and of course, there will be a liberal sprinkling of smut!

Little Earthquakes is coming soon, darlings.

[blackjackkent]

Pushing north from the necromantic laboratory through the other corridors of the mind flayer colony, Rakha and her companions arrive in a long hallway lined with illithid pods.

"Mind flayers and civilians, side by side..." murmurs the guardian. "This must be where they infect and transform those they kidnap."

"This place," Minthara intones solemnly, "has been used to make slaves of those who should be masters."

Rakha shoots her a sideways look. Did Minthara inhabit one of these pods, once? Is that how she found the tadpole in her head and a commanding role over the Absolute's army of goblins at Moonhaven?

She remembers the pod on the nautiloid. Her earliest clear memory - staggering free of it to the smell of smoke and burning flesh and hot metal. The pain in her head and behind her eye. The blind terror of knowing nothing, nothing at all - not where she was, not who she was, not what had happened or what would happen...

At least she is not there anymore. She has Wyll next to her, and Lae'zel and Minthara. She has the guardian in her pocket. She knows some things - not many, but more. She's not alone...

She taps the control panel in front of one of the pods. Then another, and another. Memories flow through her, fragmented images left from those who have been tadpoled and transformed inside these devices.

Narrator: Courage... conviction... defiance. Even as her organs began to dissolve, she believed she could resist.

Narrator: Delirium... mania... laughter. His mind broke before the end, and he was laughing uncontrollably as the skin fell from his face.

Narrator: Desperation... pain... terror. Cultists raided his village. He was the sole survivor.

Narrator: Amusement... curiosity... fascination. He believed the horrors of Moonrise to be a fleeting dream that would fade on waking.

Narrator: Your lungs burn with the dry heat of the fires raging about you, but the pain is not enough to diminish your swing. one goblin after another falls to your blade. A man's voice cries out through the thick smoke. 'Ravengard!', you call, but the clang of swords and the spell-shouts of attacking drow are your only reply.

Narrator: This pod pulsates with the angry memories of Ravengard's search officer, Manip Shuurga. She laments her failure to locate him.

She slows in her movements. These last two have some resonance of familiarity. Images of the burning village near the nautiloid - Waukeen's Rest. The place where Wyll's father was taken. These people were there, and inside the pods, unlike the others, they are still alive, not illithid. Perhaps they know where he is. If she can open the pods--

"Zevlor," she hears Wyll say behind her, and the dismay in his voice distracts her from everything else.

"What?" she asks, and turns--

The teeth-ling leader from the Grove. The one Cerys said froze and betrayed them all in the cursed dark. He sits still alive in one of the pods; his head thrashes from side to side as if caught in the grip of some terrible nightmare.

Rakha brushes her fingers over the console in front of him.

Narrator: You remember the shattered windows of Elturel's High Cathedral, the burning black sky of Avernus beyond. In its horror, the Blood War unites you. Tiefling, dwarf, and elf alike huddle behind the shields of your paladin order, waiting for salvation. But when it comes... disunity. The returned city casts your people out - the devils who dragged them down to hell. In the end, it is not your paladin oath that is broken. It is your faith itself.

The images are fractured and dark and layered through with a great deal of pain. Bits and pieces of the memory tie into the small amount Zevlor told them of the teeth-lings' history. A city dragged into the hells. An exile afterwards.

She examines the final control panel in the room.

Narrator: Your tadpole forms a telepathic connection with the device, and a chorus of static energy fills your mind. Every mind flayer in the room calls out hungrily from its pod, seeking release - and sustenance. But there are others in the pods - those not yet infected, not yet illithid. Terrified. Desperate to escape. The device is open to your tadpole's command. To your authority.

(A/N: I love the way the narrator says that last bit. It's clear she's realized that au-thor-ity is basically a meme part of her narration by this point in the game. XD )

Lae'zel hisses warily. "Ghaik machinery. Cold as the Sea of Night, alien as time to the Astral Plane. Avert your eyes. Close your mind."

Perhaps under other circumstances, Rakha would listen and turn away. Even after all this time and the things that have rocked their friendship to its core, she still wants to trust Lae'zel's guidance in almost everything.

But Lae'zel didn't see that imagery, the memories from those in the pods. These people might know what became of Wyll's father. Rakha can't turn away from that. The things Wyll needs here are as important to her as her own goals.

More so, maybe...

Release.

Besides, she thinks, with deeply muted black humor as the pods begin to slide open, those that are already transformed... we can kill.