#Hunting Camera Shop

[frogosaurus]

Happy Pride month to all the gay folks who should still be with us but were lost to AIDS. So many of them had (and continue to have) huge impacts on the world, despite their lives being tragically cut short.

Since this is primarily a Muppet blog, I wanted to take a moment to talk about Richard Hunt.

Richard Hunt was a gay man and a fantastic puppeteer who started working with Jim Henson, Frank Oz, Jerry Nelson, and company in 1970 at age eighteen and joined the cast of Sesame Street two years later. While working with the Muppets, he originated the characters of Scooter, Beaker, Statler, Sweetums, and Wayne, but also became the primary performer of Janice and is responsible for the flower child personality she is now known for. He was also known to be a fantastic singer.

But maybe most importantly, he made so many people happy. According the book "Of Muppets and Men" by Christopher Finch, Hunt "seems to get more unadulterated pleasure from performing than anyone else in the organization. When he is not working on camera, he is apt to have Scooter or Beaker or Janice -- anyone -- on his arm for the purpose of entertaining... He makes the crew laugh, jokes with the guest star, clowns for the shop personnel. He is one of the chief reasons for the loose atmosphere that exists around Studio D despite the pressure and the slow pace that are endemic to television production."

Hunt died at age 41 due to AIDS complications. The Muppet Workshop made a panel for the NAMES Project AIDS quilt in his honor. The Richard Hunt Spirit Award is presented every year at the Sesame Street wrap party to the cast member that best honors Hunt's generosity and dedication on set.

Rest in peace Richard. Thank you for the laughs and the smiles, and happy Pride 💛

[kkusuka]

State Trooper Price who has your car's make, model, color, and license plate memorized so he can pull you over every chance he can

Detective Riley who shows up at your door with a warrant even though he knows you have absolutely nothing to do with the crime at hand, so he just ends up staying for tea

Officer Garrick that makes sure to enter the coffee shop you stop at every morning to 'make sure he didn't have to put a missing person’s report in'

Rookie MacTavish who has no idea why all his superiors are so into this random civilian, until he sees you then he's suddenly getting "call after call" about suspicious figures in your development that he literally has to check out

State Trooper Price who has yet to actually give you a ticket

Detective Riley who tells you things you absolutely have no business knowing because he's sure you're not going to tell anyone

Officer Garrick who offers you rides in his patrol car and rides along the sidewalk talking to you when you refuse

Rookie MacTavish "accidently" mixing you up with a high-profile suspect so you end up in a holding cell under his watch for 12 hours

State Trooper Price who gives you a police escort to your destination because you were going to be late

Detective Riley who you know has been in your house while you were gone because you're down one tea bag and your newspapers have been read through

Officer Garrick who has a hand on his taser, ready to go because someone catcalled you

Rookie MacTavish who requests camera footage from the bar you were at with your friends so he can make sure nothing "illegal" (someone hitting on his lass) was happening

State Trooper Price that gives you his badge number so anytime you actually do get pulled over you can just whip it out and be let go (but when it gets back to him he'll make sure to hunt you down for his "thank you")

Detective Riley who suddenly buys the apartment right next door and need you to show him around the building

Officer Garrick who fends off every other officer for calls to your neighborhood

Rookie MacTavish who has your coffee and food order memorized so when he runs into you by chance, he'll already have it

and poor you, who can't even go to the police about any of it. (not that you really want to, you practically have the entire justice system in your back pocket and you don't even know what you did to deserve it)

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCXDP fanfic idea: Cold Case

Bruce Wayne has worked on many cold cases over the years of being Batman. The ones shelved away after all efforts to find justice have run out. He's seen many of them be challenging to solve for the detectives assigned to them years ago. Others were obviously not investigated as thoroughly as they should have.

A rare few were purposely ignored for one reason or another. Bruce tried his best to stop current crimes, but as someone whose own parents' murder was not solved until he brought the man to justice, he knows how much closure could mean.

He worked on them whenever possible, trying to find the missing pieces to explain what happened. Usually, his kids also picked a few up here and there, but no one put in as many hours to solve closed cases as Bruce. (Tim came a close second)

That's why he clicked through an old file with his morning coffee one Saturday instead of enjoying a sleep-in. His eyes rapidly fall over the words of the police report, then the following investigation reports, witness statements and a few pictures. This file is surprisingly thick, but having no valid leads made Bruce suspicious that foul play was a t work/

It's about a young teenage boy who vanished from a small town in Illinois before his body was discovered stuffed into a rotted locker in Gotham three years later.

Daniel Fenton was last seen dining with his friends at the local burger restaurant, Nasty Burger, after school. He was seen parting with his friends two hours later. Samantha Manson's parents arrived to pick up Samantha and Tucker Foley for an art show.

Daniel had not gotten permission to go; he had been grounded due to his grades, but although Mr. Manson offered to drive him home, and the man even called the boy's sister to pick him up, Daniel insisted on walking.

The town had been relatively safe enough that most teens walked around, so the four had driven off to beat the traffic. Daniel had turned towards his house, vanishing from the restaurant's CCTV camera's sight soon after.

The walk should have taken him no more than thirty minutes, but he was an hour late. Daniel's mother frantically called all his friends after failing to contact her son within those thirty minutes. The boy's friends send messages and calls, but the boy does not respond.

Another hour later, Mr. and Mrs Fenton phoned in a missing person report. They drove around looking for Daniel as the police slowly walked through the town, and word spread quickly that the youngest Fenotn had gone missing. By the seven-hour mark, a search party of Daniel's schoolmates and a few neighbors had been formed.

Police and one hundred and three civilians were on the hunt for Daniel.

Neither Samatha's nor Tucker's messages were marked as read, although a chilling fact was that Mrs. Fenton, Mr.Fenton, and Jasmine Fenton's text messages were opened. That pinged within a block of the Fenton's residence.

Two witnesses claimed to have seen Daniel at the corner shop one block from his house, where he stopped to buy a drink. A man in a trench coat approached the boy to ask for his opinion on the chip flavors.

Daniel could be seen chatting with him for a few minutes while standing in line to pay for their purchases, as the witnesses were the cashier and one other customer. After being rung up, Daniel left the man at the counter. The police could track this man down after the boy had gone missing for twelve hours.

However, it was concluded that he had nothing to do with the disappearance, seeing as the man had ordered a cab straight to the airport and gotten on a flight right. He had even waited inside the small corner shop, sitting idly at a table until his cab arrived.

The cab camera, airport security, and plane ticket confirmed his alibi. By the seventy-two-hour mark, a new clue appeared. Daniel's backpack was half dug in a hole five miles outside the city limits when a hiker spotted the slight gleam of the strap's decorative pin.

This was seven miles from where he had disappeared. Inside his backpack were his broken phone, school supplies, the clothes he was last seen in, and a framed photo of Daniel sleeping in his room.

Sadly, the investigators could not find any clues from the sight due to the heavy rain the previous two days. Even the items within the bag were half destroyed from the rain and mud ( Bruce thought that was a ridiculous claim. He would need to break into the evidence archives, steal the backpack, and run some tests. He would ask Barry for help if he had to.)

Two towns over, another witness claimed to have seen Daniel walking by the side of road, being led by a woman in a grey dress. His picture had been shared by frantic schoolmates at a football game where the new witness recognized him.

This was one week after Daniel's disappearance. The witness had claimed to have captured the pair on her dash cam after she had saved the clip because the two had appeared from the shadows "like ghosts," and she had screamed when her headlights shone on them.

The witness was driving through the back roads to her aunt's house, and the lack of street lights, alongside the dense trees lining the roads, made it hard for anyone to see at night. The clip was no more than seven seconds.

It is just as the car turns onto the dirt road that Daniel can be seen turning towards the car, his right wrist trapped in a woman's hold. He stares into the camera while it passes by, not showing any signs of distress.

The woman is turned away from the vehicle, seemingly peering into the trees as if she thought something had caught her attention. The pair's outfits are peculiar- they seem to be dressed from the early eighteen hundreds, which was why the witness had gotten such a fright.

After searching the area where this sighting was held, the police could not find any evidence that Daniel had passed through there. The case went cold for six months before a concerned man called his local authorities about a young boy standing on the edge of a bridge. He had accidentally spotted the boy while filming a wide landscape video of his hotel room.

By the time the man had raced down to the lobby and gotten to the bridge, the emergency operator in his ear, Daniel, had vanished. When the police collected the video, they could identify the same woman wearing the same dress standing by a white van in the background. Thankfully, its license plates were in full view.

The van was later found to have been reported stolen two years before Daniel's disappearance. However, a common link existed between five other missing people investigations that spanned those two years. Sadly, the van was never seen again, and police assumed it was scrapped.

Daniel's case went cold for three years until his body was discovered during a renovation effort funded by Bruce himself. All work on the old buildings was halted as Daniel's death was confirmed, the investigation was underway, and Wayne Enterprise working entirely with the police to find out what happened to the young boy. His body was sent back to his family after the autopsy had been completed.

Daniel Fenton's cause of death was ruled to be suffocation. Physical indications on his body indicated he had attempted to fight off whoever had left those marks around his neck, but in the end, Daniel had not won. Despite the many tests they conducted on the locker and the area, no other clues could be found of how, when, and by whom Daniel had wound up there.

Bruce didn't appreciate the entire lack of clues. He had searched and done his own testing as Batman the same night Daniel's body had been found. Nothing had appeared on his tests until he had attempted to use one of Constantine's runes.

This one had flared up for a mighty ghost. Bruce had gotten the idea to check for the paranormal after rumors spread of a ghost fitting Daniel's description through the nearby neighborhood children. Constantine claimed that it was not the murder victim, Daniel Fenton, but rather something far older and far more dangerous.

Something prone to luring humans away. Bruce believes the woman seen near Daniel in the last few years of his life was not a human.

Bruce sighs, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. He's gone over the file five times, yet nothing seems to jump out at him. His coffee had gone from pipping hot to lukewarm, and his children were slowly tickling into the room.

He raises his mug at them in greeting, hiding a smile behind his cup as Cass leans over to side hug him. His daughter is always more physical in her greetings, which makes him so happy that he ignores how her eyes have launched onto his screen with intense concentration.

"A cold case?" Tim asks from around a yawn. Bruce's head barely finishes the nodding motion before the boy leans closer to the table, eyes sharp. "What's it about?"

"The body was found in the restoration affordable housing project that was canceled," Bruce replies. He begins summarizing the case to his children as the rest finally settle around the table, looking at the usual amount of exhaustion Bruce has long ago been able to push through.

He can spot the moment they all start theorizing or analyzing the presented information while he scrolls up to see Daniel's smiling face. Bruce is just about to flip the tablet around so the rest of the children can see when his daughter leans closer to the tablet.

Cass's hand spams as she hisses. "Not Dead."

It takes a moment for Bruce to process her sharp words, blinking up at her. "What was that sweetheart?"

"Not. Dead," She repeats, pointing an accusing finger at Daniel's photo. "Not Human. Lures victims to death. Almost got me."

Well, that complicates this already confusing case a bit.

[housepartyprotocol]

Farmhand

Oscar Piastri x Clarkson's Farmer!Reader

summary: Oscar has his visit to the Clarkson Farm and meets a certain animal-centred farm hand (a/n: this is a tiny touch self indulgent as i am obsessed with Clarkson's farm 24/7)

Masterlist / TipJar

ynusername

liked by kalebcooper, jeremyclarkson and 4,209 others

ynusername Season 4 of Clarkson Farm filming underway. Ready to have cameras in my face while I muck out and feed baby animals for the next few months.

view all 95 comments

user horse queen

lisahogan come join me in the farm shop

ynusername thats aruguably more camera time no thank you

user came for Jeremy Clarkson, stayed for YN

user her content is amazing

user looking forward to clarkson farm season 4!

oscarpiastri

liked by jeremyclarkson, kalebcooper, ynusername and 885,256 others

oscarpiastri I don't think I will be farming again anytime soon

view all 3,255 comments

user did you see the video of him struggling to reverse the tractor?

user I saw Kaleb and a girl die of laughter in the background user whos the girl? user she works on the farm, she is really funny in the show

mclaren not such a good driver ?

oscarpiastri a tractor is not an f1 car

kalebcooper had a great time mate! you are more then welcome to try again

oscarpiastri I dont feel like humilating myself infront of people again user I really hope it makes the show

ynusername

liked kalebcooper, jeremyclarkson, oscarpiastri, and 5,803 others

ynusername week of my furry babies

view all 187 comments

user oml so cute!

user what does she do on the farm

user she’s a dog trainer, specifically hunting dogs. she also raises and trains horses user she’s diddly squats animal whisperer

lisahogan I love heart cow, shes my baby

ynusername your next farm baby, one of many!

user did you see her making fun of oscar, the f1 driver?

clarksonsfarm

liked by ynusername, jeremeyclarkson, oscarpiastri, and 53,532 others

clarksonsfarm Filming life back on the farm ready for the next series! Somehow health and safety signed off on a team of camera crew joining farm hand YN on a hack...

Stick around to see how it went

view all 4,220 comments

user I need this footage now

user I cannot wait for this season, I bet there will be more YN screen time

liked by oscarpiastri

ynusername Twas a great time, no accidents, no issues with birds, perfect...

user OMG tell us what happened ynusername ;) kalebcooper Happy I was not there ynusername It was fun!

oscarpiastri

liked by mclaren, landonorris, ynusername, and 659,098 others

oscarpiastri Back in my type of vehicle. I can drive this.

view all 20,987 comments

user clarkson farm reference!

user P3 Qualifying!

ynusername Good luck

liked by oscarpiastri user OMG Its her! user who? user Watch Clarksons's farm on amazon user Jeremy clarkson..? user YUP

landonorris still so jealous you got to drive a tractor

landonorris I asked, no one will let me oscarpiastri aww poor you user i cannot imagine lando driving a tractor mclaren you are too much of a liability for us to let you do that landonorris But you LET OSCAR?! user hes 1 sec away from downloading a tractor simulator

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, kalebcooper, lisahogan, and 6,735 others

ynusername Order of preference, horses>dogs>racecars>cows>sheep>people

view all 429 comments

user why are people so low...

ynusername because animals are less likely to be sassier than me, which is how i like it user thats honestly so real

lisahogan that order is respectable, but race cars?

ynusername your parter is JEREMY CLARKSON? lisahogan true

user No that reaction to F1 is my resting face while watching

oscarpiastri dogs win

ynusername you need to meet more horses user CROSSOVER?!?!

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, landonorris, kalebcooper, and 725,266 others

oscarpiastri Got told I needed to meet more horses by a dog trainer

view all 6,362 comments

user is he just living at clarksons farm

user his second home

ynusername I train, raise, and breed horses too silly

oscarpiastri but you are still a dog trainer ynusername hunting dogs user YN calling Oscar 'silly' is the highlight of my life

user is that his girlfriend

user no she works on the farm he is visiting, Jeremy Clarkson's farm user he could be visiting her at his farm because he is dating her user he definitely likes her though

mclaren horses on the track next?

user admin is a genius user barrel racing, jumping user put all f1 drivers on ponies, and get them to race

landonorris you are a walking insurance risk. Tractors, horses, yet i can do nothing @ McLaren play fair

mclaren we'll get you a Shetland pony landonorris'll take it

mclaren

liked by oscarpiastri, ynusername, landonorris and 892,535 others

mclaren Race day and entertaining a special guest, happy to get them out of farming gear

@ ynusername

view all 24,532 comments

user God oscars hands are hot

ynusername whats wrong with my farm gear

user yn hurting at admins comments mclaren farm clothes are stil nice, but our merch is better ynusername thank you for it all !!

user Clarkson farm crossover to the next level

user Oscar is going to end up living on a farm no way is YN giving up her horses and dogs

user who said anything about them living together? are they even dating? user sure looks like it

oscarpiastri Definitely sticking with cars over horses

ynusername I'll try again and again landonorris can I? ynusername Sorry I'm not allowed to let you landonorris @ mclaren this is unfair!!

ynusername

liked by lisahogan, oscarpiastri, landonorris, and 7,350 others

ynusername Had to absolute pleasure of riding the first horse I bred, raised, and sold. Love you peanut butter xx FT my baby and my pupper

view all 578 comments

user shes taken, damn

user I love that fact the first chance she had to name a horse she called it peanut butter

ynusername he looks just like it !! user she must have done a good job, that's a fancy ass stable

user I bet thats Oscar piastri

user oh yeah 1000%

oscarpiastri such beautiful animals

ynusername my children oscarpiastri such beautiful children ynusername yay user he is down bad

lisahogan we missed you these two weeks, but happy you had a good time

lisahogan give oscar our love user DID SHE JUST

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, landonorris, jeremyclarkson and 987,567 others

oscarpiastri You can take my love out of the farm but you can't take the farm out of my love

view all 12,674 comments

user CONFIRMATION HES TAKEN

user she is stunning

user ITS YN, omg she got so lucky

user imagine if Oscar did not go to the farm

user faTEE!!

ynusername I am never leaving the farm

oscarpiastri done. ynusername done what... oscarpiastri sold my apartment in Monaco. ynusername I what. Huh, we should talk about this no oscarpiastri I'll learn to stand the farm smell for you ynusername ITS NOT A BAD SMELL

mclaren Cuties

user mother hen mclaren user mastermind

landonorris he can date the farm girl and driver tractors and ride horses and I can't get on a horse?

mclaren one time pass landonorris @ ynusername LETS GO HORSERIDING ynusername YESSS user this feels like an odd interaction oscarpiastri their entire relationship is an odd interation

[evilminji]

You know how... world leaders can't just? SAY stuff? Because when they DO it's the Offical Stance(tm) of their Country?

That makes their Fuck Ups(tm) all the more serious. It's WHY they have press teams.

But!!!

WHAT IF?

They said something, PUBLICLY, on LIVE TELEVISION, that? Can not be taken back? Full on "masks off, behold the horrors you have payed for" moment?

Sure, they could SAY "that wasn't me" and "I was brainwashed" etc etc. But? If it's BIG enough? UGLY enough? TRUE??? People WILL find it. Dig and dig and dig like termites in the walls. Hunt like bloodhounds.

Riot in the streets.

Because? All it would TAKE? Is ONE half ghost, a few too many long nights trying to balance college classes and his internship, a bigotry filled call from back home, and staring down that empty fridge with just one box of moldering take out, because he's been too busy and stressed to remember to get GROCERIES AND-

Ah.

So this is what "so stressed you feel calm, I have run out of Fucks too give" feels like. Neat. *picks up phone* Hey, Sam? You still at that protest? Outside the presidential speech? Neat. Don't move.

One Phone Line Express later. SAM is telling him to breathe. Maybe... maybe calm down. Think about this. Others around her can see the same "spark of madness" glint in his almost zen like smile.

It Fiiiiine, Sam.

He's just here to Talk.

He disappears. Sam's freaking out. President stumbles but catches himself on the way to the mike. Up in the watch tower, various Magic users choke on their lunches, because a ghost just possessed the United States President.

ON LIVE TELEVISION.

He taps the Mike, smile, leans in real close like he's gonna Tell You Folks A Secret.... Aaaaand~

"The second you Die, you no longer have human rights. Doesn't matter how brief. Heart stops? You're sub-human scum! Non-sentient by American law. We here in the United Stares PROUDLY desecrate the bodies and graves of the dead. Tear apart the immortal souls of the innocent. And condemn you to oblivion crying, begging, and screaming for mercy! Why, obviously, is an act. Because souls don't have the RIGHT to feel fear or pain!

And YES. We do mean EVERYONE'S. Atlantian, Kryptonian, Martian. Canadian, Mexican, Russian, AND Chinese! I could keep going! Once you die? You belong to the United States to experiment on as we see fit! You're PROPERT now! So turn your nonrights having, nonsentient self in to the nearest GIW! For the good of AMERICA. Ectoplasmic Scum!"

*drops mic*

Jaws are on the floor. This was VETERANS DAY. Dead military Heros and smile for the cameras. A cake walk. Do a patriotism, rah rah. There.... there are DIPLOMATS in the crowd. Sure as SHIT, were more then a few foreign nationals WATCHING. Religious leaders looking on in fury, grief, and horror.

Reporters. Oh sweet Jesus the reporters.

The press secretary faints.

PANDEMONIUM. The president, still dazed and confused from being possessed, gets PUNCHED on live television be his VP, a deeply religious if moderately shady man. Take bribes? VP is cool with that. Bootstraps, peasants, and all that. But how DARE you fuck with the Souls of the dead. How DARE you!

Phones are blowing up, questions are being shouted, the JLA Dark FEEL like they should tell somebody about the ghost kid... but also this feels VERY "Call for help-y" so they might throw their weight around instead and pretend they know nothing. World leader are meaningfully staring at their Dear Beloved Dead Grandmother's photos as they send LIVID assistants to hound the American into answering the DAMN PHONE-!

And Danny?

Danny feels calmer now. He has stolen like....700 bucks from secret security's various wallets. He's going to buy himself BOUGIE groceries. Some...some NICE take out. Maybe a little cake. Yeah~ Cake for Danny~

If anyone needs him? No you don't. He needs to go do some shopping, eat, lie on the floor of his shower and just... vibe for a bit under the spray. In the dark maybe. Sleep for a week. Have his food. Yummy little treats.

Or he's gonna fuckin LOSE IT, man.

(Tucker is actively hacking his college schedule as they speak. He KNEW it. Called it! Too many classes! But does Mr "I can handle it" listen? Noooooooo! Now look what happened! Holy SHIT, Danny!)

@hypewinter @hdgnj @ailithnight @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° just put your sweet lips on my lips

( isagi yoichi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — the first part in my newest series: the garden of you! (masterlist)

♡ word count — 1.2k

♡ content — isagi yoichi x fem! reader, slursagi mentioned, isagi is HEAD OVER HEELS for reader, just freaking puppy love, fluff, invasive paparazzi, established relationship ( 5 years ), reader & isagi are 25ish, not proofread!!

♡ synopsis — In the world’s eyes, Yoichi Isagi is unstoppable — the best striker alive, a two-time World Cup champion, and infamous for the brutal insults he dishes out on the field. But when the stadium lights go out, he comes home to you — still shy, still boyish, still head-over-heels. Under city lights, on the bench where it all began, he realizes that no trophy will ever compare to the way you say his name.

── .❀ we should just kiss like real people do

The world knows Yoichi Isagi in superlatives.

The best striker to ever play the game.

The man who’s rewritten soccer history—twice.

The player who turned “egoist” into a philosophy.

The boy from Japan who stunned the world and never stopped.

They know his goals. His mind. His ruthless hunger.

They know the way he screams across the pitch — brilliant, brutal, and unfiltered — flinging words that make highlight reels just as much as his goals do.

“You’re lucky I don’t play defense or you’d be in the fucking ground.*”

“Hope you brought a second pair of cleats, ‘cause I’m dragging you for the rest of this match.”

“I’m the best in the world, and you’re barely even a footnote.”

Iconic. Viral. Merciless.

But the Yoichi Isagi that walks through the front door at 9:42 p.m. on a Tuesday night?

He drops his bag by the door and calls out a little breathless, “I brought you the melon pan you like—!” before even taking off his shoes.

You’re still on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, legs tucked beneath you, and as soon as you turn and smile at him—

He just… melts.

“Hi, baby,” you say.

And he stares. All pink ears and wide eyes and messy hair. He’s still in his training hoodie, still smells like grass and heat, but he looks at you like you’ve just told him he won the World Cup again.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles without thinking, and you giggle as you take the bag from his hand.

“You’re the one who’s glowing.”

“I’m sweaty,” he says bashfully.

“You’re glowing,” you insist, grinning up at him. “Like a boy in love.”

He groans and hides his face in your shoulder, mumbling something about you being unfair. You wrap your arms around his waist, and he clings back like it’s been days, not hours. 

He does this every time — like he’s scared he’ll blink and wake up to find it was all a dream.

You’ve lived together for three years now.

You’ve been his for five.

But Yoichi Isagi still gets shy when you compliment him.

Still flushes when you kiss his cheek.

Still stares at you when he thinks you aren’t looking.

When you’re out together, he gets stopped often — for autographs, photos, interviews. His fame doesn’t just follow him. It hunts him.

So when he books a quiet little dinner date at a tiny ramen shop tucked away from the city center, he hopes for some peace. Hopes for a normal night.

Hopes, selfishly, that maybe people can forget he’s Isagi Yoichi, world champion, and let him be just Yoichi, your boyfriend for a night.

But he’s not surprised when the flashes start.

You catch on quickly. He doesn’t say anything, just shifts closer to block you from view, arm resting behind you on the booth’s backrest.

“I guess someone tipped them off,” you sigh, picking at your noodles.

He shrugs like it doesn’t bother him. But it does. It always does — when people take your time like they’re owed it, when they ruin these quiet little moments he lives for.

So he looks over your shoulder. Locks eyes with the nearest camera.

And flips them off with a casual middle finger, expression still soft as he returns to you.

“Yoichi,” you gasp, hiding your laugh behind your hand.

“They’re not invited,” he says easily. “I have plans. With you.”

You lean over the table to kiss his cheek.

He blushes so hard he forgets how to use chopsticks for a full thirty seconds.

It’s only after dinner, as you’re walking hand-in-hand through the quieter parts of the city, that something shifts. He’s quieter now. Focused. Like there’s something heavier beneath the surface of his usual shy smiles.

The street is familiar. A little run-down, flickering lights here and there. You round the corner and see it before he says a word.

The bench.

Old wood, faded green paint. Under the lamp post where you met.

Where he sat beside you that night after training five years ago, heart still racing from the match, vending machine broken, unsure of how to start a conversation with someone like you.

You remember offering him a drink.

He remembers the first time you smiled at him.

And now, all this time later, he’s pulling something from his pocket.

Velvet box. Shaky hands.

And then he’s on one knee.

Your heart stutters. Your breath catches. His voice shakes.

“From the moment you said hello to me, I’ve been yours. Hook, line, and sinker.” 

He laughs through a tear that rolls down his cheek.

“You are every part of me. You consume my every waking thought. I love coming home to you. I love seeing you in my jersey. I love every part of being with you—and I want to do it forever.”

His voice drops. Barely above a whisper.

“Please. Will you marry me?”

You don’t remember saying yes out loud.

But you’re nodding. Crying.

Reaching for him with both hands, and then he’s standing, arms tight around you like you’re the only safe place in the world.

And he sobs.

Not the kind of tears that fall on the field, surrounded by roaring fans.

But quiet, breathless ones. Overwhelmed. Grateful. Real.

Yoichi Isagi.

The world’s greatest striker.

A living legend.

A foul-mouthed genius with two World Cups and a target on his back.

And in your arms, just a boy in love.

Hopelessly, deeply, forever yours.

Later that night — or technically, early morning — the world finds out.

Isagi posts just one photo to his account:

A candid shot of you in his arms, standing at the very spot where he asked you to marry him.

You’re laughing, hand outstretched, showing off the ring.

He’s holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

No caption. Just a daisy emoji.

And within minutes, the internet erupts.

By the time sunlight filters through your bedroom curtains, he’s already lying wide awake, phone in hand, blinking at the dozens of articles piling in.

Isagi Yoichi: Giving Up Soccer for Love?

Engaged! The Striker Who Won the World’s Heart Gives His Away.

A Ring, True Love, Another World Cup?

He sighs and turns off the screen. Drops his phone onto the nightstand and lets his head fall back against the pillow.

Because in this moment, he couldn’t care less what the world thinks.

Not when you’re draped over him like this — half-on, half-off, mouth slightly open and drooling against his chest. One of your legs tangled between his, one hand resting right over his heart. Right where the ring he spent months agonizing over gleams up at him in the warm morning light.

He tightens his arm around your waist. Brings his other hand up to brush through your hair, so gentle, like he’s afraid to wake you. But you shift anyway.

“Mmhm… good morning, baby,” you mumble, voice raspy with sleep.

And he’s gone. Just like that.

Heart wrecked. Soul floored.

Totally, irreversibly, eternally yours.

A soft little laugh catches in his throat.

Eyes watering all over again.

God, you don’t even know what you do to him.

“Good morning,” he whispers. And presses a kiss to your forehead like a vow. Like he’ll never stop saying it.

Not for the rest of his life.

i'm obsessed with isagi HE'S THE MC FOR A REASON

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[acexsmhking]

𝐅𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞

(𝗮𝗱𝗷.) 𝗹𝗲𝘄𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗯𝘀𝗰𝗲𝗻𝗲

╰┈➤ Sending the Creeps nudes

Summary: Shared Head-canons for GN!Reader sending the Creeps nudes while they’re out and about or working! .. minus Kate, Jason, Evan/HABiT, Jeff, Nina & Alex

Warning(s): 18+ content, mentions of sexual activity, GN!Reader, mentions of gore, mentions of murder, mentions of cannibalism, FEM!Reader for Jane, Clockwork & MALE!Reader for Jay

Tim Wright

Tim had been sitting at the coffee shop near his therapist office. Wanting a moment to treat himself to some little cakes and write in his journal before hurrying back home to you. He’d been gone for days, desperately needed to see his therapist since this last trip left him.. a little shaken.

But he missed you dearly, it was no surprise when seeing your notification he immediately opened it. Wanting to text you that he picked you up a treat and would be home soon. That went completely out the window as he blankly stared at the photo infront of him. Only getting half the mind to shift in his seat to protect his phone when the barista called someone’s name.

“You are such a tease.. I’ll be home in 5” Let’s just say maybe Tim sped a little than he should’ve gettin back home to you.

Brian Thomas

Brian was over at Tim’s, helping him settle down after they’d spent the past 2 weeks in those damn woods.. again. He’d just settled Tim in bed, tucking him and leaving a cup of cold water on his bedside so he could find it first thing when woke up. It wasn’t easy being such an amazing husband— best friend. He had just gotten in the car, a tired sigh finally leaving his lips. Letting his body sink against the car seat. He was tired, hungry, and wanted his dearest partner.

Think of the devil and he shall arrive, a buzz catching his attention as he lazily pulled out his phone. A tired smile on his lips as he noticed your name in the notifications. It took his brain a long second to actually process what he was looking at. A large gulp stuck in his throat.. you looked.. inviting to put it politely.

“I missed you too, doll ;)” Was all he sent before happily, and far more awake, driving home.

Tobias Rogers

Toby was leaning against a wall in an alley, freshly coming out of your favorite bakery after he’d done some.. hunting. Covered in smell of dirt and woods but unbothered by the stares of patrons as he put in an order. One of the very very few times he actually puts himself around.. people. But you’d been craving some nasty fast food recently. And who was he to deny his most precious treasure of what they want? So here he was getting as much as he could possibly manage to carry.

He was slouched on a chair waiting for everything to be done. “Resting his feet” as you’d often patronize him about doing. Head resting on the back of the chair, cracking his neck to do so. Something you’d also correct him on but it felt so good and a little weird in its own way.

He was just about to text you when you sent a photo, it took him a minute to even realize what you sent. He looked you up and down over and over, posed and dolled up on the bed waiting for him. He quickly blinked the haze from his eyes before looking around. “Come home soon<3” You could bet your ass he was on his way.

Jay Merrick (only M!)

Jay was slumped at his desk, or was it Alex’s? He didn’t know. His head was ringing, eyes dazed with a soreness in his bones. He stretched, cracking his back and neck trying to get a knot out. Albeit it, uselessly. As he looked around himself, camera film, pages and documents scattered around he gave up the idea of trying to remember what the hell even happened. Far too use to the memory loss to care. He quickly unlocked his phone, the bright screen blinding him for just a moment before he opened your contacts. Thankfully you’d grown less panicked over time as he disappeared, sending messages mostly about your day to keep him updated. He smiled as he scrolled down, carefully reading each message.

However.. the last message you sent definitely caught his attention the best. Steam from the shower wrapped around your body, the camera just a little fogged itself but still managing to capture your body perfectly. Hell, he thought it was perfect. Looking at the flex of your muscles in your pose, eyes wondering down your abdomen. Safe to say, Jay paid no attention to Alex as he scurried home to you.

Helen Ottis

He’d just finished organizing things in his ‘studio’. Ensuring the paint was stored properly and hidden so no.. happy accidents happened. Along with managing to finish a painting after about a month, art block is truly horrible. He just couldn’t figure out how he wanted to conclude it. He was carefully wiping down his tools and washing his hands when he heard his notification go off. Of course, it was you. Had to be you. You were the only person he talked to.. and didn’t, discard. Helen opened your message just as he gently place a brush back in place.

You’d sent a few loving messages before he finally saw the picture you’d sent. You were laid out, perfectly posed as the sunlight his you just right. No doubt a masterpiece you’d taken quite some time trying to capture. And who was he to just let your efforts go to waste? He’d make sure he’d capture you, before rewarding you. “I’m on my way, I hope you know what will occur?”

Clockwork (only F!)

She was actually right in her study at home, tinkering on a little gift she wanted to surprise you with. After all, your anniversary was coming up and Natalie always made you some sort of animal to describe the year together. She thought, hoped really, that it properly displayed her deep affections. Plus, animals are cute! Just as she was feeling around for a screwdriver did she hear her phone. Brow raised and she reached to check it, not like she had many contacts.. or really anything expect you. She chuckled seeing you’d sent her numerous things, even though she was right down the hall. You were too cute and thoughtful about her work.

She opened your text last, assuming it was probably just about dinner. And oh boy was it. You were sat on the dining table, in a cute slip on dress you had just recently bought. Cute frills, a few bows and of course, it barely concealed anything. Nat could feel her mouth water as she quickly, and carefully, stood eyes still glued to her phone. Just you wait.

Jane (only F!)

She was sat in her office, typing away at a report for a new case. Some unholy thing recently being discovered and obviously it needed to be dealt with. Not to mention her forever going hunt for the Woods. Almost everyone else had left aside from her, on sight doctors and scientists as well as her level-classed co-workers. Slaving over the same grueling work.. typing. A steady ache seeped into her back, she wanted nothing more than to just get home. Dealing with so many things.. she was far too afraid than she really said leaving you alone. Sure, you were technically always being watched. But she wasn’t watching you — that scared her. She perked just a little seeing your name on her phone screen. A little “do you like it?” Attached under your name that caught her attention. Of course, she was quick to answer you, opening her phone. She needed a break from a white and black screen.

And you provided the perfect distraction, completely dolled up. Showing off a new dress you had bought, clearly some new shoes too. Immediately she felt hot, her doll going out spending her money. What could make a spouse hornier? She stared before hurriedly checking and saving her work, hastily shoving things into her bag before rushing out. “On my way.”

: ̗̀➛ Omg sorry for not posting in a while, now that my finger is finally healed I wanted to finish this up! I have a few older projects I want to work including Chapter 3 of RDR!Toby and hopefully something new for you all! Love you all so much

— Ace

[onceinablueberrymoon]

special report | salesman (recruiter) x reporter!reader

next: (cheers) to the future (slight nsfw) | scavenger hunt | intermission (mild nsfw) scenario: ever wonder how the VIPs watch the games before they arrive on the island? reporter!reader delivers the highlights of each game to viewers around the world. and a certain someone is their biggest fan.  setting: in seoul between the second game (dalgona) and the special game during season 1 warnings: reader can be any gender, but this was originally written with fem!reader in mind; reader also works for the games; they're both just not nice people lol (but we love them anyways!); no use of y/n; second person POV word count: 629 notes: someone in a reddit thread had a theory that the VIPs would watch highlight reels of the first few games and this story popped in my head. salesman is called recruiter here since that's his official title. i love this guy sm (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) please enjoy! borders by @strangergraphics-archive

“And that concludes our coverage for Day 2 of the Games. Please stay tuned for the Special Game, which will take place in two hours.”

You bowed to the camera, only straightening your back upon hearing the director yell “Cut!”. You shuffled the papers on the desk in front of you, then checked your phone. 

Three missed calls. 

You snorted, a small smile forming on your lips. You pressed on one of the missed calls, the number redialing on your screen. Bringing the phone to your ear, you waited for the recruiter to pick up. It didn’t even ring once before his smooth voice came through the speaker.

“Finally.”

You sighed, leaning forward to prop an elbow on the desk. “You know I’m at work. You of all people should know that.”

You could picture his cocky smirk.

“Care for a bite to eat? My treat,” he offered, which you accepted. There was still an hour and a half before you had to return to prepare for the Special Game.

You met at the tiny kimbap shop down the street. While you both could afford a fancier restaurant, a cheap, filling meal was all you needed right now.

“So,” you started, pouring hot barley tea into your teacups, “Did you catch any of the last game?” 

He nodded, resting his chin on his hands with his elbows on the table. “Very entertaining, as always. You never cease to impress me,” he praised.

Taking a big sip of tea, you scoffed, “Oh please. I’m the least interesting part of the show.”

“Oh?” He cocked his head. “Why is that?”

Shooting him an unimpressed look, you spoke, “Did you not see the same footage I did? The utter fear when they had to carve out the dalgona?” You laughed, “And when that guy got shot and slid down the slide… You just can’t make this stuff up!"

Pouring some more tea into your cup, you continued, "Seriously though, watching those players carve out the umbrella shapes was priceless. They were so scared!” With a shake of your head, you sighed, “I can’t believe some of them actually passed.” 

The recruiter chuckled, leaning closer to you. “While that was amusing, I found your performance to be far more enticing.”  

A blush crossed your cheeks, but you quickly shook it off, clearing your throat.

“I try my best. By the way,” you motioned towards him, “You’ve outdone yourself with the players this time. A perfect mix of competent and woefully tragic players. I’m not sure which I like more.” You shot him a smile, which he returned.

“Oh, and the group with the Host? Hilarious,” you grinned. “I can’t believe that 218 and 456 were childhood friends.” You tapped your fingers against your teacup. “But I guess, at the end of the day, trash is still trash.”

The lady running the shop arrived with your food, and the two of you ate in comfortable silence. However, you couldn’t help but notice the recruiter’s intense gaze lingering on you.

Once the recruiter paid, the two of you left the restaurant, and he walked you back to the office. 

“Same time tomorrow?” He asked, briefcase in hand.

You hummed, “Tomorrow is Tug of War, and there’s still lots to prepare before the final games.” You took a step towards him, a teasing smile on your face, “Why, miss me already?”

He huffed, “I can watch you any time.” Bringing his lips to your ear, he whispered, “But I prefer being near you instead.”

You tilted his head to look at you and kissed him on the cheek. Turning to enter your office, you looked back and called to him.

“Until next time, my dear recruiter!”

He flashed his signature smirk.

“Take care, my lovely reporter.”

[woniwontons]

ZEPHYR | joaquin torres x reader | PART ONE

warnings: mostly angst, gun shot wound, revenge, hearing dark/obsessive voices, this part is mostly to set up the story & most of the juicy bits will be in part two

summary: joaquin never wanted you to get hurt. after failing to protect you from a terrorist targeting him & sam, his behavior grows desperately possessive and controlling to prevent it from ever happening again. but as your relationship suffers and his nightmares increase, he starts to risk losing you instead.

part one approx 1.1K words

PART ONE | PART TWO

⋆⭒˚.⋆

You were never supposed to get hurt.

That was the one condition he set for himself that had been non-negotiable. He could handle the risks, the danger, and the missions that came with being apart of Captain America’s team, but you? You were never supposed to be involved, it was all to stay far away from his life with you.

And yet, he failed.

The memory claws within the caverns his mind, seeing that photo of you in your favorite coffee shop. Taken from afar moments before two bullet ripped through the muscles of your arm. Moments before his heart had nearly stopped, his phone screen displaying your image with a discrete message from that unknown number.

unknown: perhaps we’ll call it even.

He must have watched the CCTV footage over a thousand times. Calculating the trajectory of the bullet, the seconds between the message and the gunshot. The spilled coffee soaking your hair in a dark mixture of espresso and blood. A security camera outside spotting the glare of a sniper rifle in the distance.

By the time he got to you, the ambulance was already mid-route to the hospital. Without updates from your doctors for hours as they worked on your injury.

All he could see was the image burned into his mind of you: being rushed out of the ambulance bay, pale and incapacitated.

Covered in blood.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Two days later, in the bright light of your hospital room, he sat with his hands clasped between his knees. You were asleep in your bed, your arm freshly bandaged, your breathing steady. He should be next to you, holding your hand and reassuring himself that everything would be okay.

But guilt racked him deeply.

That photo could’ve been the last image of you alive that he had ever seen. They had known where you were. They had been watching him, and he led them directly home to you. And he hadn’t been able to stop them.

His fists clenched. His body shook with uncontrollable rage and disappointment with himself.

Sam had attempted to talk him down earlier. Had told him to let the military handle it, that they’d find out which one of their enemies was behind the hit. But Joaquin wasn’t interested in waiting or following the proper channels to bring justice to whoever did this to you.

They wouldn’t do what needs to be done.

He stands abruptly, barely aware of his own movements, his pulse hammering in his skull. His suit is still in the car. His comms are still on the counter. He could be out that door in minutes, tracking them down, making sure no one ever lays a hand on you again—

“Joaquin?”

Fuck.

Your voice is soft, cracked with exhaustion, but it stops him in his tracks.

He turns quickly, his breath skipping full inhalations as he takes your eyes in. You’re leaning against your upright pillow, one arm clutches the bars of the hospital bed while the other lays motionless in stiffly wrapped gauze. There’s concern in your eyes for him.

Something was wrong, you could feel it.

“Where were you going?”

His jaw locks. “I need to go start fixing this —.”

“No.”

It’s quiet, and weak. But it’s not a plea or a request. A command.

Your gaze doesn’t waver as you move the blanket off your body, exposing your hospital gown underneath as you start to move closer to the edge of your bed. “You aren’t going to fix this by hunting them down for revenge.”

“They nearly killed you, cariño.” His voice is hoarse, shaking with the weight of everything he hasn’t told you yet. His hands tried lightly guiding you back to laying down.

They could have taken you from me. It would have been my fault, my mistake, my failure to protect you…

You reach over with your good arm, resisting the light force, and curling your fingers around his palm. “I know.” A shaky breath. “But I need you here, baby. Not a solider, not the vengeance. Just you.”

He exhales sharply, and for a moment he can’t move. The voices in his head battling between his guilt, sadness, and anger. His fingers tighten around yours, his breathing ragged, but his mind is already somewhere else — chasing demons.

You feel it before you see it. The way his body tenses beneath your touch. The way his jaw clenches, muscles flexing like he’s trying to restrain himself from crashing.

My sweet girl, my light, my life, my weakness.

He isn’t calming down. He’s caving in.

“Joaquin,” you whisper, pleading now. “Please stay here with me, you don’t have to do this.”

You look for anything, a crack in his expression. Something that says he’ll listen to you, that he’ll stay instead of seeking out revenge and destroying his own morals.

My responsibility.

But it isn’t there. And his fingers slip from yours, the warmth draining from your hands.

“I can’t sit here.” He shakes his head, looking away as though he might break if he looks into your eyes for too long. “I need to be out there making sure this never happens again.”

You can hear it bleeding into his voice now, the desperation. Guilt. Self-destruction. He isn’t thinking straight.

You try again. “They want you to do this. They want you reckless and vulnerable.”

They wanted you dead.

“I don’t care.”

The sharpness of his tone makes you flinch, and for the first time, Joaquin notices. His expression shifts, something shattered flashing in his eyes, but it’s too late. The damage is done.

He exhales, steps back.

“I’ll be back when this is over,” he says, and it sounds like he isn’t sure of the statement himself.

And then the soldier is gone.

LINK TO PART TWO (coming soon)

comment to be tagged for part two <3

[ceilidho]

prompt: it's been a month since you managed to run away from them. your luck had to run out eventually. tags: noncon, darkfic, ghoap x reader, previous kidnapping implied, stalking and hunting down reader. i am begging you to read the tags before reading this, thanks. 4.4k

-

You pay for the motel room in cash. Always cash. Never a paper trail if you can help it. Nothing that could ever tip anyone off if you didn’t want them to be tipped off.

You haven’t been on the run for long. Maybe a month, tops—but after the first week, the days and nights have begun to blend together like watercolours. You don’t do much during the day apart from sit in your room and wait for the night to come. Sometimes you venture out if you’re low on food or if the itch under your skin grows severe enough that you know you need to buy a fresh set of clothes and dump the ones you came into town with. 

Freshly dyed and cut hair. Jackets two sizes too big to make you seem larger than you are from the back. You’ll never be able to change the face god gave you, but you make an effort to obscure it when you can—surgical masks on public transit, heavy sunglasses even indoors, a deep mauve lipstick (purchased, again, in cash at the local pharmacy) to make you seem, from a distance, like someone else. Anyone else.

Sometimes remembering that it’s been a whole month since you escaped, since you got out, leaves you winded. You have to hold onto the wall in your pay-by-the-night, ratty, hole-in-the-wall motel room to keep from toppling over. A month without spotting one of them in pursuit of you feels next to impossible. Almost impossible. You still don’t let yourself think that you’ve fully given them the slip, that you’ve gotten the better of them. There is no getting the better of them. There is no outmanoeuvring the two men that—you’ve learned through painful trial and error—do not let up when there is still the trace of a scent.

And everything leaves a scent. Even you.

You sleep in the bathtub instead of the bed for fear of bedlice; these days, your neck has an ever-present kink that needs to be worked out. It’s bound to get worse though. It’s not like you can stop in this town now and call it home, not when you can feel them hot on your heels. 

You change in gas station bathrooms when you run. You’re learning a kind of awareness of cameras and eyes that you never would’ve developed before. You do not smile at cashiers. Your face becomes blank, unrecognisable. The goal is always that you fade into obscurity the second you step out of the shop, so that no one could ever identify you to the two terrifying men haunting your shadow. Even if they wanted to. 

Paranoid isn’t the half of it. When you hear a car pull up outside your motel room door, your body drops a whole degree and sweats like a night terror has found you in the waking world. You only relax when you hear a door four rooms down slam shut. Then you shake so hard that you swear you can hear your bones rattle.

This isn’t a life. It’s life like the promise of a tomorrow is the only thing getting you through today. 

You get on buses with no idea where you’ll be getting off. Pattern disrupter. In the months that you lived with them, you learned something. If your movements are scattered, they become unpredictable—harder to track down. You force them to stay behind while you skitter off, forcing them to review video footage, question people, even sift through garbage and recycling bins for any sign that you’d been there. 

It doesn’t make you any less nervous. You know they’re like hunting dogs. You’d love to believe that you’ve tried their patience enough for them to abandon the chase, but thinking like that gets you caught. Complacency will get you caught faster than anything.

The money folded and sealed in an envelope in your bag is dwindling though. Even for as frugal as you’ve been, food costs money—clothes cost money. Boxes of hair dye and bus tickets cost money. And you can’t stay anywhere long enough to hold down a job to recuperate what you’ve lost.

It feels hopeless. You trudge back to your motel room after grabbing a bite to eat at the pub down the road and feel like maybe this is purgatory. Maybe you died a long time ago, long before you got away from them, and this long path you’ve been burning across the country is just the long descent into the underworld. You let out a sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a second by the door before unlocking it to go inside for the night.

You trip over something. It catches you so off guard that you almost break your nose on the carpeted floor, arms almost not swinging out in time to catch you. 

“Whoops. Sorry, kitty—took a lil’ tumble there, huh?” a familiar burr says from somewhere behind you by the door. “Gotta watch where you step.” He chuckles a bit under his breath, pulling back the leg he’d stuck out to trip you. 

Your body goes ice cold on the floor. The door clicks shut behind you; the deadbolt sliding into place is deafening in the silence. The thick knot in your belly expands until you think you might throw up. The only nonsensical thing you can think is that you hope the motel manager won’t be upset that you’ve ruined the carpet. 

You hear the muffled sound of knees hitting the floor and then a hand tangles in your hair, wrenching your head back. “Oh Jesus, look at the state of her, Lt.”

“Looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

The second voice is rough, like logs rolling over water, clattering into each other. It comes from the other end of the room, way into the darkness. They didn’t bother to turn the lights on, perhaps in an effort to make sure your guard was down. Fear grips the inside of your chest. Behind you, Johnny holds your head up high enough that you’re forced to stare at the patch of darkness from which Ghost materialises when he flicks on the bedside lamp. 

On the surface, he sounds almost amused, but as long as it’s been, you’re still attuned to the undercurrent of anger in his voice. His patience has been tried over weeks of chasing after you. He almost looks like he’s put on mass since you last saw him over a month ago, but that could just be the perspective of looking up at him from the floor. His face is still covered in the same half skull mask as always, exposing the shaved blond hair on his head. His eyes are narrowed though, terrifyingly mad.

“Poor baby,” Johnny murmurs, nuzzling into the back of your head. He props himself over you, not leaning his whole weight down onto your prone body, but trying to get as close as possible to you while still forcing you to stare up at Ghost. “Did we give ye a wee fright? Is that why ye ran off? I missed ye so, so bad, baby.”

“She ran off because she’s been spoiled,” Ghost snaps. He sits on the edge of the bed and it creaks under his weight when he shifts a little closer to the edge, leaning closer to where you’re lying on the floor. 

“I ken, I ken, Lt,” Johnny sighs, plastering sloppy, wet kisses into the side of your neck, fitting his mouth briefly into the crook of it, into the meat of your shoulder. “Cannae help myself, she’s just so—ah, kitty, am really sorry but you’ve really pissed Simon off.”

“No—no, please—” you gasp, breath splintered into short hitches. “H-how’d you—how’d you e-even find—”

Johnny shakes you by the hair, a bit rougher than usual. Anger finally leaking out like a drip from a loose spigot. You yip at the pain. “Of course we were gonna find you—Lt, ye hearing this? She thought she could outsmart us.”

“Pet’s don’t know any better,” Ghost says dismissively. It makes you feel queasy to hear him say that like you’re not even in the room. “Needs a lesson in not making us run halfway across the country after her. Get her on the bed, pup.”

“No, no, get OFF—” you try to yell, then gag when Johnny shoves two fingers into your mouth, pushing them almost to the back of your throat. 

When the urge to choke abates, you close your teeth over his fingers, flirting with the idea of just biting all the way down and taking them off. Only the fact that you’ve never done something like that before keeps you from instinctually biting through. Johnny laughs breathlessly when he feels your teeth flirt over his fingers though.

“Bite down,” Johnny dares you, voice quivering with smugness and rage. “Bite down ‘n see what happens to ye. Have nae gotten my cock wet in a fuckin’ month because you’ve been gone and Simon—”

“Quit talking to the pet like she understands,” Ghost snaps, finally standing up, towering over the two of you. You can’t help staring at his mud covered boots still rooted in front of your face. “On the bed. Now.”

You howl when Johnny takes his fingers out of your mouth and wrenches you to your feet, struggling when he coos and frogmarches you to the bed. No matter how hard you struggle though, you can’t break the way he has your arms twisted behind your back. It’s a short walk too, only a few steps, and then Johnny shoves you roughly onto the bed, clambering over you again. His hand forces your face into the mattress, not paying any mind to the way you grunt because your nose bends uncomfortably against it. 

“Always fuckin’ whining,” Johnny growls into your ear, fully pissed off now. His anger is electric, rippling down the length of you. “On and on and on—’n I’ve been so fuckin’ good to ye. Have nae even been a little mean. Being a fuckin’ brat to me and leavin’ me and makin’ us hunt ye down like dogs.” 

You can hear that he’s working himself up to a fever pitch, growing angrier and angrier. It terrifies you to think that you’re trapped under him, nowhere to go. Somehow, it’s a mercy when the bed dips again under Ghost’s weight and he pulls Johnny back by the shoulder, giving his cheek a little tap when Johnny growls and tries to bend back down. 

“You have all the time in the world with her, pup,” Ghost says, giving Johnny a rougher shove. “Get undressed. Can’t fuck her in your civvies.” 

“Yeah…yeah, yer right,” Johnny mumbles to himself, getting off you. 

Your head automatically twists over your shoulder, eyes following him. It’s easy to see in the spare seconds you get before you try to make a break for it again that he looks haggard, beard grown out a bit more than usual. Ghost usually makes him keep it short and tight, but apparently weeks on the road have tempered that military expectation a bit. 

His eyes are wild, electric blue, hardly blinking for how hard he stares at you. You tell yourself that you haven’t, on some small level, missed his pretty face. His arms bulge around the tight shirt that he easily strips off, pulling it off one handed from the back of his neck.

You hear him kick off his boots somewhere in the distance, but when you try to scramble off the bed, Ghost tips you over onto your bed and presses you down with a firm hand on your shoulder. He’s a bit less dressed now—hoodie pulled off and boots and jeans piled on the floor somewhere. Mask off. Familiar scars cut across his face—old burn marks and white spidery lines of fresh skin. Rougher than Johnny, not a pretty man; maybe without the layers of scarring he’d be a proper masculine kind of handsome, but with them, he only seems dangerous. Someone to avoid. 

He doesn’t say anything when he stares down at you. He says enough like that. He looks over his shoulder, away from you. “Johnny?”

“Lt?” Johnny’s at attention now, stripped naked and eager. When you glance down, his cock is already flushed and hard, excitement making him almost vibrate.

“Help me get her naked and then you’ll get her mouth, alright?”

You’re already struggling before the words come out of his mouth, frantically trying to push Ghost off you and opening your mouth to scream—the piercing shrill of it bleats out of you for half a second—before a big hand wraps around your neck and Ghost turns back to you. It shuts you up in a heartbeat. Not once in the months you were with them has Ghost looked half as terrifying; you’ve had a belt taken to your ass until the blood pooling under the skin almost burned, you’ve been manhandled and roughly positioned and been bent into shapes that your body could only just accommodate, but you’ve never, until now, actually worried for your safety somehow. 

“You scream—” he starts, moving his hand up just a little to grab you by the jaw and twist your head to make you stare at the bedside table, where a glock lays flat under the glow of the lamp, “—and I shoot anyone that comes through that fuckin’ door. We clear?”

You nod once. Sweat pouring out of every other gland, but the saliva running dry in your mouth. You lick your lips and swallow, hummingbird heart going wild in your chest. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Johnny mumbles, coming up behind Ghost to wrap his arms around him as best he can, planting a row of kisses into his shaved head. “Missed it so bad, I need ta—need ta—”

“Her clothes, Johnny. Take ‘em off.”

You only put up a little fight when Ghost works on unzipping and pulling down your jeans. It feels hopeless to try. Johnny almost tears your shirt in two to get it off, only being a bit gentler when you yelp. He can’t help groping at your chest when the shirt is pulled off you and tossed somewhere else in the room, big hands fitting over your breasts and plucking your nipples, twisting them like you’re just a toy for Johnny to play with. He slithers down onto his belly for a second to pop a nipple into his mouth, switching between kissing and sucking at the beaded nub like he can’t tell what he missed more.

Your panties get ripped clean in two. The sob comes out of your chest unbidden, tears finally spilling out. Ghost’s patience seems finally at its end. His eyes are black even in the light, all pupil. Your legs try to close instinctively, but he slots himself between them so you can only clamp your legs around his waist, stuck staring at the way his hand reaches for his boxers only long enough to pull the elastic under his balls. His cock is so heavy with blood that it droops, the tip dewy. 

Your nipples gleam with spit when Johnny finally takes his mouth off them, sitting back on his haunches and spreading his legs. It’s all happening so fast—there isn’t a right place to look. Either the monstrous cock between your legs that already has you feeling twangs of phantom pain knowing that Ghost isn’t going to even bother stretching you on his fingers before fucking you, or the pretty cock that Johnny is already rubbing against your lips, painting with his precome. You flinch when you feel Ghost spit on your sex; he doesn’t try to rub it in.

“Simon” he pants, fingers tangling in your hair again to keep your head still when you try to turn away. “Simon, please, can I—I need ta come so bad. Please, please.”

You almost say something and then Ghost pushes his cock in to the hilt in one brutal plunge. Your mouth opens on a ragged gasp and Johnny keens, fingers clenching so hard in your hair that he almost tears it out by the roots. The tip of his cock stays flush against your lips, even split open on your gasp.

“Please, sir, please,” he begs, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. Aching and desperate. Holding himself back only because he needs permission to put his cock anywhere in you, just like he did all those weeks ago back in their house out in the countryside. The one you thought you thought you’d escaped. 

Ghost chuckles, groaning at the feel of your tight cunt squeezing his cock. “Go ahead, boy. Give your cock a squeeze.”

That’s all it takes. Johnny pushes past your lips roughly, no finesse or gentleness at all. Maybe the capacity for it is gone after going without you for so long. You choke when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, tears making your vision blur. Johnny preens and gushes over you, unable to stop babbling about how hot and tight your throat is, how much he missed it. 

“Oh shit, sir, she’s—” Johnny gasps, sinking into your mouth again and again, sweaty hand still clutching your hair. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

You feel close to the point of breaking, tight after a month on the lam, too tight for someone Ghost’s size to shove their cock into you without prep. You tell yourself that at least he bothered to spit on you, but lube would help a lot more. Too bad for you. His hands fit over your waist and hold tight, making sure you know that there’s nowhere for you to go. The first few thrusts are rough but slow enough to keep you from tearing—a small mercy, but probably not for your sake.

“I get—I get her pussy after, right, sir?” Johnny asks desperately.

“Dunno, Johnny,” Ghost muses, licking his lip. His thrusts get more brutish, faster; your teeth would be clacking together if Johnny’s cock wasn’t stuck halfway down your throat. “Gonna be a bit sloppy. Might not be tight enough for you after this.”

“S’okay, sir,” he whines, glancing back down at you. Fingers petting your cheek and tracing over your throat, trying to feel himself from the outside. “Jus’ need…oh fuck, please, it’s so good—oh Christ, missed it. I’ll take anythin’, sir, please.”

“Christ, alright, puppy. You can have a turn after. Been a good boy, huh?” 

You can only stare when Ghost lifts a hand from your waist to reel Johnny in by his mohawk, tugging him in for a wet kiss, still thrusting into your pussy all the while. Just a toy between them for their cocks while Ghost licks into Johnny’s mouth and mutters sweet nothings to him. Johnny moans into the kiss, sucking Ghost’s tongue when it’s offered to him and looking dazed, come-drunk. All fucked out and flushed, hips unconsciously pumping forward, just absently rutting. 

“Got our girl back, right?” Ghost murmurs, letting go of Johnny’s hair to smooth down his head and neck, making him preen. “Such a smart puppy.”

“Yeah, I’m good, sir.” He sounds out of his mind, slurring his words. Praise gets him like nothing else; it’s not easily given by Ghost, not handed out for nothing. “Did good…’m a good boy…”

The corners of your lips feel like they might crack. It’s hard to be careful with your teeth when you’re so overwhelmed, but luckily Johnny doesn’t mind it a bit rough. He hiccups when your teeth scrape over his cock a bit. He lips at Ghost’s mouth, dragging his tongue over the scar that bisects the corner of Ghost’s lips. When Ghost finally pulls away from Johnny’s mouth, a thin string of saliva pulls and then bends with the distance, finally snapping off and leaking onto your chest. 

Your flinch and squeak draws Ghost’s attention back down to you. 

You try to think of yourself looking down on the three of you instead of in it, but it’s hard. For as much as it seems like you’re just a toy between them, Ghost makes an effort to get you off, slipping a hand down to jiggle his thumb over your clit, rubbing it just the way you like. It’s sick how well he knows your body by now, how it takes almost nothing to push you to the edge of coming, core tight with the heat of it. 

“Gonna come?” Ghost taunts, scooping a hand under your ass to tilt your hips up, hitting a spot inside you that has you seeing stars, cunt flexing over his cock. You garble around Johnny’s cock as if to say something, but all it does is make Johnny groan and slump over you, holding himself upright with a hand on the mattress. His abs flex every time he fucks into your mouth. “Pussy this close to coming—you must’ve starved it. Good thing you didn’t let someone fuck you while we were looking. Woulda torn them apart.”

You can see the real threat in his eyes at that. There’s no way you would’ve, but the real danger of it crackles in the room. You feel like you’ll slip and touch the third rail if you so much as twitch under his glare. His jealousy at the thought makes him look like an angry god, chest heaving with every breath as he fucks you. 

“My baby wouldnae—” Johnny gasps, sinking his cock all the way into your throat and groaning at the squeeze, “—no, Si, she’s—ah, fuck me, ‘m gonna—fuck, fuck—Si, she wouldnae do that to us. No fuckin’ way.”

“She’d have a lot of making up to do then, huh?”

“She’s a good girl, sir, ‘promise. Oh, jus’ look at her,” Johnny gushes, sweat dripping down onto your face from how he’s curled over you. “So, so pretty. Maybe I dinnae take her…take her on enough walks.”

“Yeah…” You feel your skin crawl when Ghost stares down at you, not convinced. “Of course, pup.”

You know there’s no way he believes that. When they drag you home, you don’t think you’ll see the sunlight for weeks, never mind have Johnny take you on ‘walks’. Ghost’s smothering presence will take on a whole new meaning; he’ll snuff out the sun before he lets you walk in it alone ever again. 

Someone in the room adjacent to yours slams their fist into the wall a couple of times, jolting you out of your thoughts. The headboard must really be knocking against the wall. Ghost and Johnny ignore it though, Johnny so close to coming that he can hardly even form a sentence, solely focused on spearing between your lips. You can feel Ghost reaching his end too, fucking you with a single-minded intensity. Breath snorting out of his nose like a bull. The hair on his chest is matted with sweat, curls whorling around his nipples. 

You almost choke when Johnny comes down your throat without warning, hilting his cock until his balls brush your chin and his hand in your hair tightens painfully. He groans, drawn out and long, pained. It splashes against the back of your throat, almost familiar. You’ve done this before. You can do this without falling down a cliff and never climbing back up. 

He pulls his cock out before he’s finished, striping your face with come, twitching when he has to hold his cock from how sensitive it is. You instinctively close your eyes, grateful when you feel his come tag your eyelid. 

You hope it’s almost over, but Ghost hasn’t come yet and you know it’s going to get worse before it gets better. When Johnny pulls away to collapse onto his back on the bed, trying to catch his breath and dragging his hand over his stomach, Ghost hunches over you. He drags his tongue over your cheek, wet and nasty, and your brain almost switches off when you realise that he’s licking Johnny’s come off your cheek. 

“There we go,” he snarls, feeling you flex around him, the little tell-tale spasm of your approaching orgasm. “Atta girl—gonna come on my cock? A little wet sorry for running away?”

You try to say something, but your throat is raw, voice too hoarse for words. Even your lips feel puffy, swollen. Talking hurts. It doesn’t matter though, Ghost doesn’t wait for your response. He pumps into you like a machine, pulling his cock all the way out before pushing back in again. Your stomach cramps with the worry that he might miss and try pushing into the other hole.

You wish there was a way around it, but you can’t avoid it slamming into you, a white hot wave cresting over you. You come so hard it hurts, milking Ghost’s cock and pushing him over the edge too; he pants harsh, animalistic sounds into your throat, cutting himself off by sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder instead, making you howl. There’s no condom to keep his come from pumping into you; just a big, heavy man smelling of gunpowder and salt hovering over you, elbow propped on the mattress beside your head and making you go a bit crazy at the scent of him everywhere around you. 

He peels himself off of you after what feels like an hour, soft cock pulling out of you and making you clench down on nothing. You didn’t remember how much being empty can hurt. You try to roll away from him and onto your side, maybe squeeze yourself into a fetal position, but Ghost collapses down beside you and plants a hand on the centre of your chest, holding you in place. Never any respite. 

You croak a tired little, “Ow.” All it does is make Ghost snort softly.

Your body feels like one livid bruise in the aftermath, limbs loose at your sides. You couldn’t move even if you tried, even if you thought you could make a break for it. It would hardly be worth it. You let your eyes slide shut when Ghost runs a hand up and down your chest, a little comforting gesture. 

“Simon,” Johnny whines from beside you. Your brows scrunch, annoyed at his voice breaking the silence. “Please.”

You hear Ghost sigh. “Now?”

“Cannae wait—please.”

You wait to hear Johnny and Ghost get up. Maybe there’s something they have to do—maybe they drove to the motel and there’s still something in the car. 

A hand grabs you by the hip.

“Turn over, pet,” Ghost instructs, flipping you onto your stomach without waiting for you to acquiesce. “Promised Johnny a turn with your pussy before we leave.”

Your eyes go wide.

[anastasiareyreed]

“ordinary russians are not guilty of anything and shouldn't be held responsible for the actions of their authorities”

meanwhile:

ordinary russians voluntarily join the russian army to kill Ukrainians and Syrians

ordinary russians organize safari hunting and killing Ukrainian civilians with drones

ordinary russians torture and execute Ukrainian and Syrian civilians and soldiers, filming it on camera

ordinary russians come to the destroyed occupied territories and arrange "fancy and mysterious" photoshoots like it's some kind of disneyland

ordinary russians go abroad to willingly glorify russia at pro-russian rallies

ordinary russians persecute and kill Ukrainians abroad

ordinary russians export stolen Ukrainian clothes, household appliances and cars to russia

ordinary russians buy all these stuff knowing perfectly well and seeing from the labels that these things were stolen from the houses and shops of murdered Ukrainians

ordinary russians donate to support the russian army

ordinary russians make shells and drones at factories in three shifts

ordinary russians sew equipment

ordinary russian activists weave camouflage nets, make trench candles and collect donations for the russian army

ordinary russian truck drivers bring all this to the frontlines

ordinary russians make software for missiles

ordinary russian tourists go on vacation to the russian-occupied Crimea

ordinary russians sell and buy apartments in occupied territories whose residents were killed

ordinary russians write happy comments after shelling Ukrainian homes markets hospitals and schools

ordinary russian doctors go to the frontlines to save russian soldiers

ordinary russians work in prisons and torture prisoners of war with starvation

ordinary russian teachers in the occupied territories reeducate Ukrainian children

ordinary russian social workers kidnap and take Ukrainian children to russia

ordinary russian miners extract coal for steel smelting

ordinary russian metallurgists work three shifts at blast furnaces to melt steel

ordinary russian celebrities shoot pro-russian films, write pro-russian songs and call to join the russian army

ordinary russians organize mass protests in russia against the closing of McDonald's, but not against the war

ordinary russian children draw pictures of russian soldiers brutally killing Ukrainians

ordinary russian artists in russia and abroad create pro-russian art glorifying russia and the russian army

ordinary russians create videogames that promote russian brutality and the army

ordinary russian teachers teach children to hate other nations

ordinary russian trainers prepare children for warfare and murder

ordinary russians ignore russian crimes on the territory of Ukraine and Syria as they ignored crimes on the territory of Georgia. because they believe it has nothing to do with them and it shouldn't affect their comfortable lifestyle.

should i go on?

Putin is not the cause of russian brutality, terrorism and bloodthirstiness. Putin is a consequence.

before Putin, there were other presidents, other tsars and other authorities in russia. only one thing has not changed — russian imperialism and chauvinism.

don't be silent and please continue to support Ukraine! don't let your politicians betray Ukraine, Ukraine needs help to defeat russia!

[mina-org]

୨୧Monster concept

୨୧captain price, gaz, ghost, & johnny as monsters

୨୧ word count: 1000

୨୧Warnings: monster fucking not smut tho, implied in gaz n soap, yandere themes &tropes, dark romance, mentions to death, dying and bones

୨୧captain price as a hunter

୨୧ inspired by Herne the hunter, tw for suicide if you read the original tale but I won’t be mentioning it.

୨୧ The tales of prices’ woods were conflicting; some groundskeepers thrived, the sweetest fruits grown and the harvests would be consistently good for half centuries, than others who didn't survive a night, starved during winters, seemingly promising harvest would be found rotten at the last moment. In every tale however, no one leaves.

୨୧ Price is as old as the land he protects, he’s shed his antlers more time then he can remember and though he loves his eternal chase through the forest but his affection for human has waned after these years. However, there's a shiny new groundskeeper moving in and he always finds some enjoyment from them, whether it's from working with them or working against them, price always has fun.

୨୧ Lucky for you, price has deemed you a mortal he likes, you don't exploit his land, you end the culls on badgers and the needless fox hunt, you don’t take too much. Price adores your company, so he gives you gifts, the sweetest fruits you never planted, fruits you had never seen before, you had heard tales of the new world having such bounties you should've known it would’ve come at a price. The next time you try to go to town, the forest is endless, by dusk you arrive back at your cottage, an otherworldly being waiting for you.

୨୧ Ghost as a werewolf

୨୧ Six men, six of the village’s best hunters had been dragged out their home to the woods, only their bones remind at the tree line, like the creature was mocking the them. You had found a few scattering your herb garden, you did not tell the town, afraid of their accusations. You were already an albatross of sorts, bringing it up would only bring misfortune on you and your garden, the councilmen were always so quick to point fingers. You had warned them if the over hunting continued nature would return the favour but you had been laughed off the stand. 

୨୧ The new butcher was strange. He frequented your shop, trading you meat for your supply of wolfsbane, smelled of wet dog and seemingly had no clothes that fit him. His scent lingers, haunts your shop, sticks your person and invades your home. Even when he’s not there, you wake to his smell, like he's skulking, leering through your walls. He gives you first pick though along with any tallow and of course bones.

୨୧ More and more people go missing, you cannot walk to the forest without stumbling over bones. The council calls a meeting, the wolf has started picking off the councilmen leading their once icy oblivion turning into paranoia ready to burn their own once again. lucky for them a butcher was eager to step in and he stuck out. So strange compared to the overs but he demanded attention, barking plans and orders. Impressive really a true wolf in sheep’s clothing, humans will believe anything but the truth.

୨୧ Soap as nessie

୨୧ You had seen the monster once as a child, now with a shiny new camera and degree in film, you'd prove nessie was no hoax or farce but a real creature haunting the loch, lurking beneath the water. It’s practically deserted, not surprising, snow so heavy the roads are blocked, no one enters, no one leaves. Just you and a groundskeeper? Or was he a fisherman? It didn’t matter, but he did indulge you.

୨୧ a week goes by and nothing. No tail, no head, no body, not until the last night, well supposedly the last night. A hump had showed up, and you had caught it on camera, it was tantalising, so close, like you could feel the scales beneath your fingertips. You couldn't let this slip away. You would grasp on to this, even if it was just a hump. So you extended the trip, luckily enough, Johnny, who turned out to be a nessie fanatic too, had a cabin nearby and helped you with his own theories, even suggesting camera angles and how the species may work as a whole, though the population and how the creature breeds or is seemingly immortal is still unknown.

.୨୧ An extra week, turns into months and you finally have enough footage. You're so thankful to Johnny and accredit so much to him, you’ve grown so close to him and you leaving brings a sadness over the cabin, though Johnny is eager to push the rain clouds away, throwing you a bonfire goodbye party, though its still just the two of you. The fire burns bright and long into the night as a full moon rises to its apex and Johnny shares a secret with how the species reproduces.

୨୧ gaz as a siren

୨୧ who knew collecting seashells would be your fatal mistake. Looking out you see a body submerged, with a sort of incandescence you’ve never seen before and rush over playing the good, pure prey gaz so often found himself indulging in when sailors and fishermen were just too much work, plus you smelt so much sweeter.

୨୧ “s/o” A melodic whisper calls you forward, closer and closer, and gaz realises he’s found himself a treasure, his very own pearl. No longer prey, a mate. Gaz’s cave had been feeling lonely of late, after what's the point of having such a bounty with no mate to enjoy it with. The lovelorn melancholy also radiates off you in waves and gaz recognises it and he’ll fix that for his treasure.

୨୧ You feel his tail twitch beneath you as he sits you on his lap on the shore. He feels assured once you're stunned to silence, staring at the way his tail scales glistens and shimmer under the bright noon. You follow his scales up his body until you met his golden eyes, missing the razor sharp teeth hidden behind his pretty lips. The same plush lips soon press against your pulse, “pretty pearl, give yourself to me.” you can only nod, in the presence of the almost celestial being, completely ensnared.

[legendofmorons]

Written in the stars (forever on loop) chapter seven - so much for star dust

Pairing: Pre poly! Chain x reader, Wind & reader

Rating: T

Summary: While you spend some time examining everything that has come up since you fell out of the sky the boys face their own emotions, Epona throws a fit, and the pair that is Dark and Onyx scheme.

(Aka: reader breaks down, Legend is sad and has a shitty joke to cheer up Wars and Hyrule, Dink and dreader are in love and making problems, Wind proves a point, you soulmate with Twi and Wild so hard you have the same reaction about two different things, and some lady spills the "secret" that the chain has Feelings About you)

Warnings: cursing, grief, guilt, breakdowns

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know

Previous Masterlist Next

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Three days after the chain leaves, you find yourself fairing about as well as you can hope. With your inexplicable ability to read hylian, you're able to read the odd jobs papers on the town bulletin board, and you earn some rupees through that.

Spooky seems inclined to hang around you, following you through the market or the town. They even tried to follow you into the inn!

(That didn't work. The inn keeper wasn't a fan. Spooky did, however, find your room window and sleep under it.)

The good news is you get great prices when shopping with a panther at your side! Also, creeps stay further away, which is definitely a bonus.

You are fairly confident Spooky has adopted you. Because they've brought you a few birds and also like to nap across your legs. So... yeah.

But you aren't complaining. They're self-sufficient enough to hunt their own food, and you don't have to clean a panther litter box.

Researching at the library dosen’t turn up any new information on the soulmate thing. This isn't a surprise but a disappointment.

The dreams have been getting more vivid, and the only hint you've found there was in a book called 'The Magic of Dreams', but that book was poorly written and had no sources. The book claims that dreams that frequent and vivid that truly feel like memories are often from 'past lives'.

Which is ridiculous because you live on Earth, not in Hyrule. How could your past lives be in a different universe?

What are you, Hylia's favorite character or something? Are you an anime protagonist?

The biggest concern for you right now is just trying to get used to this new way of life. It's strange to be in a place where there's no light pollution, no public transport, no cameras everywhere, and no headphones.

Today, you find your afternoon spent helping a heavily pregnant woman with her laundry. Washing it in the river before wringing it our and hanging it to dry.

Her son runs around to the side with Spooky, though she has the sense to look over frequently.

"May I ask about your... panther?" The woman - Alice - asks you.

You hum, rinsing out a tunic. "Spooky is sweet. They just came up to me a few days ago. I'm not sure why, though."

You wring the garment out before setting it on the rock beside you.

"How strange. You're sure they aren't dangerous?"

You smile, "Not to your son. But to birds? Maybe."

Alice gives a nervous giggle. "If you're sure."

"I am." You say.

And really, regardless of your personal views on children who would ever knowingly let a child so close to a bloodthirsty animal? You wouldn't.

"Where did the lovely young men you came with go off to?" Alice asks as she wrings out a blanket.

You ignore the immediate and strange urge to flinch at the reminder of the boys. "I'm not too sure. They have a quest they're on."

The words strike a strange resignment within you, as if this is something you've had to say many times. (You've never said it before that you recall.)

"I see. That's a shame they were lovely."

"They are," You manage to smile.

You both return to the laundry, allowing the silence to linger in a mostly comforting way.

There's a cool breeze, and the birds sing in the trees. It's nice here.

You would still like to get back to Earth, but there are much worse places to be.

You could be stuck in a zombie apocalypse or something else, not fun and even more dangerous.

You let yourself exist here for a moment, safe and in a world you've always longed to truly see.

The air is crisp, and the grass is sift where you touch it. The river rushes easily with little forms darting about the shallows.

Spooky brushes by you, rumbling happily as they bound away again.

"Do you think you'll see those men again?" Alice asks you.

There's an instinctive 'yes' that wells up in your throat, but you bite it back anyway. You can't know that for sure.

There is no guarantee of such things.

"I'm not sure."

"Do you want to?" She asks, giving you a little smile.

Again, the instinctive agreement is something you bite back. You settle on "I don't know..."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to poke if they've been rude."

You crack a half smile, "They're good guys... I think I just make them uncomfortable for the most part."

"Really? They kept staring at you like you hold the key to their hearts, and they think they've lost you," Alice muses as she wrings out a dress.

"I'm sorry, what?" You ask breathlessly and thoroughly caught off gaurd.

What is she talking about? Every time you catch them looking at you, they look sad, angry, calculating, or comcerningly polite. How is she saying they looked at you any other way?

Is she imagining things? Is she lying?

"Those boys couldn't keep their eyes off you, you'd look away, and they'd stare at you like they're lost." She laughs a little, sounding as if she believes herself.

"Oh..."

If that's the case, it is probably just because you're a sore reminder of their soulmate. That... explains a lot, actually.

Hopefully, Wind hasn't lost that soulmate yet and never will. That kid has already done so much.

As you and Alice finish the laundry, you find yourself facing the pile of things you keep putting off in your mind.

Once the laundry is done, you accept the two blue rupees with a 'thank you' before leading Spooky across the little foot bridge to go sit on the stone bench with the bird bath beside it.

The bench sits in a park area of sorts, but it's empty for now, so you will use it to let your mind process... everything.

First of all, you are in Hyrule! A place that less than two weeks ago was no more than a setting for a popular video game franchise!

You fell out of the sky! Miraculously didn't have a bunch of injuries from that, and you met nine different Links.

Who falls out of the sky (unharmed!) and meets nine different people from their favorite video game franchise?

You apparently...but you also have some sort of Disney princess thing going on because you have a panther that has picked you as it's person.

None of this makes sense. It feels a lot more like a fever dream than reality.

If you're going to be honest, it feels a lot more like a fanfiction written by someone who has a fixation on hurt / comfort media.

But...

It is real.

You can't place why, but you know that this is real against all logic.

Against all odds, this is reality.

How the fuck are you even here though?!

Why you?

Why now?

Who brought you here?

Why can you read everything? It's in a fictional language! Except... it isn't fictional.

If Hyrule is real... are all the other fictional worlds real too?

Okay- nope! You can't think about that right now.

One crisis at a time, two max. Your crisis docket is chock full today, we can try again tomorrow.

Fuck... Hyrule is real, you've met nine different Links, magic is real, and you have no idea what's going on.

Maybe this fits in with the multiverse theory. Your brain woukd like it to.

Okay...

Multiverse... We can say that's real here maybe? You are in the world of Zelda

But... there's also those dreams and half memories that have been taunting and confusing you to no end.

Those fucking dreams and half memories!

Oh!

You want answers for that!

Why in the name of literally any and every deity are you experiencing half memories and dreams of men who can barely stand you?!

Even as creative as your brain gets that dosen’t account for how vivid and achingly real they feel.

The way you hear their voices speak in your mind as if they hold you as the most important person to them... hurts.

It hurts a lot.

You want someone to love you the way they love you in your weird half memories. It would be wonderful!

But that's not reality.

Sure, you definitely had a crush on the Links growing up, you aren't the only one. You have always thought them good looking, strong, honorable, and maybe a little mischievous depending on the source material.

You can admit that the real deal is also crush worthy, but it's hard to feel that way when everyone keeps you at arm's length.

The dreams make it harder than anything though. Living through scenarios where you are romantically involved, even the bad dreams, make it hard to remember the truth when you wake up.

You swear Hyrule called you Honeybee when he healed you...

Legend called you Trinket when he gave you that potion...

What do those even mean?

What are you supposed to do?

All you want is to go find them.

There's a soul deep ache to be with them but you can't place why.

Are you horrible?

Is your brain making up strange dreams?

Or worse... are you somehow reliving memories of the soulmate they always lose? Have you somehow been cursed to do that?

Did you do something to make that happen?

Is it like a ghost situation?

You groan, putting your face in your hands.

"Fuck."

The sentiment isn't nearly strong enough, but you don't know what else you can say. (Double fuck?)

Spooky comes over and nudges your arm with their nose, making an inquisitive sound.

You look over and give a straining smile. "Hey, pumpkin... I don't suppose you know what's happening?"

Spooky dosen’t answer, but they do push your arms away so they can put their head on your knee.

They stare up at you with bright eyes.

You huff a little but scratch behind their ear. "I don't guess you could tell me anyway."

Spooky just purrs, leaning into your fingers.

You laugh a little, only half fragile.

Out of the corner of your eye, you swear you see a dark figure move, but when you turn your head to check, no one is there. How odd.

No stranger than the rest of your life lately, maybe it's that shadow that took on those lizafos for you? Which...

Honestly that experience is another thing you don't understand but you can't find the energy to spiral about it.

Maybe it was Four's shadow? Or is his shadow still dead?

Oh shit- the heroes are not only real people, but you played through their trauma like it was a game to entertain you! You know so much more about their lives than you should, and it feels sick.

Knowing what you know makes your skin crawl and your throat feel thick.

What will they even say if they ever find out?

Spooky nudges you again to get your attention. They seem to be trying to cheer you up, which is sweet.

"Thank you, pumpkin..."

-------

"Epona, I have had about enough of your sass," Twilight grits as he tries yet again to lead his mare to cross the bridge, pronouncing ever word in a slow, steady pace that is engineered so he can't possibly be misunderstood.

Epona stands firm, refusing to move for the seventh time. She gives him her best 'unimpressed horse' whinny.

Wind snorts, "Do you want a hand?"

"I doubt anyone could get her to move," Twilight manages before he grits his teeth again.

Wild sighs, "What's going on with her anyway?"

"She's been like this since we left town." Four muses, "Did she want more rest?"

"You broke her horsey heart making her leave (Y/n)," Wind rolls his eyes, "She's just upset."

"Sailor, if you know so much how about you get her across the bridge?" Twilight asks in the same slow and clear manner.

Wind, just snorts, holding his hand out for the reigns. "Maybe I will."

Twilight passes the youngest hero the reigns and crosses his arms. The rancher is willing to bet money that this fails.

After all, the kid grew up by the sea, horses aren't his specialty.

Wind takes the reigns before bending down and ripping some grass out of the ground. The teen offers the grass to Epona, roots and all.

Epona takes the grass and begins to chew it, seemingly accepting the bribe.

Wind starts walking, gently pulling at the reigns. "Come on, Epona. We're just going to cross the bridge okay?"

Epona chews her grass, not moving but not fighting either.

Twilight smirks.

"Come on, pretty girl. Help me prove rancher wrong." Wind coaxes gently before he clicks his tongue twice.

Epona does move this time, slow and obviously unhappy, but she moves.

Wind leads Epona across the bridge while Twilight clenches his jaw.

The rancher is facing the fact that his mare is apparently a traitor.

"That's a good girl," Wind praises, patting Epona's neck. "Good job, sweetheart."

The pirate is not above stealing the name you use for the horse, and it seems to please the mare so he won't stop anytime soon. He likes proving a point after all.

Legend snickers, "She must be mad at you, cowboy."

"Shut up," Twilight hisses.

Time snorts and Wild just laughs.

Sky pats Twilight's shoulder.

Four and Hyrule share a look, biting back smiles.

"All you did was bribe her, sailor," Twilight says as he crosses the bridge with Wild and Legend on his heels.

The rancher crosses his arms as he moves, only a little sore about being proven wrong.

Warriors, already across the bridge, laughs as he pets Epona. "You could have bribed her too."

"Shut it, city boy." Twilight huffs.

Wild - the traitor - laughs at that, snapping a picture on his slate.

There's a distinct sense of fear that crawls up the spine if every hero followed by a ground shaking roar.

"Fuck." Wild hisses, whipping around.

Twilight looks up and sees two gleeocks and promptly thinks 'fuck ain't enough of a sentiment'.

"Do we have to fight?" Wind groans.

Time shoots the pirate a deadpan look. "Yes, we do."

"That shadow is getting more vicious," Twilight draws lowly as he grips his sword hilt.

Wild and Legend both start sending arrows at the beasts and the fight commences.

Twilight dodges out of the way of lightning and hears an explosion in the sky. He supposes Wild found the bomb arrows.

Probably good.

But then black blood drips from the sky.

"Double fuck!" Wild hisses.

"Shiver me timbers!" Wind shrieks, choosing the moment to be obnoxious while not cursing becomes he's mad at Time.

Twilight takes a second to be grateful you aren't here for this before he knocks Legend out of the way and deflects a lightning ball with a wooden shield.

The fight descends into adrenaline fueled instincts.

The boys lose track of their own movements, they can't see keep track if others.

By the time it's over, they're all half dead and grateful for potions.

-------

Dark sighs heavily where he sits, crossing his arms as he glares at the wall from within the shadows.

"Are you seriously pouting right now?" Onyx chuckles as they look over from where they are currently rearranging your things to be easier to find.

They aren't doing that because they like you or anything, the chaos was just pissing them off.

"I do not pout, I am made of evil," Dark pouts harder.

Onyx snorts, "That is absolutely bullshit, viper. Knock it off."

"It is not bullshit."

"You know how I feel about being lied to," Onyx warns sweetly as they finish tidying your things.

They set the little seagull figurine in the back, unsure why you like it to much.

Dark gives a slow, heavy sigh. "It should not be so difficult to end nine lives. You understand that, don't you, darling lamb?"

Onyx rolls their eyes and turns to look their lover over. "Can't you focus on the challenge instead of a short term disappointment? Where's my vicious man?"

"My darling lamb, am I not allowed to be frustrated?"

"You can be frustrated, but you have a habit of wallowing in it." Onyx points out, awars of the way their lover gets.

"I do not wallow."

"Dark."

"I only wallow the acceptable amount."

Onyx gives a thoroughly unimpressed look.

Dark opens his arms, "I am mourning a great plan, I demand you comfort me."

They roll their eyes, but they go over anyway. They always will. They will always go to home when he asks.

Onyx collapses into Dark's arms carelessly, more than trusting that he will keep them both upright. It's his job anyway as the one demanding this.

They press their face against his chest, listening to his heart. "You'll get them next time, viper."

Dark pulls them close, one hand on the back of their thigh and the other on their shoulder. "I will eviscerate them."

"It was a good plan," Onyx says softly. "It would have taken one or two of them alone out."

"They're still alive."

"I know. But with (Y/n) out of the way you can attack without fear."

"That's true..."

"Why don't I make a plan? You need a break and I'm bored." Onyx muses, ideas already half spinning through their mind.

Dark grins sharper, half smitten and half cruel. "I do love your twisted mind."

Onyx hums, pressing a kiss to his throat. "You flatter me."

"I do not. I just adore your plans."

Onyx grins. "Good. I am amazing."

"You are. My darling lamb."

"What can we do about getting (Y/n) out of this time and somewhere else?"

"Whatever you want, I will make happen." He promises them easily, without thought or deceit.

-------

Legend sits away from the group but is careful to make sure he's close enough to Hyrule and Warriors to watch them after the disaster that the Gleeocks wrought. He is incredibly grateful that you are not with them right now, it means you are safe.

That's what matters anyway.

He misses you.

By the Golden Three, he misses you so much.

You are safe though, in a town with nice people and away from all the tense behaviors his brothers exhibit to you.

Legend could kick himself for letting his grief cloud his judgments and treating anyonethe way he was treating you before. It's only made worse knowing he took his grief for his soulmate... out on his soulmate.

He is such an asshole.

Fuck.

"I still don't understand why their magic has to be identical," Hyrule says to Warriors.

Legend swallows and turns his attention to the conversation between the traveler and the captain.

Warriors sighs, "Does it matter?"

"You don't get it. Their magic was a perfect copy. Magic is always unique to an individual. Even similar magic signatures have some variation."

Warriors rubs his temples. "Hyrule, you know as well as I do that the goddesses aren't that kind."

Hyrule sighs, rubbing his arm absently. "I guess..."

"You're looking for our soulmate, and you probably always will. I understand, I do it too, but you'll run yourself into the grave if you aren't careful," the captain warns with a heavy tone as he looks up to the stars.

Legend bites the inside of his cheek. It's just one more secret he holds, and it's to save his brothers the same grief he faces.

You don't even seem to know.

It takes everything he has to keep from spilling the truth. If he tells them, after the momentary joy, they too will have to know they lost you. Again.

Legend can't do that to them.

"Isn't there anything that (Y/n) did that made you think they were really our soulmate?" Hyrule asks with a weak voice as he stares into the fire.

Warriors lets out a bitter chuckle. "Almost everything. The day they saw the lizafos before we did? They shoved Wind behind them without a shield or sword to their name. It was a reflex."

"Oh."

"That's how I lost them, to an ambush... their reactions are identical, Rulie... But (Y/n) isn't Dove."

Hyrule looks to the captain with a look that is all but a shattering heart. "How do you know?"

"Because we aren't that lucky, and they've never said anything about knowing a Link."

Hyrule swallows hard, hugging himself tightly. "You're probably right..."

Legend sighs, shoving down the words that want to come out. He stands and walks to the traveler's side before he sits back down.

Warriors just raises a brow.

Legend wraps an arm around Hyrule's shoulders, pulling the other into his side.

Hyrule leans into Legend.

"Finally joining the fun?" Warriors challenges.

Legend scoffs, "You weren't having fun, pretty boy. You were having a wake."

The captain rolls his eyes. "Like you can be more cheerful."

Legend snorts, "Is that a challenge?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Knock knock."

Hyrule stifles a laugh, side eyeing his predecessor.

"You're fucking kidding me," Warriors huffs incredulously.

"I said 'knock knock'," Legend raises a brow.

The captain lets out a theatrical sigh, "Who's there?"

Legend gives a grin, "Boo."

"Boo who?" Warriors asks as he crosses his arms.

"Aw, don't cry pretty boy," Legend coos in a sarcastic tone, "It's just a joke."

Hyrule laughs, swatting at Legend playfully. "That was horrible! Jesus Christ, Ledge."

"How did you manage to be a prick through a knock knock joke?" Warriors asks, sounding rather impressed.

"I'm just that great," Legend smirks.

What he dosen’t tell them is that the joke is one he used on you back when you were kids whenever you were down. Back then, when you were both still children, the joke always got at least a little amusement from you.

He finds that as much as he avoids the joke because of the memory it holds... Legend dosen’t mind sharing it now with his brothers.

You would certainly approve.

"That was ridiculous," Warriors informs him.

Legend shrugs, "You just have bad taste."

"I do not!" Warriors scoffs.

Hyrule snickers, "You so do.'

Legend lets the two argue as they hop from topic to topic, taking pride in the fact he got them to stop poking an emotional wound that will never quite heal. He just wants to help them.

He just wants them to be okay.

He already failed Hyrule horribly just by not finishing Ganon for good...

Legend can't fail the traveler again.

He can't fail any of them.

You would be doing everything you can for them if you were aware, and so it's Legend's job to do so in your steed.

Hopefully you're okay in that town.

Maybe... maybe he could go visit? Just to check.

His Pegasus boots would make it easier.

No.

The best choice Legend can make is to let you go... so he will.

Legend will let you go, and he will stay away because that's what's best for you. That's what matters.

-------

Next

Taglist: @danyzta @vrsin @silver-the-pendejo @tulip-does-stuff @justanotherweeb666 @yourlocaltreesimp @blueberrysungie @victoryssong23 @shu-leepy @sleepifonlyigoti @sour-patch-delight @phlying-squirrel @pumpkincitrus

[rebelliousmuse]

Camera Malfunction – C.B.

For the Sam and Colby fans.

Warning: oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (use condoms).

------------------------------------------------------

"What's up guys, it's Sam and Colby!" the boys boomed, a mischievous glint in their eyes.

Colby continued "And today, we're dragging y/n and Kris along on another terrifying adventure!" The camera cut to you in the back, holding some ghost hunting equipment. A shiver ran down your spine as the imposing iron gates of Blackwood Manor loomed into view.

"Guys," you said, "This place already feels creepy."

Sam snorted. "It's just an old house."

Colby nudged you with his elbow. "Yeah, y/n. Besides, even if there are ghosts, they probably wouldn't mess with someone as awesome as you." You rolled your eyes, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Inside, the mansion was a labyrinth of dusty hallways and old portraits. Their guide, Mr. Grimshaw, started talking about a brutal family massacre that had stained the very walls.

"They say the spirits here are restless," Mr. Grimshaw rasped, his voice echoing in the cavernous hall. "They leave scratches on visitors, sometimes they also push or pull their hair."

You rubbed your arms, goosebumps erupting. "Okay, maybe it is a little chilly in here," you mumbled, pulling your well-worn XPLR hoodie out of your backpack.

"Good call, y/n!" Sam said, winking at the camera. "Don't want the viewers to think you're a coward, right?"

"Exactly," you said, throwing your arms wide and giving the camera a mock-heroic pose. "shopxplr.com, where comfort meets courage. Go shop, guys!"

Sam and Colby erupted in cheers. Mr. Grimshaw, however, remained stoic.

After all the story about the place was told, the investigation started. The camera cut back to Sam; a mischievous grin plastered on his face. "Alright guys," he said, "Let's see if we can stir up some of those spirits!"

The EMF reader in Colby's hand whined, the light jumping wildly to red.

"Whoa, guys," Kris said, her voice barely a whisper. "This is intense."

Across the room, Sam held the spirit box device. The screen flickered rapidly, displaying fragmented words: "Alone... helpless... betrayed..." Then, a new word materialized, loud and clear: "SAM."

Sam's eyes widened, his jaw dropping. He whipped the camera towards him. "Did that just say..."

You cut him off, your voice surprisingly steady. "Alright, guys. Looks like things are getting a little too personal." You scanned the darkened hallway.

"We should split up," Colby suggested. "Even better, let the spirits choose the groups."

Colby pulled more equipment from his bag, "Good idea," Sam agreed. "We'll leave one piece of equipment behind each one of us. Whichever two go off, go together".

Kris agreed "Sounds like a plan."

With a shared look of determination, you each placed your chosen equipment on the dusty floor. You opted for the music box, setting it down carefully. The silence stretched, thick with anticipation.

Kris spoke, her voice cracking slightly, "Hey, Luke, could you choose two people to go together so we split up?"

Before she could even finish her sentence, a sombre melody erupted from the music box behind you. You flinched, instinctively covering your face with a groan.

"Oh my god, did you see that?" Sam exclaimed, practically leaping across the room. He pointed at your device, the music box going crazy. "Okay, thank you, that seems clear enough," he continued, his voice a mix of nervous excitement and genuine gratitude. "Could you choose another one, buddy?"

Another agonizing silence stretched on. You peeked through your fingers, watching the other three devices. Then, a faint flicker of light caught your eye. Across the room, Colby's EMF rope lit up.

"Looks like we have our teams!" Kris announced, a nervous smile tugging at Colby’s lips.

Each pair grabbed their ghost hunting equipment, an EMF reader, a spirit box and a camera with a light. Sam and Kris got ready, casting nervous glances towards the door of the basement.

"Basement for us then," Kris said, her voice echoing in the dusty hall.

You and Colby exchanged a look. "Second floor sounds good," you replied, grabbing some equipment and taking the lead towards the stairs. The grand staircase creaked ominously with each step.

Reaching the top floor, you found yourself facing a long hallway lined with closed doors. Colby turned to you, a hesitant smile playing on his lips.

"Which room do you think we should go to first?" he asked.

"Honestly," you mumbled, "I think the kids' room would be a good starting point. The parents' room... well, that's where the bloodiest murder happened, according to Mr. Grimshaw. Maybe we should save that for last?"

Your voice trailed off as you realized you hadn't been paying attention to what you were saying. Instead, your mind was replaying Colby's smile, the way his shirt fit his broad shoulders a little too well tonight.

You reached a door adorned with faded cartoon whales. This had to be the kids' room.

As you pushed the door open, you saw a dusty rocking horse sat frozen in the corner, and a faded floral wallpaper peeled from the walls. You set down the camera and switched on the spirit box.

Suddenly, a clear, childish voice filled the room. "Hi" it said, sending a shiver down your spine.

You began talking to the spirit, obtaining more story. It turned out to be a little girl named Lily, her voice filled with innocence. As you spoke, another voice joined in, deeper and slightly hesitant. It was her brother, William. Together, they painted a picture of a happy childhood cut tragically short.

You documented everything. The sadness of their story mingled with the guilt of being distracted by Colby. You kept asking yourself, 'How can I be thinking about him when these poor kids are trapped here?'

The conversation eventually finished, leaving a heavy silence in the room. It was time to move on. Pushing aside the lingering sadness of the children's story, you forced yourself to focus. There were other rooms to investigate.

Eventually, you reached the parents' room, the centre of the tragedy. The air in the room hung heavy. You stepped on the carpet, fumbling with the familiar weight of the camera.

Colby was beside you, setting up the spirit box. As you reached for the EMF, your hand brushed against his arm, sending electricity through you. You stumbled and before you could react, Colby was there. His hands shot out, instinctively grabbing you by the waist to stop your fall. The sudden contact sent a wave of warmth through you. You could feel the heat of his body through his shirt. “You okay?” he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine, sorry," your answer nervously. You turned around, and your breath hitched. His eyes were on you, a soft smile playing on his lips. His touch remained on your waist.

You felt yourself blushing. The thrilling tension of the investigation was replaced by a nervous flutter in your stomach.

His gaze held yours. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "We should get this done already," he said, his voice husky and close.

"We should," you breathed back, your voice barely a whisper. But instead of pulling away, you surprised yourself by reaching out. Your hand, trembling slightly, landed on his chest. Your fingers grazed the fabric of his shirt. You traced a slow path down. Colby's gaze dropped from yours, lingering on your lips. A flicker of surprise, quickly overtaken by a hesitant smile, danced across his face.

You mirrored his gaze. The weight of his touch, the intensity of his stare, it was too much for you to resist.

In that charged silence, you leaned in, a slow, deliberate movement. Colby met you halfway. Then, hesitantly at first, your lips met. It was a soft brush, but in a moment, the kiss deepened.

Your hands moved instinctively, one cupping Colby's face, the other threading through his hair. He pulled you closer. The distant hum of the spirit box seemed to fade away, replaced by the frantic drumming of your hearts.

The world dissolved into a blur of heat and sensation. You were breathless, tangled in the sheets of the dusty parent's bed.

Colby hovered above you. His touch was everywhere, a gentle yet insistent exploration. Buttons popped open; clothes slipped away. You mirrored his movements, clumsy with desire.

Thank God you hadn't started recording yet, the thought flashed through your mind even as it faded into insignificance. The only thing that mattered was the press of Colby's body against yours, the warmth of his skin against yours.

He trailed kisses down your neck, his lips lingered on the sensitive skin of your collarbone, sending a gasp escaping your lips.

As Colby's kisses traced a path down your abdomen, a shiver ran down your spine with each touch. You closed your eyes, a silent prayer forming in your mind – that Sam and Kris were engrossed in their investigation, that you could have a few more minutes with Colby.

The silence in the room was broken only by the ragged rhythm of your breath. Colby paused, his gaze flickering to your face, searching for your reaction.

With a gentle motion, he removed the last layer of fabric separating your bodies, tossing your panties on the floor. The cool air sent goosebumps erupting across your skin, momentarily grounding you in reality. But then, his hands found your thighs as he separated your them and placed his head between them. His grip was firm yet gentle, a possessiveness that both surprised and excited you.

Colby's touch was exquisite, sending waves of pleasure through your skin. His tongue danced across your sensitive clit. A gasp escaped your lips, a mixture of surprise and delight. You arched your back instinctively.

Low guttural sounds escaping his lips as he explored further. His fingers joined, the intoxicating feeling of his touch.

As his fingers went deeper, massaging that gummy spot, a sharp gasp escaped your lips, leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms.

"Fuck, baby," he murmured, his voice husky and low. "I could eat you out all day." He started making his way to your mouth, leaving a trail of kisses through your body. Your lips meeting his in a slow kiss. Your hands roamed over his body, tracing the contours of his muscles.

His hand cupped your face. "We don't have too much time," you whispered.

A flicker of amusement danced across his face. "Should we stop?" he suggested, his voice a husky murmur against your skin.

You shook your head, "No," you breathed, your voice barely audible. "Fuck me, now." He smirked slyly, giving you a short kiss while grabbing his hard cock on his right hand, positioning himself on your entrance.

Colby entered you slowly, letting you adjust to his size. You gasped as he held your gaze with his jaw clenched.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he began to move. Your moans escaped your lips involuntarily. The sound wasn't lost on Colby.

"Faster, Colby," you whispered, your voice rough with a need you couldn't deny.

He responded instantly, his movements mirroring your growing desire. The sound of skin slapping against skin was a counterpoint to the gasps escaping your lips.

With each thrust, you felt yourself reaching the edge. "Oh my god," you breathed, the words punctuated by moans that begged for release. "C-colb-y, I'm g-gonna..."

"Cum for me, baby," he whispered. "Show me how good I make you feel."

You arched your back, surrendering to the wave of pleasure that threatened to consume you. A choked cry escaped your lips as you reached your climax, the world dissolving around you. Colby collapsed beside you, his chest moving up and down as he caught his breath.

A distant creak of floorboards sent a jolt through you. "Did you hear that?" you whispered.

"Sounds like Sam and Kris," he confirmed, his voice low and gravelly. "They must be done with their investigation."

Scrambling out of bed, you reached for your discarded clothes, pulling them on with shaking hands. Colby mirrored your movements, his movements more controlled but a flicker of urgency in his eyes.

The room looked different, the messy the bed, the misplaced throw pillows, it all screamed sex. Desperate to create a semblance of normalcy, you darted around the room, straightening the covers, smoothing them.

"The spirit box!" you hissed, remembering the abandoned equipment in your haste. You snatched it up.

"What are we going to say?" Colby asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"I don't know," you confessed, "We just need to come up with something believable." The creaking of floorboards grew louder.

Just as you were about to blurt out the first excuse that came to mind, the bedroom door swung open, revealing Sam and Kris.

"Hey, you guys done in here?" Sam inquired.

"Uh, yeah," Colby stammered, stepping forward with a forced smile. "We were just wrapping things up." His voice betrayed a hint of nervousness.

"Good," Kris said, "How was the investigation?"

Colby launched into a detailed account, telling the stories the children had shared and details about other spirits communication.

Kris's gaze shifted towards you. "What about this room?" she asked.

Your throat constricted. You stole a glance at Colby, a silent plea for help. He met your gaze, a flicker of reassurance passing between you.

"Well..." you began, "The camera started malfunctioning here," you blurted out, desperate to buy some time. "It didn't start recording anything."

A collective gasp filled the room. Sam's eyes widened in disbelief. "No way!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with shock.

Kris raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Maybe we should try again," she suggested, a hint of excitement creeping into her voice.

Colby seized the opportunity. "Yeah, sure," he said, his voice regaining its earlier confidence. "Maybe we should do an Estes method here. I offer myself."

The suggestion hung in the air. Was it the best idea, volunteering himself for potential spirit interaction after their encounter? You fought down a wave of anxiety.

Sam seemed excited by the suggestion. "Cool, let's start so we can wrap this up already," he said, shivering slightly. "It's getting too cold and dark in this creepy house."

[lustlovehart]

I think the funniest thing about a modern monster Au is there would be a good chance that the reader is a monster fucker thanks to the internet. The leech twins? Peak monster fucker material. It would not be hard for them if that was in fact the case

Cw: N/sfw

In this case, I think it would be so funny if our influencer reader was super secretive with this fact!!! Absolutely no one must know about this; how utterly humiliating!

Influencer you who's a media persona at night, and a botanist at Rollo's flower shop (Reader and Rollo after always being together in every verse except reverse <3), and the thought of him finding out and being disgusted?! oughh you can't bear it...

But you need somewhere to rid your thoughts, so... maybe aside from your main Monster Hunting account, you have a much more secretive one. Your face isn't shown to the crowd, but your voice is, or maybe it's only text.

And you think you're so anonymous too... Little do you know the monsters that follow you are unfortunately much smarter than that, and only take an hour (if you're idia) to a week to find this secret... and Oh wow it's a joyus one!

(lmao, Idia who's been alive since the birth of life itself, but he's so introverted he learns tech all alone in the after-life when awaiting new souls, to the point he's become a tech god. Maybe you stumble upon him in a game you play and befriend him, unknowing to the fact you're playing with death himself 💀)

You think your voice isn't all that recognizable, but then the moment you open your mouth, all the monsters who are your diligent followers immediately recognize you (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞.

Imagine going to their domains to record for your main, only for them to whisper about something that's meant to be secret! You're yelling about how it's untrue and you're not that kind of person! But...

Then they're asking you if you wanna test out all those secret desires you talk about and you're suddenly quiet. Staring between the beasts in the dark, smiling at you with wide open arms, and the off button to your camera... You wonder if their offer is truly worth it...

Cue a frustrated Rollo who also stumbles upon your videos and knows immediately it's your voice or even your writing style! Suddenly, his pure image of your person is slightly altered, but instead of being extremely upset, he's pondering whether or not he should give you what you want before the rest of those vermin can... It's better than all of them getting to you first...

(In reality he's just in love with you and wants to make love... poor him, banging his head on the wall because he wants you to be comfortable if you were ever to sleep together, but the only way for that to happen is to fuck you in his true form. He wants to give you what you want, but at the same time despises monsters so much...)

[yandere-paramour]

It Was Only Once

“It was only one time,” You said, trying to reassure an appalled Vivien. "He dumped me right after that, and I didn't protest. But I'm fine now, I swear.”

Vivien patted your back, remarking on how strong he thought you were for leaving that bastard. You’re so inspiring, so brave, and he was honored you decided to share your story with him. Really, he was.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed. 

“How about I make you a drink? You rest,” Vivien kissed the back of your hand like a loyal knight, making you laugh like he always did.

You agreed, relaxing back on the grey sheets of Vivien’s bed. He changed those sheets before you came over, for you. You deserved to sleep on clean sheets tonight. You were perfect.

Carefully, Vivien mixed you a mocktail. It was a new recipe he was working on, trying to get the sweet flavor of his wild strawberries without all the damn seeds that got stuck in your teeth. He carefully minced the berries with some fresh basil on his special fruit cutting board with his special knife, trying to focus on making you a refreshing drink rather than the overwhelming rage in his heart. 

Two perfectly presented cups and a bowl of chips later, Vivien turned his attention back to you. It wasn’t fair to focus on his own emotions when you were over, the only night a week you could spend extended time with him. His time with you was more important than his anger, he repeated over and over in his mind while you happily rewatched a movie you loved so much. He laughed good-naturedly, kissing your forehead and smelling that particular sweet scent of your hair. Yeah, this was important. Everything else could wait for later.

Vivien was used to staying up late. There had been many days in his youth that he had lain awake two, three, four days at a time, afraid that falling asleep could lead to him waking up to all his stuff stolen or something or someone worse. These days, the good days where he had his own apartment he could lock and relax in, he slept peacefully, but he never forgot. It came in useful when he was up late doing his secret activities.

Tarquin Hayworth.

Vivien was no computer expert, but when it came to hunting down some disgusting bastard, he was like a bloodhound. It also helped that Hayworth was one of those idiots that practically posted every shit he took. 

A douchebag. A rich douchebag by the looks of it. There were hundreds of posts, tweets, TikToks, news articles, you name it. Hayworth getting some kind of artist award at his the gallery. Hayworth in some dumb hipster getup, staring moodily into the camera as the photographer centered the golden light behind him, creating a kind of halo effect. Hayworth with his latest conquest; from all the comments, he seemed to switch them as often as Vivien changed underwear. This disgusted him the most- If you were going to date someone, you better very well be ready to marry them. 

One of the few things Vivien remembered being taught by his father. If you were going to do something, you better damn well do it properly. 

And he would, Darling. He would.

Hayworth frequented The Shanty, a dive bar on the east side of the city, known for being a place for artistic eccentrics, but only rich artistic eccentrics, to get an $8 coffee and $12 almond croissant. Vivien knew the place, he had even been there a few times, delivering only the most obscure flowers with only mournful meanings, a difficult and oddly specific request for the shop to fulfill. It stank like artisan beer and pretension, and Vivien disliked the place.

Hayworth was apparently a musician too. The Shanty had live music on Friday and Saturday nights, and Hayworth, the bastard, must have had a set contract with the place to show the crowd the joys of the accordion. Honestly, he was asking for it at this point, yodeling at the crowd as his fingers flew over the keyboard, the Instagram video captioned with a “Love the Shanty! Come see my music tonight at 9 for Women’s Rights Night! Let’s raise money for period product equity in Kenya!”

Vivien was no god, but he was an enforcer tonight.

It took almost no effort at all to follow Hayworth home from the bar at two in the morning, and even less to drag the simpering, wiry man into the alley. He was wiry, slim, a weakling even with a biological advantage; turns out a diet of organic kale and lentils didn’t make for much strength. Of course, that didn’t matter much when the bastard's fist connected with your cheekbone, knocking you to the ground as you tried to shield yourself from his festering anger.

That man’s rage, his incandescent, shameful rage, raining down on you in hurtful words, then punches and kicks, and then…

But don’t worry. Vivien will fix it for you. He'll make it right.

Vivien covered his face with a gaiter, took out his piercings, and wore a beanie to cover his hair even though it was hot. He wanted to take every precaution to avoid being recognized or caught, and this particular disguise had worked many times. Of course, most of Vivien’s targets usually drowned after seeing his face.

Honestly, Hayworth wasn’t even putting up that much of a fight. His punches were wild and sloppy, connecting only one out of every three times, and never enough to cause Vivien any real lasting damage. He would be a bit bruised tomorrow, but nothing serious. Hayworth was crying, snot and tears running down his face as Vivien beat him senseless. Funny how a guy who championed himself as a supporter of human rights would smack his partners around, and even funnier how easily he crumpled under Vivien’s right hook.

After a particularly vicious kick met his lower back, Hayworth pissed himself, a dark stain bleeding through his jeans. Vivien’s upper lip curled in a rare display of disgust; this was embarrassing. He needed to hurry up and finish what he came here for.

Hayworth was crying like a little bitch, so Vivien tossed him to the ground, purposefully standing at the mouth of the alley so he couldn’t run, although Vivien didn’t expect him to. He had done his job properly, and there was only one thing left. Hayworth retched, vomiting bile and blood and whatever vegan, non-GMO, free range shit he had eaten earlier. Vivien rolled his eyes; he was tired of this.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Vivien pulled out the small bottle and started advancing, carefully taking the top off the bottle. 

“Please,” Hayworth begged from the floor of the alley, covered in bruises and piss and vomit, “Please, I have money, Please don’t kill me, Please-“

Vivien wanted to bark out a “Hold Still”, but he held it back at the last second. Hayworth might have been able to remember his voice, especially since his ears were going to be so important now.

If you were going to go around hurting people, you were going to learn to hurt too.

With a single strong motion, Vivien grabbed Hayworth by the hair, jerked his head back, and poured the bleach in his eyes.

Hayworth howled like a banshee, probably waking up the whole damn city with his screams. Time to go.

Vivien quickly rifled through the man’s wallet, stealing the cash but leaving the credit cards. Too much of a liability, no point. He stuffed the cash in his back pocket; it was a pretty good haul, dick must’ve had rich parents or something. He tossed the wallet back at the whimpering man, annoyed at his cowardly crying. He could buy you a nice present or take you out to dinner with this money, call it reparations. 

Vivien checked the time on his phone. 2:29 in the morning. He made good time for a beating. 

He pulled his hood up, making his way out of the alley and down the sidewalk at a leisurely stroll. The car was back at home, so there was a long walk ahead of him. Vivien put his headphones in, a song from that Greek musical you liked blaring in his ears. This Polites guy sounded pretty cool, Vivien hoped he would sing another song soon.