#I always have a knife. I am SMALL. (but stabby) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-chicken-or-the-banana · 3 years

Note

I always wondered how the foxes would react to finding out that it was andrew that "hit on" neil first (specially Kevin, since he was just standing right there while that happened)

(now, i don't think they would willing just talk about it but if one of them slip up...)

Btw: i absolutely adored the goodbye kisses series

AHHH sorry for being so MIA lately but i'm absolutely loving this! also i'm realizing that i'm very bad at actually getting to the point so enjoy a shit ton of irrelevant exposition :)

read it on ao3 here

— ··· —

Kevin didn't understand why they had to come to the zoo. It was smelly, there were kids screaming everywhere, and he'd nearly been stepped on three times in the past 10 minutes. He much rather preferred exy to this.

Team bonding sucked.

He trudged along beside Aaron as Dan, Matt, and Nicky actually tried socializing with the new Foxes. Normally, Kevin would jump at the chance to talk about exy with these recruits, but also, normally he didn't feel like he'd just just rolled through a flaming dumpster filled with screeching, pooping monkeys.

Kevin let out a sigh as they passed some sort of mildly interesting snake exhibit. He nudged Aaron, who was on his phone with a red face, which meant he was either texting lovey-dovey things to Katelyn or blasting an idiot in his Ochem class. You never really knew with him.

"Aaron."

Aaron just scowled at him. Kevin sighed again. Conversing was always so much more exhausting than he anticipated.

"Snakes."

"What."

"Do you want to... see the snakes?"

Aaron blinked in confusion. "Okay?"

Kevin led them to the snakes.

There, they shoved past some families and made it to the front of the glass enclosure.

"Well?" Aaron asked. "Now what do we do?"

Valid question, Kevin thought. He hadn't really considered what they were doing. He just wanted to see snakes.

He told Aaron as much, who rolled his eyes aggressively and went back to his phone.

Kevin felt a tap on his shoulder and twisted around, coming face-to-face (well, more like chest-to-face) with some sort of tour or information guide.

"Hi!" she smiled all too brightly. Kevin wanted to cover his eyes. "How are you enjoying the exhibition?"

"Um," Kevin gulped eloquently, then remembered his media training. "Oh yeah, it's great!"

"Awesome," she beamed. "You know, there's a snake feeding session in about 5 minutes if you and your son are interested."

Kevin's face contorted in confusion. He whirled around, assuming some tiny, lost child was latched near him, but when he turned back, the lady — Sandy — had her gaze intensely focused on the only other small person near him: Aaron.

Oh dear.

Aaron seemed to come to the same conclusion as Kevin did because his eyes widened comically and he hissed "I. am. not. his. son."

Sandy blinked owlishly. "Little brother then?"

Aaron threw his hands up. "I am 21! Leave me alone." He then proceeded to stomp out of the enclosure, dragging Kevin along and leaving a very flummoxed old lady behind them.

"I can't believe it," Aaron kept muttering. "Your son. Your son! I hate life."

Kevin was a bit miffed that he hadn't actually been able to see the snakes, but he figured Aaron's plight was slightly more significant than that.

After a few moments of silent walking (Kevin) and angry grumbing (Aaron), Kevin realized he couldn't see any of the Foxes anymore. He glanced around, instinctively searching for Andrew.

"Hey, do you know where Andrew and Neil went?" Kevin asked.

Aaron scoffed. "They're probably making out somewhere."

"Who's making out?"

Aaron and Kevin both gave unholy screeches as they turned around to find Nicky standing between them, a wide, innocent grin on his face.

"What the fuck," Aaron complained. "Don't do that again, you bitch."

Nicky waved him off. "Shut up. Who's making out? Might be able to close some bets."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "We just can't find Andrew and Neil anywhere. Aaron seems to believe they're off deflowering a zoo Port-A-Potty or something."

"Well then, we wouldn't want to interrupt them, right?" Nicky winked. "Anyways, we're all going to the butterfly exhibit right now so y'all have to join us. I'm not taking no for an answer."

It seemed that they had no choice, so after sharing a resigned glance, Kevin and Aaron trudged behind an overly enthusiastic Nicky while he babbled on about some parrots that he saw. It really didn't seem as interesting as Nicky was making it out to be, but Kevin didn't want to say anything lest he was expected to participate in the conversation too.

They finally reached the butterfly exhibit where the other Foxes were waiting for them. They entered as a mass of loud, mildy buff, smelly athletes and got more than a few glares from the parents of young children who moved out of the way.

But in all this movement, the path cleared and Kevin found... Andrew and Neil? He was about to turn to Aaron and tell him that they evidently not making out, until he noticed how still Andrew was standing and the glee on Neil's face.

Nicky's gaze caught onto them a second later, because he squealed and grabbed Kevin's arm, jabbing his finger at the sight.

"Oh my God," he whispered. "Is that a butterfly on Andrew's nose? That is adorable."

Kevin squinted, and yes, that's exactly what it appeared to be. Nicky's outburst had caught Allison's attention, and she began marching over to Neil and Andrew, the rest of the Foxes in tow.

Kevin could already tell this was going to be a mess.

When they finally reached Andrew, Aaron was the first to speak. "What the fuck?" he asked flatly. Andrew glared at him. Slowly, as to not move the butterfly, he raised his hand to gently flip off his brother.

Nicky immediately started cooing. "Aww, don't worry Andrew! I think you look adorable."

Andrew began slipping out a knife.

On Allison's left, Kevin saw Dan practically shaking with laughter as she pulled out her camera and snapped a picture.

Neil opened his mouth, probably to tell off Dan but Nicky rushed in to talk to him.

"Soooo," he waggled his eyebrows. "I didn't know you could see the future, Neil."

Neil stared at him blankly and turned back to Andrew as he pulled out a map, but Nicky rallied on.

"Like, you must have been able to predict that one day Andrew was going to be this adorable. That's why you asked him out, right?"

"What?" Neil asked distractedly. "I never asked him out."

Kevin blinked in surprise. After a moment's consideration, he realized that considering how utterly oblivious Neil could be, it really was no shocker that Andrew had to ask him out first.

"Wait wait wait," Matt shook his head. "So Andrew asked you out?"

Neil waved them off as he continued squinting at the map he was holding. "Yes yes, just go ask Kevin, he was there."

All eyes turned to Kevin. Kevin was very lost.

"What the fuck," Aaron repeated. "I'm so confused."

"Me too," Kevin muttered. "Me too."

— ··· —

After their long day at the zoo was over, the Foxes finally began the trudge back up to their respective dorms. The younger Foxes dozed off immediately, but the older Foxes gathered in the girls' room to drop off the bags they had borrowed for the trip.

In all the commotion, no one really noticed Andrew and Neil leaving together. But right before they slipped out the door, Renee caught sight of them.

"Good night, you two!" she called. Neil turned around and gave her a tired wave, his body slumped on Andrew.

"Wait!" Nicky scrambled off the sofa. "Before I forget: Neil, how did Andrew ask you out?"

Neil blinked sleepily. "Well," he slurred. "He asked if he could blow me."

The room went silent.

Andrew heaved a sigh and dragged Neil out the door, leaving seven wide-eyed, very much awake athletes in their wake. Slowly, everyone turned to Kevin.

"You!" Allison weakly jabbed a finger in his direction. "You knew about this!"

Too late, Kevin realized what Neil's statement meant. Andrew had asked out Neil in front of Kevin. By offering sex. Nothing could have possibly ruined Kevin's night as much as this information had.

He met the Foxes' eyes slowly. Even Renee looked a bit surprised at Neil's admission, but she was clearly biting back a smile. "Trust me," Kevin groaned. "If I had known this had happened, I would have won myself so many bets."

"Damn," Nicky sighed. "I wish Erik and I had such an iconic story. Who knew the quiet, stabby cousin was such a horny gay bastard?"

"I," Aaron announced hotly. "have never wanted to forget a conversation more than this one."

"But Aaron. Andrew asked to blow him."

"Nicky, I swear— "

"OH MY GOD. They're probably having sex right now! Kevin, could you— "

Aaron put his head in his hands. "Please shut up now."

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thechekhov · 4 years

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So glad you decided to play Undertale! I think it would really suit you so I’m so happy you got into it! Could I have your thoughts about the game? I would LOVE to hear them. I’m ALL for long essays and rants, that’s my jam, but even just a small review from you would make me ecstatic!

Alright alright alright alright.

I am ecstatic that someone asked because I have a lot to say AS ALWAYS.

I’m gonna try to keep this readable, I swear. Will add pictures in between to keep things interesting.

However, due to the length this will SURELY achieve, AND due to spoilers (and yes, laugh at me all you want, the game has been out for 5 years) I’ll put this under a cut. Read at your own (f)risk.

Metagaming - the game plays YOU

When I first started Undertale, I ‘knew’ these things:

there’s a stabby one with a knife, their name is chara

there’s a flower everyone hates

something something sans something something

and the last, and perhaps most important thing

you can spare your enemies to avoid killing them

The thing is. The THING IS.

I did not realize how pervasive this strategy was. My thought at first was ‘okay, so I don’t have to kill EVERYONE.’

I had no idea that the reality was that I didn’t have to kill anyone.

I’m sure many others have already said this, but Undertale kind of changes the way you think about other games. It forces to you examine simply fighting your way through the RPG by introducing completely non-murder-y ways to resolve issues. This conversation-based combat style is not the first of its kind, I’m sure, but it’s also incredibly well done. It ties into the story, it ties into your decisions.

It ties into your decisions SO MUCH that it changes everything else in the outcome.

Undertale is a game well known for breaking the 4th wall. However, it does so in a strangely eerie, heart-wrenchingly real way. It teaches us that there are other solutions to conflicts - and it really... it really TEACHES us, you know?

Which is funny because to be honest, it took me a while to get the lesson.

(You may already be fully aware of this but yes, my first True Neutral Route was extremely organic. I legitimately had no idea that there was even more than one ending. I was just stumbling about er... killing. Out of habit.)

The beauty of this is that the game drives home that point even more effectively because I was fully unaware of my own bias. I had assumed that some enemies would require killing - DESPITE TORIEL SPECIFICALLY TELLING ME TO TALK TO THEM, and the entire Ruins tutorial being about Mercy. I killed the Dummy on accident (granted, it was due to me pressing the key too fast a few times) and didn’t think much of Toriel’s disapproval. I killed a few monsters because I saw my level was low and decided to automatically grind a little bit.

By the time I got to Toriel, I was still not comfortable with the mechanic. I knew I could Spare her somehow - after all, she was a kind monster, and clearly an important character - but the Spare option didn’t yield promising results the first few times I chose it. I ran out of patience and decided that maybe... maybe it was like pokemon!

Maybe I had to get her health down to a certain level before she would allow me to pass through.

Funny thing though.... you know what happens if you attack Toriel one too many times? Even if she has most of her health left?

Yeah uh... it activates that one-hit-KO thing from No Mercy Route.

So of course, what happened? I hit her one too many times... and killed her! And of course, immediately panicked and reset.

I got back to my previous save, Spared Toriel PROPERLY this time, and walked out of the ruins only to be confronted with my own reliance on the magical ‘redo’ button which was... apparently... not that magical.

Because it WASN’T a clean redo. Flowey apparently remembered.

The idea that the game would KNOW about my previous attempts beyond the save file snapped me out of my casual Undertale playthrough. I realized that something was up - this game was not going to be like the others.

I think it was from this point on that I tried to be more careful, but again - I still hadn’t quite gotten the memo about not killing. I took down a few monsters around Snowdin. And when I got to Papyrus, I grew frustrated about not being able to beat him (I ended up losing several times and coming back to try again) and went off to grind SOME MORE because I figured that could raise my HP and increase my chances of holding off long enough to Spare him.

(The incredible thing about this game is that actually, raising your level gives you only a slight advantage. You can be level 1 and carrying no items, and as long as you’re relatively proficient at dodging the bullet hell style projectiles you will have no issues.)

Anyway, the point is that I realized I could spare the big monsters and did so readily - but I didn’t bother to spare many of the smaller ones.

I figured it didn’t matter.

And then I successfully evaded Undyne, gave her a cup of water, etc... and then went to her house to meet Papyrus, fully expecting her to befriend me anyway.

And you know what happened?

“She said she won’t hang out with a murderer.“

I think that probably hit me the hardest at that point in the game.

I had a bit ‘....oh’ moment at that point because I realized that the game would punish me for killing even the ‘not-important’ civilians of the Underground. It wasn’t about just sparing the ‘boss monsters’. My actions had consequences beyond just the ‘elite’ characters that we all tend to focus on.

Because yes, it made sense. It wasn’t about just Undyne - why WOULD she randomly be my friend after I killed tons of living beings?

From there on, I spared everyone, but didn’t reset. I decided to see how it would unravel.

The thing I want to talk about, which is a little difficult, is that...

It took me that long to learn that kindness was the answer. And that, in itself, ends up being a metaphor.

It’s difficult to be kind if you have not been show how to be.

It’s difficult to change the way you behave (in a game or out of it) if all you know is using other methods.

It was hard enough to spare Toriel before I realized I had to just be very patient and trust that her attacks wouldn’t hit - though at first I thought she would just kill me!

It was hard to avoid Papyrus’ attacks and I had to die several times before I successfully got through it.

It was near impossible to fight Undyne because I legitimately had no idea Fleeing was an option. I struggled for ages at her stage, and I had to ask for help to understand what I could do.

And that’s actually honestly very true to life as well.

Being kind takes risk. Being kind takes effort. And sometimes, being kind means asking others HOW to be kind.

When you choose to be kind, you risk being hurt, and you risk being trapped (Toriel). When you choose to be kind, you need to expand a lot more energy to succeed (Papyrus). When you choose to be kind, you need to sometimes reach out to others to show you how to properly do it (Undyne).

The rest of the playthrough probably went about as you expect. I completed the game, didn’t kill any Boss Monsters, fought to the end and... got that really unsatisfying Neutral Ending which felt strangely bittersweet.

And of course, after I was done, I was prompted to go back and do a proper Pacifist Run. Which I did. I learned about the background of Determination, about Chara and Asriel... and about how everything came to be the way it was.

The thing that gets me the most about this game is how it serves as a direct parallel to how we use videogames. In fact, Undertale is a videogame... about videogames.

Chara appears to be a direct metaphor for the people that use videogames to escape - to cope with whatever happened to them in The Overworld. Bad family life, or bad relationships or whatever we suffer - escapism through games is not, in itself, a new theme.

Chara arrived in Undertale by dropping themself down a hole in the mountain, perhaps even seeking to end their life. They dropped into a world which offered them comfort and companionship, a new family and a new life - but in the end, their nature was destructive because their means to finding a solution inadvertently used other people as fodder. Asgore, Asriel - they used everyone else to complete their plans. It wasn’t about forming connections - it was about Completing the Quest.

I wonder - did Chara even HAVE access to a MERCY option?

Was their world one without the option of sparing someone? Did they only have the choice of acting - and was Mercy in the hands of whoever attacked them? I wonder how difficult it might have been for them. I wonder how that, in itself, shaped their perception of the world.

I wonder if that’s why, during the No Mercy run, people recognize you as Chara? If they come back and attach themselves to your resonating DETERMINATION?

If this is true, was MERCY perhaps created later, brought into existence once Asriel himself made the choice to NOT fight, to turn back and flee, even after being attacked by humans in the Overworld?

(It would be a nice parallel to Asgore DESTROYING the Mercy option when you enter the fight with him...)

...

In the end, I think Undertale is about many things, including video games.

But it’s also hurting - and being hurt.

It’s about how trauma can shape us, how we deal with feeling grief, and loss, and depression - and not being able to feel anything.

It’s about how we focus on goals and use DETERMINATION to keep going - even when whatever it is that’s driving us no longer has any SOUL.

It’s about how our action have consequences, but they also carry the weight of a choice, and how powerful those choices are, and how powerless we feel when we aren’t given a choice - not to fight back, nor show mercy.

I think that’s probably the reason this game resonated with so many people. It really brings something we love about videogames to the forefront - that ability to fight back, to have full and total control of our own lives...

And it also shows us how having that endless loop of repetitive grinding and fighting with zero consequences can lead to an incredible hollowness and make us numb to how we interact with real-life people.

Anyway.

Good game.

#Anonymous #undertale #flowey #toriel #frisk #chekhov draws undertale #chekhov writes a text post

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lihikainanea · 2 years

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Do you have any recipes that are your fav that you recommend for someone who is not experienced in cooking? Your cooking looks so delicious definitely a goal of mine to make delicious recipes as yours 😋

Babe this is so sweet! I always tell people I was born with a knife in my hands and idk people always take it in the violent sense--which is fine by me. I am just *innocently* trying to tell them of my love for cooking and everyone always thinks I'm stabby.

Honestly, start with soup. Making soup is multi-purpose: 1) it's near impossible to screw up, 2) you can basically use whatever odds and ends you find in your fridge, and 3) it allows you to practice your chopping skills when you don't have to worry about the end result being pretty. Especially if you get yourself a little immersion blender, which is one of my top kitchen tools!

Things like browning or searing meat takes a bit of practice and I still fuck it up, sometimes the meat sticks to my pan and it's kind of just a mess. Getting the right heat is a skill, but starting off my cooking soups or stews is a great way to understand how it all works. A stew is a wonderful start--the meat can be inexpensive. You can practice browning it, and if/when it sticks like hell to the bottom of the pot--that's okay! you're gonna pour liquid in anyway and get all those crunchy, tasty bits unstuck.

Pasta is also a good trick to start with, with a very simple, basic sauce.

Here's a few good recipes I recommend to start, where the ingredients are not too expensive and you can screw it up and still turn out with a delicious meal:

Chrissy Teigen's spicy beef stew (make it without any sides, if you're new to cooking. Trying to juggle multiple pots and pans is stressful. Leave out the jalapeño if you don't like spice!)

Angel Hair pasta with raw tomato sauce

Spaghetti with lemon and olive oil

11-can soup and cheesy toast

Homemade hamburger helper

Speedy dumpling soup

All of these are wonderful, simple, and hard to mess up. Start small, build your confidence, and remember--nothing is ever really truly lost, when you're cooking. Something too salty? Add water. Not salty enough? Add salt. Something stuck like glue to a pan? add some liquid. Did you burn something to a fucking crisp? It's okay boo just cut that part off, nobody will know.

and WATCH VIDEOS! Youtube is great for this. I used to watch Rachael Ray’s 30 Minute Meals, she’s a wonderful teacher. Her first cookbooks were so simple, if you can get your hands on one on Amazon they're probably considered vintage now :-P

Good luck! and keep me posted <3

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 3 years

Text

Friday Night Stabby best quotes part 24 (18/06/21)

this is the first session that they use the assassin role. also Etho is late to the session and misses the first few rounds.

...

Evil: Skizz, Skizz. I’m giving you a clock. Skizz, laughing: You want me to kill Impulse? Impulse: Hey!

...

Tango: Why would I kill someone and then go hang out in the kill room? Brody: You HAVE said that you’re bad at this game. Tango: I’m not THAT bad, c’mon.

...

*after Impulse and Brody win as imposters* Brody: Nice work, Impulse! Tango: Good job, guys. Endless: That was garbage. GARBAGE! Brody: Hey! You’re- You’re- You’re… garbage. Endless: Aww…

...

Astro: Hey Evil, remember when you saw Impulse was there, you heard Impulse was there on the left? It’s almost like it WAS Impulse... Tango: Yeah, weird.

...

*everyone has skipped vote except Endless, who voted for Evil* Evil: Really, Endless? *pause* Endless: Yes.

...

Astro: Can you confirm that you’re not lovers? Tango: Yeah, why would I love [Brody]?

...

*body is reported* Brody, immediately: Astro, Astro, Astro. *chuckles* Astro. Astro: I- I- Brody: Go ahead. Astro: I- Hey, I’m gonna pull an Impulse here. I saw the body. I’m the engineer. *laughs* And I- Yeah, I- Impulse, laughing: You’re gonna use my- It hasn’t worked for ME all night long, why do you think it’s gonna work for YOU? Astro: I don’t! Which is why I was very tentative on using it, but- but one has to use that. Brody: So you were moving towards the body and you were like- Astro: Yeah, I was gonna report it! Cuz I was- I was in the vent, I came out as the engineer. Brody: Ohhh, that’s good news. Endless: I- I- Astro: I was gonna report the body. Brody: Go ahead, Endless. Endless: I have a helpful tip for you imposters if one of you is the assassin: Astro is the engineer! Brody: He’s not, though.

...

Brody: I just saw Tango and Evil and I was with both of them. Tango: Are you saying one of them came in and killed? Brody: No no, I’m just saying the last person I saw was- *graphic of Endless stabbing himself multiple times in the back plays* Brody: ...okay. Alright. Mrs Tango, dead: What just happened?! What was that?! Endless, dead: I got assassinated like a boss! Tango, laughing: I don’t care what just happened, that was awesome!

...

Impulse: The mayor votes are always anonymous but we can go full anonymous if you want. Endless: Yeah, that’ll screw Brody over. Brody: Yeah!

...

*Joker has been caught killing* Joker: You know what? I’m just gonna sit here and waste this 40 seconds. Endless: It’s not a waste. The longer you wait, the longer we get to spend with you :)

...

(Etho joins the group at this point) Etho: So I walked into nav, Joker was just ahead of me. I don’t think he did the kill but we found poor Endless dead in nav. Mrs Tango: Aww, poor Endless. Brody: Why did you kill him? *pause* Etho: Cuz of his voice. Brody: Oh yeah, I get it. Evil, who did you vote for? Evil: I skipped. Brody: That was very quick to skip. Evil: It’s just Endless. Brody: Oh.

...

Astro: I was alone the whole time. Etho: Were you? Astro: Yeah. Impulse: That’s what I was saying. I was like “I haven’t seen Astro” cuz if I had, you would’ve been DEAD. Tango: DEAD! Astro: ...fair enough.

...

*body is reported quickly after a sabotage* Skizz: Evil and Skizz saving lives! Endless: ...DID they save lives? Cuz both of the Tangos are dead. Etho: Oof.

...

*Skizz and Joker have been arguing the whole round about the semantics of when exactly you’re considered “dead” when you’re voted off* Skizz: When you know you’re dead is when you’re dead. Joker: No, Skizz, they’re dragging you out to the airlock. You’re still- Skizz: I know how, like, the- the anatomy of it. I know when you run out of air, you’re actually dead, but- Joker: Yeah so- Skizz: Use your brain, for the love of god! Joker: I AM using my brain! I’m yelling- Skizz: I’m not entirely sure that’s true. Joker: Oh how DARE you. Those roots go too deep on that mohawk. Skizz: *laughs* Joker: Unbelievable, Skizz. Skizz: Oh boy… *pause* Etho: They seem to be a happy couple now.

...

Impulse: I feel like I keep getting caught by people who I can’t see. Joker: That’s because you just gotta- You need to do better. Impulse: Okay, you’re dead first. Gimme imposter. I will kill you at the table at the starting line, let’s go. Joker: *laughs* You promise? Tango: I like this. This is great.

...

*someone killed Joker in reactor while Impulse’s view was hidden by his task* Impulse: What just happened? I got off numbers and there’s a dead Mister Joker right here. Skizz, you and Tango were literally standing right there. Skizz: I know, and I’m embarrassed. Impulse: You should be.

...

Mrs Tango: I was in electrical. All by myself. Evil: Mrs Tango’s lying. She was not all by herself. I was there with her. Mrs Tango: Were you in there? Evil: I was talking to you! I said “don’t kill me”. Brody: Think about that for a second, Evil. That’s how much she remembers you. Evil: Hahaha. I see. Well, you know, she follows me on twitter though, so… Mrs Tango: *bursts out lauhging* Tango: OHOOOO! Endless: That was harsh. Tango: Feel the buuuuurn! Astro: Fighting words, there. Brody: I’m no longer playing games with her anymore. It’s done.

...

*after Brody wins as jester* Tango: So wait, who actually killed [Skizz]?! Impulse: I did. Tango: Evil, how did you vouch for him, then? Wait... were you the other imposter? Impulse: He was the other imposter. Tango: OH COME ON!

...

*body is reported* Etho: Hey everybody. We got a Skizzleman in… oh man, it’s been a while. What’s the room with the vitals? Brody: Wait hold on, Etho doesn’t know what room it is? Etho: Is it admin? Or is it called something else? Impulse: I don’t think it has a name. But it’s next to the meeting table, right? Tango: Okay, so what’ve you got? *pause* Etho: He’s dead.

...

Impulse: *morphs into Etho and rushes towards Evil and the real Etho* Etho: OH! Kill Evil, kill Evil!! Impulse: *kills Etho, ending the game* Etho: ...darnit…

...

Tango: If you were gonna put a condiment in your belly button- Brody, running away immediately: NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE-

...

Brody: Tango was chasing me around, I think trying to tell me a pun, which- Tango: It’s not a pun. Endless: He just wants to know what condiment you want in your belly button, dude. That’s not a pun, that’s- Tango: Exactly, it’s a legit question. Endless: It’s a normal thing you wonder about friends. Brody: ...why are you two the way that you are?

...

*Etho’s body is reported* Brody: It’s in that room that we were confused about the name. Next to the meeting table. *long pause* Endless: I’m voting Etho. Brody: Thank you, Endless.

...

*Astro is the giant* Evil: Astro, how big is your knife? Astro: I- If I had one, it would probably be very small. Brody: Oh. Evil: Well, that’s sad.

...

Skizz: Who was in the office? At the end there? Impulse: I was just in there to look at vitals. Astro: Impulse, and I went swooping by him. *pause* Astro: Poor use of words, there.

...

Brody: So who mayored [Impulse] on that last round? Skizz: I did. Impulse: You mayored me?! Etho: Ohh there’s gonna be some words exchanged! :D Impulse: Woooooow. 25 years down the drain.

#friday night stabby quotes #friday night stabby #impulsesv #tangotek #skizzleman #etho #astrozoan #brodyman #theendless #evilnotion #misterjoker #mrstango

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banashee · 3 years

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Hi Folks, welcome to my third fic for the Archival Pride 2021 project! Look at their tumblr for more info :) @archivalpride

Archival Pride 2021, Week three (June 15-21) Prompts: Love Languages, Doubt, Post-Canon, Intimacy, Home

The key words I've used here are Post-Canon, Home and Intimacy

- Off-screen Arguments - scars - Trauma recovery - brief but canon-typical violence - References to Canon-Stabby-Stabby in MAG200 - mention of coma, no details - reference to homophobic Parent

A Second Chance

Some days, it still feels like a dream. That they are here, together, that they get to have this. A home, a life - a second chance at everything.

It’s been almost two years since the panopticon collapsed in an explosion, almost two years since Jon and Martin woke up… Here. “Somewhere else” they called it then, but now they simply call this place “home”. More precisely, they do so because first and foremost, they are home to each other.

Even back when in the Institute, when both of them successfully managed to convince themselves their feelings for each other were one-sided, the few and far moments where they actually had time to themselves were precious. Even when Jon had woken up from his coma and Martin was working for Peter Lukas, just a small brush of hands or a quick hug in the hallway had felt like the only safe place left in the world. Just for a moment, before they had to move on, more alone than ever before.

By the time Martin was deep in the Lonely and Jon had pulled him out, taken his hand and not let go until they were safely in Daisy’s little safehouse in the Scottish Highlands where no one would be able to find or hurt them. Or at least, that had been the plan… It only lasted for a little while.

Still, even though the end of the world started there, the days and weeks they had before are precious to Jon and Martin to this day. It’s those weeks where they had a chance to really get to know each other, outside of work and countless terrifying encounters with the Fears.

Days spent talking in front of the fireplace, curled up around each other or not talking at all. Especially on the bad days, when everything hits them at once, it is a little bit easier to deal with everything while they’re together. Cooking together, stepping around each other in the kitchen when they tried recipes neither of them had ever tried before, laughing at and playfully chiding each other when everything turns into a big mess.

Hugs and kisses shared at the most random of times, just because they realized they can do this now.

Over time, they shared a few personal bits and pieces. After the first time they shared the bed, to be close and to keep the nightmares at bay, they started talking about their needs and boundaries.

“I love you, and I love being close to you. But I, I also need you to know that… Well, I won’t be able to give you more than this. I don’t… sleep with people. In, well, in that sense.” Jon had blushed and stammered his way through explaining what Asexuality means to him, and it is met with love and acceptance. He started to breathe a little bit easier then.

A little while later, Martin told him about the disaster that was his coming out to his Mum. He didn’t mean to, he said that day in the safehouse with a bitter smile as he shook his head, but he’d hit a breaking point. One too many homophobic remarks, one too many unhappy sneers.

“One day, I just. Snapped. Couldn’t take the bullshit anymore. I don’t even remember exactly what I said to her, but she was... “ Martin shook his head.

“Not happy.” He laughed, but it wasn’t happy by any means. Jon understood all too well, and reached out with one hand, an offer to hold on tight, which Martin happily took him up on.

“She didn’t… Like me very much before, I don’t think. Or, well, I know that now, but… But ever since I told her I am gay, that certainly didn’t help things. She never met any of my boyfriends or anything, but, well. That’s robably for the best.”

Only a short while after this conversation, the world ended. After months and months of walking through a hellscape, they finally arrived back in what once was London. Back at the institute - the tower of the Watcher.

Once they got their chance to kill Elias and destroy Jonah Magnus, things… Went differently than planned.

Even years after the fact, long long after, Jon and Martin wake up from vivid nightmares. The memories, both real and twisted, leave them sobbing and calling out for each other. Each time, they end up wide awake for hours, holding onto one another to try and keep the other from getting lost again. Dealing with everything is very much a work in progress.

Guilt eats Jon up from the inside. He is talking about it, at least he does now, but the feelings are still there, sitting on his chest and taking his breath away. The guilt about walking off on his own and leaving everyone else, including Martin behind is one of the worst he’s ever felt, and even though they have talked and worked through this particular issue for a long time, Jon is still struggling with it. The main problem is that didn’t see another way, did what he thought was best. Now he knows there wasn’t a right decision in the situation they found themselves in, only damage control.

But on a personal level? Yes, he screwed up, and he knows it.

The scar on his chest hurts those nights, like a fresh wound. Jon finds himself clutching it, without even realizing that he is doing so. If he was, he would try to stop himself from it, but every time his hands rub over the place in the middle of his chest, when breath leaves his lungs for a while, he can tell that Martin’s eyes go blank and he hates himself a little bit more for having caused so much pain. .

How often Martin wakes up in the middle of the night, dreaming again and again about that fateful day that ended with him stabbing the love of his life with a knife, he has long lost count. But it hurts, worse than anything else, and the memory alone sends him spiralling for a long time.

If the Fears had any more power here, there is no doubt that Martin would find himself surrounded by thick, white fog those nights, cold and damp and utterly alone even with another person in the room.

He’d spent months - years really - keeping it together just to keep going, doing what needed to be done and be there for the people around him. It’s what he’s always done, isn’t used to anything else, but Jon knows him well enough to recognize the signs and stop Martin before he destroys himself any further.

“Let me take care of you. Please - You don’t have to keep going all the time.”

Somehow, even with all the trauma and heartbreak, the two of them manage to form one functioning human being together when they can’t manage to be one on their own. On the really bad days, that is enough.

Martin and Jon have their hiccups - but they know just how much they adore one another, and that is usually enough to make them see reason even when things get hard.

Especially in the first few weeks Somewhere Else, there is a lot of confusion and pain. Years of trauma and injuries they are unable to explain to anyone, because how do you explain even a fraction of the fears and the apocalypse they have walked through? None of it has happened here. This is a world that has never ended, and although the Fears certainly exist here, they are in the shadows, where they belong. As far as they can tell, none of the rituals have happened here, and the entities just. Exist, but don’t do nearly as much harm as Jon and Martin have experienced.

So seeking out help, let alone from professionals, is hard. Lord knows, they need it - it takes the two of them countless trials to find individual therapists for themselves, and even longer to find one to attend for couples counseling who won’t make their skin crawl with anxiety. There are issues that need to be addressed, and it is hard to start somewhere.

Some sessions are much, much harder than others. Unpacking the baggage is logical, it is something that needs to be done in order to deal with the trauma, but for a long time, it just hurts. It hurts, having to open up about things that are so deeply personal, and even though both Martin and Jon have come up with cover stories for their situation, they still have to work on all the emotions and the things that happened to them and their loved ones.

Some days, either one or both of them will come home from a therapy session and simply collapse into bed. Most times, all they want then is to hold each other. Other times, they talk, but more often than not, being able to listen to each other's heartbeat as they shake apart or fall asleep from exhaustion is enough.

Especially at first, when everything is still fresh, when the scars are still pink, raised and puckering, things are hard.

Surprising no one, coming from a literal hellscape into a normal, relatively calm world, is a total whiplash. Things are tense between Jon and Martin for a bit. They want to stay together, because they love each other deeply - there was never any doubt, not even a bit. But there are some situations, issues and decisions that they need to adress.

While things are still sore, it results in a number of exhausted, tearful arguments that leave both of them absolutely drained and limp from overwhelming sadness. The arguments themselves never last long, because both Martin and Jon are quick to make up and apologize after, but the feelings of exhaustion and heartbreak stay for long after.

The arguments pull on wounds and it hurts. There really is no other way to put it. More often than not, Martin and Jon spend the night with no sleep, wrapped around each other so tightly it is almost painful. Holding onto one another is all they can do sometimes to keep each other from falling apart at the seams.

Weeks turn into months, months turn into a year and so on. Both Jon and Martin have come a long way since they arrived here - they no longer call it “Somewhere else”. Their trauma still sits deep, but has become much, much more of a quiet background pain that occasionally comes out to play, rather than being a constant, stabbing sensation that leaves them bleeding and breathless, unable to function. Those days, thankfully, have become rare.

They start to live, instead of just surviving.

It is around that time that they decide they want to get out of the city. London, whether back in the old world or here, is not a quiet place to be, but now that they are free, they take the opportunity and run with it.

A little bit of time passes, and between days spent walking hand in hand through the nearby park, nights curled up on the couch with books and tea and day jobs and even occasional evenings in the pub with coworkers, they find themselves standing in their empty apartment. All there is left is a single cardboard box and a potted plant, both of which are held by the two men who spent the last year and a half there.

“...Jon?”

“Yes, Love?”

“I had no idea we had so much stuff, until we started to pack it all up.”

“We do. I’m… Not entirely sure when that happened to be honest.”

“....I believe somewhere between us starting to actually do things, and you discovering that tiny bookshop which I’m convinced should have been empty by now, thanks to you.”

“Yes. And also the plants. Don’t forget your leafy children, Martin.” Jon leans into Martin’s upper arm for a moment, a small smile on his face. He would have pulled him into an embrace, but since Martin holds the last of their moving boxes, filled to the brim with books, and Jon’s arms are currently wrapped around the pot of a fairly tall dracea, just leaning in must be enough. The plant pokes far over his shoulder, long, dark green leaves lazily moving with him as he holds onto it, tight and secure.

‘Martha’ says a small, handwritten label on the pot, carefully stuck near the edge of the pot. Giving the plants human names had started out as a joke, a throwaway sentence, but then they bought more and more plants, and so a new tradition was born.

“...To be fair, I had no idea there were so many until we had to get them all into the van.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of space in the new house that looks empty. Not for long though, knowing you.”

Martin smiles at him, propping the box against himself. This thing is heavy - as small as their old flat is, it hasn’t stopped Jon from starting to form their own library throughout the living room. Truth be told, he is looking forward to seeing it expand once they’re settled into their new space. It'll be a fun opportunity to bicker over the proper way to sort them.

(“By colour ?? Martin, Dear, Love of my life, what the fuck . You’ve worked in a Library for years!” Jon will ramble on in disbelief, and Martin will cackle to himself, knowing he managed to rile his boyfriend up about something that isn’t important at all. He knows they actually agree that books need to be sorted by Author’s names. But where would be the fun in admitting that right away?)

“Ready to go?” he asks, and waits for his partner's affirmative nod before the two of them leave the apartment, for one last time.

It’s time for a new chapter in their new life, and they’re more than ready to start it.

The first morning in their new house, they are woken up by a fresh breeze coming through their bedroom window. It carries the scent of pine needles and damp earth with it. The birds outside are already singing the song of their people and have been doing so for hours, long before most humans are conscious. Waking up like this is bliss, even though the bed is about the only thing that is actually done in this room.

There are boxes everywhere and their wardrobe is only halfway assembled, but the bed is comfortable and decked out in fresh covers that still smell of washing powder. Everything is fresh and new and feels a little bit like they’re on a holiday. Maybe someday, it will become their new normal, but as of now, it feels like a fresh start.

As always, it’s Martin who wakes up first. He can smell the fresh, woodsy air, and it relaxes him in an instant. There is a small forest right by their house. It is at the end of the street where only a few more old, slightly lopsided houses are nearby. It is perfect for them.

On their search for a new home, it was clear they wanted to go somewhere more rural, somewhere remote. Ever since the Lonely, Martin is struggling with too many people around him. He can go about his everyday life if he has to, but days with too many people and too much social interaction leave him sad and exhausted from pretending to be fine and peachy with it.

It doesn’t help that many of the houses they looked at are seaside cottages. As beautiful as they look on the photos, conveniently taken on days with clear blue skies, this is England. There are way more rainy days filled with grey, suffocating fog, and that alone is enough to send Martin back into a full blown panic attack. It’s too much, way too much like the Lonely. Needless to say, they filtered their searches accordingly.

Eventually, everything clicks into place and they find their dream house in a small residential area with little traffic and even less people. The quiet of the countryside makes both of the breathe easier- it reminds them a little bit of their time in Scotland, even though the landscape isn’t nearly as raw here. They may or may not have found a field of very good cows nearby though.

The cool breeze of the morning air makes Martin shiver a bit, and he pulls the covers a little bit tighter around himself and Jon. Predictably, his partner takes this as an invitation to adjust his octopus grip that he has around him to get even closer as he sleepily grumbles,

“...Just five more minutes.”

“Make it an hour and we’re good, Love.” With gentle fingers, he starts to detangle the long strands of hair that surround Jon. There is even more grey than there was only a few years ago - no surprise, what with all of the stress and trauma they have lived through.

All that Martin gets in response to this is a low hum as Jon tightens his hold around him once more as he breathes a small trail of kisses along the side of his neck and up his jaw.

He knows that Morning-Jon is not talkative, at all, but he knows him long and well enough to understand what he is telling him, even when he is half asleep himself.

“I love you, too.”

#Archival Pride 2021 #banashee writes #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #JonMartin #Post mag200 #TMA season 5 spoilers

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a-detraque-barista · 5 years

Text

Our Haunted House

Title: Our Haunted House

Rating: M

Word Count: 5.4k

Genre: yandere, horror, smut

Warnings: cursing, yandere behaviors, mention of blood, tentacle fucking, buckets of cum, biting, marking, possessiveness, unprotected sex

Summary: On your first trip back to the Halloween Fest you ran into a quiet but attractive man. Once you get separated from your friends he can’t keep himself from touching you.

A/N: HAPPY SPOOKS DAY EVERYONE!!!! A perfect rainy day (not for trick or treaters) for Halloween and to stay home and have a Halloween Movie Marathon while eating candy and other junk food. Anyway, this is my very first smut and I hope you all like it. I also entered this in @bang-tan-bitches writing challenge, Monster Mash. So go check out all the other amazing stories posted in the challenge and show them some love and now on with tentacley Jimin 💜 💜 💜

The music box played alone on the stage. It reminded you of carnival music but there was a dark undertone to it. You were only twelve and your father decided to bring you to the annual Halloween Fest. You never got scared when someone jumped out in front of you. For some reason, you have never felt fear. Nothing ever frightened you like other people.

Your mother had voiced her concerns on more than one occasion. Calling you a freak, a monster, even going as far as a demon. She doesn’t speak to you anymore. Ignoring your existence and spending her time drinking wine and watching trash television.

The stage you sat a few rows away from had gone completely dark before a clown was in the spotlight. His makeup was done terribly. His lips were painted black which was peeling and the white paint on his face was cracking. As he smiled widely you could clearly see black smudges on his yellow teeth.

“Hello ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls!! I am your host for this evening! And tonight I welcome you to The Clowning. I did not come up with the name by the way,” he spat as he spoke with a fake speech impediment. “And now I present to you, Stabby the Prankster.”

Your father’s eyebrow raised, just as many other parents at the name. Then a clown wearing all red and black popped out from behind the curtain. A laugh similar to Woody the Woodpecker reached your ears. And just as his name entailed, he had knives in both hands. His makeup was just as terrible as the first. Instead, his eyes had red circles and his cheeks had red spots on top of the cracking white paint.

He jumped down from the stage and in front of the first row viewers. His bulging eyes looked from left to right before lunging straight ahead and swiftly slit the young boy’s throat.

Screaming followed as people began to rush towards the exit. Your father picked you up and began to run with you tightly in his arms. Pushing his way through, he got to just outside the door before stopping dead in his tracks. Everyone around the two of you gasped as they saw the dagger sticking out of his back.

Your father looked down at you and smiled weakly before dropping to his knees and before he could fall forward onto you, a family friend hoisted you onto her hip. She ran with you as you looked back to your now-dead father lying on the floor.

The clown that had thrown the knife had made his way to your dad’s body and locked gazes with you. His smile was gone and he was no longer slashing townspeople one by one. He seemed as if he was worried about something.

The clown that had claimed to be the host grabbed Stabby by the neck and threw him back into the auditorium before disappearing behind the doors himself.

“It’s going to be okay sweetie. They can’t hurt you. There’s nothing you have to worry about,” the woman carrying you said softly as you began to cry. Your father was the only one that cared about you. And you were old enough to know that.

It’s been around a decade since then. You moved out of your mother’s house into your own. You finally had your own space. Your mother didn’t talk to you much after what happened. Only a few words every couple of weeks.

As you grew older, nobody realized your dad was one of the victims. Which led you to make friends. Your best friends were Jennie and Mark, they even wanted to be your roommates. You may not live alone but you still consider this your own space, compared to your mom’s house.

You laid in your bed as you played on your phone. It was already four in the morning, but you couldn’t sleep. Nothing worked. Listening to classical music, drinking some of Jennie’s chamomile tea, tossing and turning. Now you stared at your white ceiling thinking of other ways to fall asleep.

Halloween is coming up and you had to think of ways to decorate the house. No wonder why you can’t sleep, your mind always wanders off. Still, you think about all the decorations you have in storage in the attic and think of new ones you could buy.

As you zone out you see something in the corner of your eye. Quickly looking to the side, you see nothing but your closed closet door and look back up at the ceiling to see swirling patterns begin to slither across. They were navy blue mixed with graphite grey. They were like vines twisting and curling around each other. Your eyebrows furrowed as the vine-like tendrils became bigger like they were getting closer. You feel the smooth tip of the reaching blue vine graze your nose. You attempt to sink further into the bed but as you run out of space the tendril still follows and moves to the side to comfortingly caress the side of your face. It was gentle and you could feel your eyelids becoming heavier.

Trying to fight it, you struggle to keep your eyes open. Even attempting to hit it away with your hand but another tendril grabbed your wrist, with the utmost care. It laid your hand back down softly as if it didn’t want to cause you any pain, even a little.

Your eyes were closed by the time the most soothing voice you’ve ever heard say, “You have all the power over me.”

Mark jumping onto your bed while Jennie made an alarm go off on her phone was what woke you up. Mark began to shake you violently as he laughed, “It’s one in the afternoon, lazy ass. Get up.”

You weren’t able to say anything until he finished shaking you. Even then you didn’t say anything and just groaned. Mark and Jennie both started to jump on the bed and stopped abruptly to hear what you had to say.

“Fuck you,” you swiped your leg into theirs to make them fall. Jennie landed on her back on the bed and Mark landed on the floor.

“So mean,” Mark grumbled from the floor. You sat up and leaned on your elbow to give him a blank look when he popped his head up.

“So annoying.”

Mark laid back down on the floor to sulk while Jennie turned to you, “Wanna go to the Halloween Fest with us? I know you never go but it’ll be fun.”

You got up and walked to your bathroom connected to your room, closing the door behind you. You never told them about your father being one of the victims during what they called, Hallow’s Eve Massacre. You had always thought it was a dull name. Created by none other than the group of moms that have nothing better to do than to drink overcomplicated coffee that was too expensive for their small sizes and get into other people’s business like it’s their own.

Standing at the sink you thought about the pros and cons of going. Pros. Delicious seasonal foods, haunted houses, everything scary you love, and getting out of the house with your two best friends.

Cons. Paranoia, especially of clowns and stages, people you don’t like to even be within a ten-mile radius, and going outside.

You supposed the pros outweigh the cons. Who knows, it could be fun.

You regret your decision the moment you walked through the admission stands. Looking around you saw many clowns. Or were they your former classmates? It was hard to tell. None of these-

“Ow!” Landing on your ass you ended up dropping your coffee.

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” The man who bumped into you kneeled down to make sure you were okay. You felt like you've seen his face before but couldn't really pinpoint where you've seen him.

"Yeah-yeah. I'm fine," you felt him begin to pull you up by your arms to stand up directly in front of him. “Are you okay? I mean I ran into you-”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good,” you stood there awkwardly and watched as his hand soothingly rubbed your forearms. It felt comforting. His hands were warm and it seeped through your jacket and into your skin.

“Jennie, I think we’re interrupting something,” Mark joked as he leaned into Jennie’s side like he was whispering to her but spoke in a normal, almost loud voice.

Your face gained a red hue as you stepped away from the man who tried to look into your very soul, “Sorry again. I’ll try to pay more attention.” You stared at the ground and began to quickly walk away from the man.

“Please don’t. I’d love to run into you again sometime,” he called out before turning the other way and continued his path to wherever he was going. You kept walking with Jennie and Mark until you arrived at the part of the fairgrounds where they had all the rides.

First, you rode the Twirling Tangerines, inside the large oranges there was a wheel you could all turn. Then, you rode the Spider, where you sat in a cart-like box that spun as the arms lifted you up and down.

You were on your way to the haunted house when you turned to Mark, “I think I just saw-” Noticing he’s not with you, you look around the crowd to try and spot him. “Jennie, where’d Mark go?”

She turned to you and looked around as well, “How the hell could we lose him?” She took out her phone from her pocket and clicked on his contact to call him. He didn’t answer.

“We’ll have to split up and look for him,” you shrugged as you headed toward back the way you came and Jennie veering left from the way you were going.

It took almost half an hour before you get a call from Jennie, telling you she found him. She failed to mention the man that Mark had crossed paths with on his adventure.

You met them at one of the tents where they had a rigged game for people to play as stuffed animals hung from the top. You may or may not have stopped at the apple cider stand on your way to the game tent.

“Woooooow. You didn’t get us any?” Mark was obviously hurt but you didn’t really care. “You shouldn’t have wandered off like you did cause then we’d both have apple cider right now,” you took a sip of your hot drink while looking at him.

Your eyes shift to the man who you had bumped into earlier. You began to cough up the warm beverage that was trying to intrude into your lungs from your sharp intake of breath. Coughing into your sleeve, you tried to breathe again before asking, “What are you doing here?”

“Mark ran into me while I was heading toward the Baker’s Street and he was looking somewhere else,” his smile was so big it made his eyes turned into crescent moons. It almost made you want to smile. He walked closer to you before reaching out his hand to you, “My name’s Jimin. What’s yours?”

You stood there wide-eyed and shocked before snapping out of it and taking his hand. Maybe a bit too eagerly, “Y/n.” You took your hand back and turned to Mark and Jennie, “Ready for the haunted house?”

Mark groaned and Jennie gave an unconvincing “yeah” as she kind of curled into herself. You lead the way and never turned to look if Jimin had ended up following you or went ventured off somewhere else.

You didn’t really know what to do with guys. Keeping to yourself you never really talked to people. Especially guys so it was kind of new and weird for you to speak with such an attractive guy that wasn’t a close friend like Mark.

Walking up to the house you showed the wristband you got at the admissions booth to allow you to go in.

"I'm sorry sir. If you don't have a wristband then I can't let you in," the woman at the entrance practically spat the person she was talking to.

You turned around to see her speaking to Jimin and felt kind of annoyed by how she spoke to him. She didn’t really have any reason to be so rude, that you knew of. “He did have one, I saw it on his wrist a few minutes ago,” you don't know why you were vouching for this guy. You just felt like it, you guessed.

The lady reluctantly nodded him through with a sneer. He smiled politely towards her before joining your group into the dark foyer.

As a dressed up ghoul jumped out in front of you and Jimin, you did nothing but stare blankly at the man while Mark yelped and Jennie gasped. How Jimin ended up next to you, you didn't know.

Jimin noticed how the jump scare didn't frighten you. He found it intriguing, in fact. You didn’t even bat an eyelid.

“Where’s Mark?” Jimin’s head snapped to you as you looked around for your not-so-bright friend once again. Jimin began to look around with you.

“You must be fucking kidding me,” Jennie sighed before saying, “I’ll go look for him so he doesn’t make any weird friends in here.”

Leaving you and Jimin alone, you kept walking through the hallways and up the staircase. Many people attempted to scare you but none of them succeeded. And Jimin tried not to laugh at your reaction to their attempts. It’s not that he was making fun of you. He was just amused how much effort the actors put into being frightening and all they get is your eyebrow raised at most.

You felt Jimin take your hand gently and slowly tighten his grip into a comfortable hold, “I’m scared.”

Immediately, you could tell he wasn’t scared at all. He just wanted a reason to hold your hand like he was smooth. But you didn’t really have the heart to take your hand away. And you didn’t really want to. You felt him come closer to you bit by bit until your shoulders were rubbing against each other.

“You wouldn’t mind if I held you would you?” Jimin broke the eerie silence that sat between you two.

“Why do you want to?” you found the question odd but weren’t completely opposed to it. You weren’t a hoe but he just made you feel comfortable.

“Cause I want to get closer to you.”

“But you’re already close to me,” you smiled. “I suppose.”

He reciprocated your smile and let go of your hand to wrap around your shoulders. He tugged you closer so you were tucked into his side. The warmth from his body kept you from shivering because of the freezing temperatures inside the building.

Seeing a door crack open not far down the hallway, you expected someone to jump out of the room. Getting close enough to look into the bedroom, no one jumped out. Jimin noticed your interest in the room and peeked inside with you. The only thing in the room was a wardrobe, a desk, a king-sized bed, and a mirror hanging in front of the desk. All were caked with dust.

“Must be an extra room they decided not to use,” you concluded before you took a glance at Jimin, only to meet his eyes. You quickly looked away and awkwardly scanned the room.

All you heard were his footsteps before feeling his grip your arm to turn you towards him, “Keep your eyes on me.”

Your cheeks felt like the sun had been shining on them for hours. And as he demanded, you kept your eyes on him. The thumb on the hand that rested on the side of your face came up to slightly pull down your bottom lip.

“You wouldn’t mind, right?” he said quietly then bit his lip while looking at yours.

Shaking your head gently, Jimin kissed you without a second thought. It was rough and hungry. He didn’t hold back for a second. Licking your lips, practically begging for access. You parted your lips slightly and that’s all he needed to slip his tongue into your mouth. No inch was left untouched. He started to walk forward making you walk back until the back of your knees hit the bed.

After falling back on the bed, Jimin practically ripped off his thick black hoodie, showing the loose white shirt beneath. It was thin and the neckline hung well below his collarbones. The hoodie landed somewhere by the door as he got down on the floor on his knees. He gently took hold of the waistband on your pants before pulling them down slowly. As they pooled around your ankles, he came back up to start peppering kisses along your inner thighs.

“I’m sorry baby girl, I would take my time with you but I can’t wait anymore,” his voice was thick with arousal as he tore off your shoes, socks, and pants. “I need to have you.”

Jimin ripped your panties from your waist and fell to the floor in shreds, “I’ll get you new ones.”

Trailing more kisses down your thighs he got closer and closer to your core. His fingers began to skim over your folds and dip between them to land right on your clit. Rubbing small circles around it, his soft lips were at the apex of your thigh.

He was so gentle with you, you weren’t sure how to feel. Adored, impatient, excited. Personally, you were never the vanilla type.

Jimin was so close to your core, so close. But he pulled away at the last second. You whined, at which Jimin laughed at, as he pulled his shirt off from over his head. Tossing his shirt away he climbed back up your body.

“There’s something I need to show you,” Jimin’s eyes were dark with excitement as he hovered over you.

Your puzzled look was all he needed to continue to show what he meant. He was groaning as his head hung and his expression made it seem like he was in pain. You didn’t understand what was happening until you saw the tendrils coming out from his back. They were cobalt blue. Two were thinner than the other two. They grew and grew towards the ceiling but stopped just short of it. Once they were straight, as if they were stretching, they curled back down towards you and Jimin. They floated in the air and you stared at them. You weren’t appalled. No, you were...curious. You would’ve never thought he was anything other than human.

It’s not like you believed in aliens and werewolves it’s just you the type of person that thought, maybe they do exist, maybe they don’t. It looks like they do.

“Are you gonna fuck me with those or not?” you said half-joking.

“You’re not disgusted? Horrified?” Jimin could not believe what he was hearing. You wanted him to fuck you with his tentacles. You wanted him.

“No, why would I be? I’m surprised and I have some questions but those can wait till later. Don’t you think?” you answered honestly and looked Jimin in the eyes while you said it. And after you said it, the tendrils behind Jimin visibly relaxed.

Jimin’s eyes lit up for only a second before he attacks your neck with his pillowy lips. One of the smaller tentacles reaches down between your legs causing you to get surprised and you try to close them. Jimin sucks on your neck harder as he held your legs open with his right hand, “It’s okay, jagi. I’ll make you feel good.”

As Jimin nibbles on a particularly sensitive spot, you moaned. He almost came right then and there. Your voice was already music to his ears. But your moans? Absolutely heavenly. He tried his best to keep his body from shaking from the numerous shivers. Part of him couldn’t even believe that this was happening. He was touching you, breathing in your scent, pleasuring you. It was his dreams coming true and he was intoxicated with everything you.

The tentacle between your legs began to rub your clit faster than what Jimin did. More moans started to escape you and your head tilted back into the pillows. Jimin was still making his way all-around your neck, making sure he was marking your neck thoroughly.

You felt the other small tendril circling your entrance. Becoming coated with your arousal. It slowly began to enter, inch by inch. It was about the same thickness as your trusty vibrator at home so you stretched to its girth with ease. Its smooth texture slipped past your walls effortlessly.

Jimin was starting to groan the deeper the tendril went. His breath became heavy as he nuzzled his face into your neck, “Jagi~ you’re so tight around him. I can’t wait until my cock is inside your hot cunt. Can I, jagiya?”

“Yes, please. I want you to fuck me,” you said brokenly in between moans.

Jimin sat up and quickly unbuttoned his pants and took them off swiftly. The two larger tentacles reached down to you and took off your coat and shirt. You arched from the building pressure in your abdomen just in time for them to take your bra off.

The tentacle fucking you took up a hastened pace. It was starting to go deeper and deeper with every thrust. The knot in your lower stomach grew tauter. Jimin kissed you feverishly and swallowed your moans as you got closer to the peak. The very last thrust of the tendril made you come the hardest you’ve ever came before. You felt the tendril in your stomach as it spurted. As did every other tentacle and even Jimin’s cock was spewing out cum.

Jimin’s moan was getting you excited again. It was deep and guttural. You were panting as you felt full of his cum and felt more cum on your chest and stomach.

“I didn’t know all of them had cum,” you chuckled as you regained your breath.

Jimin laughs with you, “Now you know how I felt the first time I jerked off.”

His statement made you laugh harder as both of you came down from your highs. The appendage slowly began to pull out of your cum-filled cunt. You whimpered from the sensitivity. Jimin’s cum flowed out of your entrance before Jimin plugged you up with the tip of his cock.

Feeling the head, you realized just how big Jimin was. Being too distracted to notice earlier. Jimin could tell your realization by your expression.

“What’s the matter, jagi? Never had anyone this big before?” Jimin knows he was being a tease. Even though he doesn’t want to even think about the others who’ve touched you. Only he can touch you like this. He’s the only one who can pleasure you.

You knew what he was doing. He was getting smug. But you didn’t really have the patience to play games with him.

“Who knows.”

Jimin’s smirk fell as yours grew. Jimin stared into your eyes as he slammed his entire length into you in one thrust.

“You know I’ve stuffed you full. I don’t think there’s even any room for one of my tentacles. I can feel how I’m stretching you,” Jimin wasn’t going to let you win this one.

He wrapped his arms around your waist to bring you with him as he sat back on his heels. Your chest heaved from his massive girth inside you. One small tendril wrapped around your wrists and held them above your head, the other small one began to circle at your puckered hole while a larger one spread your right cheek to give it room. And lastly, the last, larger tentacle curled around one of your breasts.

Jimin slowly pulled out his thick cock before slamming back into your hot cunt. His moans mixed with yours as his pace became faster. Soon he was slamming in and out of you at a bruising pace. The appendage at your tight hole caught some of yours and Jimin’s combined cum and lubed you up.

At first, it only dipped in its tip. After a few thrusts, it started to go further. Still taking on a slow pace, it steadily enlarged your hole.

Jimin’s right arm let go of your waist to support himself above you as he leaned forward. He was still pistoning in and out of you with no intention of slowing down. Hair stuck to his forehead as did yours. Moans left you uncontrollably as both of your holes were being fucked and your tit was being gripped.

You felt the pressure on your breast vanish before feeling the said tendril slither up your neck. You hear Jimin breathe out a laugh as he saw his appendage shyly touch you.

“I think he wants to know if you could suck him,” Jimin smirked, knowing that’s exactly what it wanted.

Opening your mouth, the tendril appeared to become a light blue as it took the invitation. You felt the tentacle practically purr from the wetness and warmth from your mouth. It thrusted into you languidly. Not going very deep so it wouldn’t hurt you.

“Look at you. Being a slut for me. All your holes are filled with parts of me.”

His thrusts were becoming sloppy. And the tendril in your mouth was going down into your throat until you were gagging with every plunge. Your ass was so stretched out you knew that there was going to be a gap now. Maybe not a large one but there will be one. And Jimin was still pounding your swollen cunt with his massive girth.

The tendril around your wrists let go to reach down to rub your clit in quick, small circles. You’re loud, almost screaming moans were muffled by the deep throating appendage.

You could feel you were getting so close to your release. You felt the familiar knot in your stomach building. By Jimin’s groans growing louder and his sloppy pace, you tell he was close too.

He opened his eyes to see your body being completely surrounded by him. He let his arm fall around your waist again but he laid his head between your tits and put the rest of his energy into the last few hard pumps and stilled as he felt your walls flutter around him.

Your eyes rolled into your skull and Jimin squeezed his eyes closed tightly. Your walls milked Jimin’s cock as it pulsed and shot cum inside you. You felt all the tentacles pulse out cum into your throat, ass, and onto your clit and mound.

Reaching up to Jimin’s hair, you carded your fingers through the strands. Both of you were trying to calm your breathing down. Jimin was still coming but the tendril down your throat pulled out so you could breathe more easily.

Jimin began to kiss your sternum after he came down from his high. You glanced down and back up, only to glance down again to notice a visible bulge in your stomach, that's still growing.

"How much cum do you have?!" you exclaimed as you watched it grow bit by bit.

"Don't pretend you don't like it," Jimin's smug attitude was still there as he knew he was right by your silence.

Jimin reluctantly pulled out of you and he didn’t mind how much cum was pouring out of your cunt. He knew there were going to be many more times like this. And that’s when he’ll worry about keeping you plugged up but for now, he just wanted to fall asleep next to you.

He pulled your exhausted body back up to the pillows with using the help from his now sky blue tentacles before they slowly retracted back into the slits in his back.

“We should probably go, Mark and Jennie might be worried about us,” trying to sit up Jimin pulled you back down.

“No need to be in a hurry, jagi. You’re too exhausted to go out looking for him-them right?” Jimin brushed the hair from your forehead so he could see your eyes more clearly.

“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s just hope none of the employees find us,” you huffed out a laugh as you snuggled further into the covers.

Jimin wrapped his arms around you and entangled his legs with yours. He wasn’t able to even doze off until you were sound asleep. He tried not to think about what just happened so he wouldn’t become hard and wake you up. He needed the whole night to transform this place back to the original with how worn out he is.

“Goodnight jagi. Tomorrow you’ll start your new life here with me. In our own haunted house.”

You woke up to Jimin hugging you tightly beneath the warm blanket that you had dirtied just a few hours ago. Your muscles didn’t want to make any effort to move so you had to lay there until you had the energy to get up and get dressed. Stretching out your legs a bit you felt a crack somewhere in your spine. You’re puzzled about how that would affect your back but you don’t worry about it. Nuzzling back into Jimin’s neck, you finally remembered Jennie and Mark being in the house with you. They must have gone home without you given how long it’s been.

They were adults, no reason to really worry about them. You tucked the blanket over your shoulder to hide from the cold draft. Jimin felt you moving around so he got impossibly closer to you and pulled the blanket up to his neck so it covered most of your head.

You groaned and tilted your head up causing your chin to rest on his chest making your lips pout. He cracked an eye open to see what you were doing. Seeing your sleepy, pouty face made him let out a breathy chuckle.

Jimin leaned down to kiss your forehead, “Did you sleep well?” He continued his kisses all over your face, moving down to reach your nose.

“Mm-hm,” your eyes were still closed when you thought about what it was. “Do you know what time it is?”

“No,” he kept smothering your face in kisses.

“I have to go home soon.”

“No.”

“No? I kinda do. I need clean clothes, I need a shower, and I need to check up on Jennie and Mark,” you began to untangle yourself from Jimin’s arms and legs only to have him roll you over to lay on you. “Jimin~ I have to get up,” laughing you tried to roll back over Jimin had you completely pinned.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said quietly into your ear before he kissed right below your lobe. “My marks are fading already, stay still.”

You huffed as he darkened the already almost purple hickeys on your neck, “After this, you have to get off me so I can go home.”

“But you can’t go home. You live here now, with me,” he pushed himself up with his forearms on the mattress. His eyes were stone. But they were warm as they bore into yours. “You’re not leaving me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you whispered as you maintained eye contact. “How can either of us live here when it’s just a stage for townspeople to dress up and scare people?”

“It seems, you haven’t noticed the change in the room,” Jimin smirked as his eyes left yours to scan the room, causing you to follow his actions.

The room was no longer a dirty beige with dust-covered furniture. It’s the same exact room except, it was gray. Everything in the room was gray beside you two. The window that had light from the fair shining through was completely blacked out. And the mirror above the desk was completely shattered. Little to no pieces remained in the frame.

“Besides, your friends tried to find us but they kind of got trapped,” He laid back down next to you and rested his head on his hand. “So there’s no need to worry about them, sweetheart.”

You pushed his arm off and swung your legs onto the floor but you felt the familiar wetness from one of Jimin’s tentacles wrap around your abdomen. It made you sit back down and pulled you back to Jimin.

“It’s true that you have all the power over me. However, that doesn’t mean I’ll let you go.”

Your heart undoubtedly fluttered.

#park jimin #bts jimin #yandere!bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere jimin #yandere jimin x reader #jimin smut #possessive jimin #possessive bts #bts smut #tentacle smut #tentacles #halloween #monster mash

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robertsheehanownsmyass · 4 years

Note

Could you do a Vladek fic about the reader getting kidnapped and he tries to save her but she ends up getting hurt?

This doesn’t have to be for Sheehanween since I don’t know how to do gifs 😩 love your writing!

Sheehanoween!

(gif by the fabulous @vousnavezrienvu)

Seized

Vladek Klimov x Reader

Warnings: Violence and blood. Stabby shooty violence.

You blinked at the sudden brightness that assaulted your eyes as the boot was opened. Rough hands grabbed you and painfully hoisted you out of the car as you struggled against your bonds. Your hands had been tied behind your back with rough rope, and your wrists were beginning to burn. You squealed behind the duct tape that covered your mouth.

“Shut up,” the man said roughly as he dragged you toward a ramshackle shed. You looked around in a panic, trying to get a sense of your location; all you saw in every direction was white emptiness. Your heart sank. You had no idea where you were, and even if you did manage to escape, you would probably die of exposure out on the frozen tundra.

The man shoved you onto a flimsy metal folding chair, hastily wrapping more rope around your torso and then more around your legs, fixing you firmly to the chair. You began to shiver; it was no warmer in the shed than it was outside. Thankfully, your captor walked across the room and began attempting to light what appeared to be a small coal stove. The breath from your nose puffed out in visible plumes, dissipating rapidly in the dim light. You centered yourself in an attempt to remain calm; panicking and hyperventilating would only make things worse. Vladek will come for me, you thought to yourself, and the idea did help you relax, if only a little.

Time passed at an agonizing pace, and you watched night approach through the cracks in the boards of the shed. Your captor lit a lantern and sat at a table in the corner of the room and passed the time by whittling something out of wood with a large knife. He seemed occupied by his task, so you took the chance to test the strength of your bonds, wiggling and straining slightly. They were much too tight, and when you stopped and looked at your captor, his eyes were fixed on you.

“Don’t bother,” the man said with a thick Russian accent. “We will wait until he comes. It should be soon.”

This chilled your blood. It was a trap for Vladek and you were the bait. Your captor wanted him to come. You fought away the new wave of fear that gripped you. This didn’t have to change anything. Vladek would get you out of this.

After what felt like another hour had passed, you heard a noise from outside the shed, in the direction of where the car was parked in front. Your captor stood, pointed his large knife at you, said, “don’t go anywhere,” and stepped outside, cackling at his own joke. You heard his shoes crunching on the snow as he moved away from the building.

Suddenly, a voice was in your ear.

“I am here, elskede. Do not be afraid.”

Vladek! Wait—how the hell did he even get in here…you were beginning to wonder if he could transform into mist at will as he came around to the front of you. Your heart leapt to see his face, even though you were afraid for him.

He gently peeled back the duct tape over your mouth in an attempt to minimize pain, making the universal shushing gesture as he did so. You nodded. He pressed his hands on either side of your face and kissed you firmly and quickly before directing his attention to your restraints, sawing at the ropes with his knife. “Vladek,” you whispered quietly. “It’s a trap, he took me as bait to lure you here.”

Vladek nodded. “I know.” Your hands were free, and you cringed at the sight of your own wrists, which were raw and reddened by the rough fibers. Vladek was in the process of cutting the ropes around your legs when the door burst open, and the Russian launched at Vladek. You screamed as Vladek stood and caught the Russian, his right hand gripping the arm brandishing the knife. With his left hand, Vladek plunged his own knife just under your kidnapper’s ribcage, and the man stumbled backward. He coughed, and a red spray flew from his lips as he leaned against the wall.

You were still partially bound to the chair by your legs, and you bent to finish untying yourself. Vladek stood panting, chest heaving. “What shall I do with you Dimitri?” he said to the Russian. The man grinned, exposing reddened teeth.

“Do what you must, Shaman,” he said hoarsely. “But this is far from over.” The Russian reached behind him and pulled a pistol from the back of his pants. He pointed it directly at you.

“No!” Vladek cried, and dove in your direction, knocking you and the chair over as the man fired. Vladek landed on his side on the ground and threw his knife at the man. It found purchase in the hollow of the Russian’s throat, landing with a sickening thwuck. The pommel of the knife protruded from the man’s neck and wobbled slightly as he gurgled, choking on his own blood. He absently fired the gun two more times, hitting nothing as he slumped to the ground, eyes glassy. He was dead.

Vladek turned his attention to you and crawled the couple of steps to where you lay gasping. Blood streamed freely from your left arm, and you felt like you had been pierced by a white-hot poker. “Vladek,” you gasped. “My arm…”

Vladek helped you up to a sitting position. “You’re shot, elskede.”

“I’m…am I gonna die?”

Vladek smiled. “No, min kjæreste. It is only your arm. But we do have to get you help. Come.” He took your hands and helped you stand. He lifted his coat and sweater to tear off part of the bottom of his shirt, and firmly wrapped your wound to stem the flow of blood. “You have no coat?” he asked, seeing you dressed in your house clothes.

“I wasn’t exactly prepared to be kidnapped,” you huffed with a laugh, but your laugh was cut short by a fresh sear of pain in your arm, and you wobbled.

Vladek quickly peeled off his own heavy coat and slipped it over your shoulders. You slid your good arm through its sleeve but held your bad arm against your chest; it hurt too much to move.

He gathered you up and held you against his chest as he carried you out into the snow, gently placing you in the passenger seat of his car. He drove into town, glancing at you every so often to make sure you were alright. When your eyes began to flutter closed, he spoke to you. “Min kjæreste,” he said. “Stay awake.”

“But Vladek, I’m so tired…”

“I know elskede, but you’ve lost a lot of blood, and it’s better to be safe. We will be at the hospital soon.”

You sighed. You knew he was right, but you would give anything to close your eyes and slip away.

You must have passed out again, because the next thing you realized you were being carried through sterile white corridors. Vladek gently laid you down on a stretcher in the hall and flagged down a passing doctor.

“Please, doctor, we need your help—she has been shot in the arm.”

Alarmed, the doctor turned to you and began giving a perfunctory examination. He called over some nurses to help get you into a room. “Don’t go far,” the doctor said to Vladek. “We will have questions.”

“Oh I’ll be just in the waiting room,” Vladek replied, but as he looked at you, you saw the ghost of a wink. You blew him a kiss with your good arm as they wheeled you away. Vladek would certainly not be waiting outside to be questioned, but you would be seeing him again soon.

That much you you knew because no matter what happened, Vladek would always find you. You could count on that.

#vladek klimov x reader #fortitude fic #sheehanoween #robert sheehan character fic #drabble #tw: blood #tw: death

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dollfaceeeeee · 4 years

Text

God of Mischief

Ignore me, I’m in my writing mindset lately, but here’s something for my favorite stabby boy. 💚

Sugarspill Coffee Shoppe was oddly quiet for a cool, rainy night in northern Oregon.

Decorated to the brim with an assortment of collectible mugs and Knick knacks, all dedicated to the newest rag tag group of superheroes in the world, the Avengers, it gave me an almost annoyed headache as I went to work on cleaning some of them.

Swirled in cross cross patterns of silky reds and blues, I knew instantly which avenger the mug was for, and I eyed the old contents of the mug with distaste before setting it back on the rack with the others.

I was coated, from head to toe in flour, and a spill of coffee from an older woman who dropped her mug earlier and left it there without saying anything.

It seemed I would be picking shards of porcelain from the floors forever, now.

Sighing, my eyes drifted toward the torrential throttle of rain that shattered across the dark street outside, and for the first time, I was reminded of the time, and how awful it would be to walk home after my shift.

I only lived three blocks away, and I insisted my roommate that I would be just fine, even after she reminded me of the rough weather that was coming today.

Partially, I wish I would have let her talk me into getting a ride home.

Shaking my head, I circled the counter before grabbing the broom and going back to work on the floor, trying to sweep up the remaining shards of pottery from the floor, the ones I could barely see on the white linoleum.

Sugarspill Coffee Shoppe was owned by my roommate’s father, Bruce Banner, and he occasionally stopped in for a cup of coffee, but he always told me he hated the use of the Avengers mugs.

His daughter, Layla, thought they were the funniest things on the planet.

I almost didn’t notice the new faces that strolled in, then, their clothes drenched from the rain; five of them total, moving in unison, their faces streaked with mud.

Looking up, I met the eyes of the guy in front, and instantly felt uneasy as he stared at me, his eyes glassy and cold.

“You’re Foster, ain’t ya? That fucking bitch that’s seeing Thor’s brother, right, the one that almost wiped out New York?”

Another thing about me, I’ve been seeing Loki Odinson for some time.

The younger, much more charming brother of Thor, stepped into my life on a day much like this one, dark and dangerous and drenched from the rain, and I was captured almost instantly.

I didn’t see him often, with him being imprisoned by order of both Nick Fury himself and the Avengers, but Thor snuck me into Asgard from time to time to see him in the prisons, against Odin’s wishes.

My whole body froze, my jaw locking together sharply as I clenched tightly onto the broom in my hands, debating my options about the situation.

There are five of them, I thought briefly, and none of them are out of shape; each of them flashed glossy, calculating looks at me, probably trying to decide, for themselves, what the plan of action was, too.

Before I could think about it, I darted for the counter, but I wasn’t fast enough; tripping over the countless pieces of pottery leftover on the floor and falling into a helpless heap on the floor, followed by the broom, which knocked heavily into the back of my skull.

Two of the men moved forward, dragging me to my feet by the elbows; shoving me against the coffee shoppe counter, my back rocking into the metal with rather painful force.

For the first time, I wished that I knew the Avengers myself, or knew a way to call Thor to come save me, but I had no way out of this one.

All I could do was pray it wasn’t too awful for me.

The one in front, the one that I assumed led the posse, moved toward me fluently, squatting down slightly to be in view, before reaching forward to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes to my question,” he mused, smiling a grimy, uneven smile.

I had no idea that anyone, besides Thor, Loki, and myself, knew about me having relations with Loki, but I guess it wasn’t a secret anymore.

Or I was being followed.

Using a trick that Loki himself taught me, I brought my knee up against the guy’s shin, making him rock backward on his heels as I fought against the hold held on me.

“He will kill you, you know. If you do anything to me, he won’t hesitate. He will kill you.”

The two guys holding me gave the leader a sharp look, as if this thought did not occur to them at all, but it was an obvious statement.

If Loki could make an entire city roll under his feet, who knows what he would do to a mere five men?

Wincing at the idea, the leader shook his head before retaining his composure, spitting in my face.

“I highly fucking doubt that, little girl.”

He came closer to me again, and I shut my eyes, willing the scene to unfold without me seeing it, hoping it would end quickly.

But that wasn’t quite true.

Nearby, a high pitched sound almost shattered my eardrums, so sharp and bleak that it melted in with the thunder overhead, making the men holding me double over in pain, with me following close behind.

Snapping my eyes open just in time, I watched the windows of the shoppe shatter, all in rhythmic unison, before the front door rattled open and a tall man dressed in all black strolled in.

He was drenched, covered in rain and barely showing his face, I watched as the lightbulb over my head shifted before being knocked out, and we were all left in complete darkness.

In one swift motion, the man in all black grabbed the man by the door by his collar and dragged him upward, being lifted without difficulty or pain, before being slammed down on one of the shoppe tables with considerable force.

The man in black looked toward me, just for a moment, and I caught the familiar flash of bright emerald eyes and sleek black hair, and I could barely find my breath.

Loki took the rest of the pack out with ease, leaving the leader for last; the leader dragging me up and sharply in front of him.

Quickly, a knife was laid across my throat, and I closed my eyes again, afraid to look, afraid that this was all a dream.

The storm roared outside, and I was grateful for Thor, relieved that he was keeping an eye on me.

“Leave us alone, man, this doesn’t concern you.”

“It doesn’t? Oh, do tell, how it doesn’t?”

The man behind me shook, and I could feel the fidgeting of his muscles sharply.

With one sharp fidget of his hand..

“Just..just leave, man. This is about that Loki guy. This chick is with him, you know. A human, with that..that freak.”

Loki’s laugh was humorless, and dark, and it made my throat tighten as I heard him take a step forward.

“You stupid, moronic mortals, with your simple knives and shaking fingers. Your existence is small. You will only matter for a flash of a second, and then it will be over. I could care less about your plans, or your leisures, or anything else you wish to accomplish today. But if you do not take your hands off of her, I will personally make your death as slow, and ugly, and awful as you could possibly imagine. Would you like that?”

The guy behind me swallowed heavily, his hand lowering to his side before he pushed me forward rather roughly; my body stumbling into the hard body of Loki.

Oddly enough, he was warm for being so wet, seeping with heat and comfort, and he smelled of soap and cinnamon.

“There, now you have her. Who..who are you, anyway?”

Opening my eyes, I looked up into the familiar, sharp face of Loki, and his presence knocked into me like a fiery beacon at full force.

His eyes were sharp, and tired, but the same endless green that made my heart somersault violently in my chest.

Wrapping an arm around my waist, he pulled me tightly against his side before shifting his gaze toward the man against the counter.

“Oh, you don’t know? You haven’t a clue who I am, foolish mortal?”

I watched as the guy tried to process the words, before Loki removed his hood, and the guy’s face turned white as stone.

“You’re...you’re...you’re...”

“Loki, son of Odin, brother of Thor. You’d do your best to remember that.”

#Spotify #loki odinson #loki imagine #mcu loki #loki (marvel)

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allhailthewicked · 4 years

Text

JatP Fanworks Appreciation Week

Work in Progress Wednesday

Here is a little of piece of a fic that I‘ve been working on for a few months now. It’s a pre-canon angsty and fluffy Sunset Curve Fic. I’ve been writing a lot of headcannons recently so it’s been fun expanding my writing style. So I hope you guys enjoy this because I am having a fun time!!!

I Got Your Glamour, Got Your Gold

Reggie delicately ran his fingers across the surface of the VHS tape, tracing all the lines that were running through faded details.

The Hollywood Magic Club with Caleb Covington, he muttered to himself. Golden rays of sunlight filtered through the window hitting the tape reflecting onto the wall as a toothy grin grew across his face.

He grips onto the tape noticing how worn it has become, well at least it’s well-loved he quickly thought before flinching.

A brief moment of yelling filled the house then a crash rang out from the kitchen or maybe the bedroom, it’s getting harder and harder to tell since the fighting happens everywhere. Reggie grits his teeth, shirking down as small as possible while the deafening silence grips his heart. Another crash reverberates throughout the house and then the arguing resumed louder than ever.

Reggie drew the tape close to his chest as tears flowed down his face. His eyes bounced around the room as the leather recliner blurred into the walls and as the room started to spin underneath him. As he looks up, he notices the doorway narrowing and the light from the kitchen slowly disappearing, as he realizes that he cannot escape the living room. His breath shortens and he begins to realize that he can't breathe anymore.

He can’t breathe.

He needs to breathe.

Get a hold of yourself, Peters, the stern but comforting voice echos inside his head practice those anxiety breathing exercise thing Alex always does.

Reggie’s mind drifted to the blonde boy. How ragged his breath had become. How his fingers were bleeding from the tight grip he had on his drumsticks.

Their knees bumped together while Bobby rubbed Alex’s back. A sob slipped through Alex’s lips while his hunched shoulders started trembling.

They all knew that Luke didn’t have the best relationship with his mom but none of the boys of Sunset Curve expected him to run away from home and not show up to school for all that week. Moreover, the boys did not expect to not be able to get in contact with him either.

Reggie studied Bobby as he gripped Alex’s shoulder counting to four while Alex breathed in through his nose. He rubbed his back lightly while slowly counting seven as Alex held his breath, then Bobby's firm but soothing voice finally counted to eight as the blond boy exhaled. They go through this cycle several times while Alex seems to calm down before Luke bursts in.

“You guys cannot believe the week I had! One moment I was at the Santa Monica pier the next I was in Vegas! Vegas! And look at all the songs I wrote! I even started one for my mom. Come here look! Wait... why are you guys all wide-eyed? Is it my hair? I told that homeless guy not to mess up my hair too much. Oh my god, Alex why are you crying? And you too Bobby? Did you guys watch My Girl without me?!” Luke rambled eagerly as he tried to restyle his hair into the classic Troy Bolton swoop.

Bobby pushed himself off the couch with a murderous gleam in his eyes, “Okay, that’s it; I’m gonna kill him”, he muttered, fishing through his backpack looking for his switchblade.

“Oh no, you’re not,” Reggie yelled tackling Bobby down, pinning him down to the couch.

“But-but-but- he hurt our Alex and when the fuck did you get so strong?” Bobby stammered wiggling out of Reggie’s grasp before wildly gesturing at Alex who was still sniffing.

“Dad doesn’t like to wake up on the couch when he is hungover”, Reggie said shrugging his shoulders as he plopped down next to the older boy. He sighs and shakes his head, before tracing patterns on Bobby's chest. “Plus, you know that killing Luke is only going to hurt Alex even more.”

“Ugh, I won’t kill him, but can I just do a little stabby stabby stab stab?”

“Bobby you’ve only used that knife to slash Kevin Jacobs’ tires for being a homophobic jackass. Plus you love Luke too much to stab him. Just admit it Bobbers, we’ve made you soft,”

“How dare you Reginald I am NOT soft! I am still as fierce and scary as ever. You’re looking at a harbinger of chaos, babe. I'm so fucking terrifying.”

“Oh is that true? You didn’t seem that terrifying when you were calming me down from my anxiety attack.” Alex, sprawled on the couch, piped up, “I think you've always been a softie, Robert”.

And that’s all the preview I am going to give y’all lol!!! I hope you guys like it :)

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #reggie peters #bobby jatp #alex mercer #luke patterson #my writing lol #i can't wait until i am done with this and you guys get to seee it!!!!!#but i love it so much #gabby speaks to the dead #wip wednesday

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slashhinginghasher · 5 years

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Midnight Star - Chromeskull x OFC - Part 2: What Beneath Lies

Introducing Stabby McSkullface, everyone’s favorite giant dickhead.

This work is also on Ao3!

The local cops had started sniffing a little too closely around one of his warehouses, which was why Chromeskull found himself burying his most recent piggy deep in the woods outside town. College girl in a tight little dress, drinking her daddy’s money away, but she’d sobered right up when she saw the first knife. Body disposal was normally his underlings’ responsibility, but this one had put up an admirable fight and his adrenaline was still running high, so he opted to do the honors himself. He was tossing the last shovelful of dirt over the remains of her face when he heard the roar of a car engine.

His car.

He sprinted through the woods, making no attempt at stealth as he crashed through branches and underbrush. But by the time he reached the road, the car had vanished, not even a trace of headlights. If he’d had a voice, he would have screamed. He settled for driving a knife into the trunk of the nearest tree. Then he pulled out his cell phone. He could have stopped the car remotely, tracked the thief down on foot, and gutted them on the side of the road. But the insult - the audacity - was too great. That dark little thing inside him, usually sated after playing with one of his piggies, snarled to life. He would take his time with this one.

He texted Spann, who promised to be there in 15 minutes with a new car. In the interim, he pulled up the feed from the dashboard camera to get a better look at his thief. Much of the details were obscured by shadow, but he could make out enough to determine that the brat was small, dark-haired... and female.

He grinned savagely behind his mask.

Oh, little piggy, I am going to have fun with you.

***

The bitch was even tinier than expected. Chromeskull doubted the top of her head would reach past his sternum. He’d needed only one hand to drag her from the car after jamming the needle into her neck. The crowbar was unnecessary - he controlled the locks, after all - but he’d wanted to give her the split second of fear before knocking her out. Besides, the car was obviously defective if this scrawny little piggy had been able to break in. Spann, who had wisely remained silent thus far, was leaning against the passenger side of the second car and tapping away on a tablet.

“Someone will be here shortly to take care of the car,” she said. “I can stay here and wait for them. Police activity is less hot around your facility two towns north if you want to take her there.” She gestured at the girl slung over her boss’s shoulder. Chromeskull nodded and dumped the thieving piggy unceremoniously into the trunk. He slid behind the wheel and drove off, mind already racing with plans for the coming days.

***

He could’ve stripped her while she was unconscious, but he wanted to watch the growing horror in her eyes as he slowly removed all of her defenses, starting with those little knives he’d felt strapped to her wrists when he chained her up. He circled her slowly, gleaning what details he could from her unmoving form. Her clothes were dark, plain, and covered her neck to toe. Ragged and cheap except for her leather boots, which were too nice to be anything but stolen. She had a ridiculous amount of thick, tangled hair. It would make an excellent handle when he dragged her kicking and screaming across the floor.

Chromeskull turned his attention to the shabby backpack he’d taken from the passenger seat of his soon-to-be-scrap-metal car. He upended it with a clatter on the long metal table next to the meat hooks. A quick glance showed his little piggy slumped in the same position. Either she was not yet awake, or she was extremely good at faking it. No matter. He had plenty of time.

He rooted through the contents of the bag with a slowly growing curiosity. Four screwdrivers, two of them broken. A wire hanger bent into a hook. A small lock-picking set. A flashlight. Two pairs of underwear and socks, just as boring as the clothes the piggy was currently wearing. A switchblade and a machete, both clearly well-used. A one-liter reusable water bottle and a fifth of vodka. The former was about half full and the latter mostly empty. Chromeskull gave a small smile as he read the top shelf brand on the label. At least the piggy had taste in something, because it sure as fuck wasn’t clothes. He considered taking a swig, but he’d always been more of a whiskey and cognac man. A small, battered notebook gave him a brief pause; he riffled through it, but all the pages were blank, though some had clearly been torn out. He tossed it aside, next to one of those plastic lighters you could buy at any gas station for a dollar.

Conspicuously absent was any form of identification. No phone, no license, not even a library card or a fucking receipt to say who she was or where she’d been. Where were you running to, little piggy?

Impatience made his jaw twitch. Enough waiting. Either the bitch was awake, or she would be very soon. He abandoned his table of toys and sauntered over to crouch in front of her, careful to keep his movements deliberate and controlled. It never did to let his piggies see how eager he was to play with them.

At least, not at first.

A heartbeat passed. Two. Three. He was debating where to deliver a stinging wakeup call via knife when the bitch’s eyes snapped open and looked him dead in the face. Eye, really; the left half of her face was obscured by hair. He waited, as her gaze danced over him, for questions, for pleading, for terror, but she gave him nothing. Just an infuriatingly blank face and an odd light, at once familiar and unnameable, growing in her visible eye. Fucking bitch wasn’t even hyperventilating.

Nice try, piggy, but I will make you squeal.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, typed a greeting, and held it up in front of her face.

HELLO PIGGY

Her expression remained motionless. The only hint that she’d even read the message was a shifting, an intensification of that gleam in her eyes, and damn it if he hadn’t seen it someplace before…

“This is about the car,” she said. Smart piggy. Her voice was thickly accented. Chromeskull raised an eyebrow behind his mask; you didn’t hear a lot of Russians or whatever the fuck she apparently was around these parts. He nodded slowly and reached out to push the hair out of her face-

The fucking cunt bit him.

Hard.

Her sharp little teeth cut through nitrile and skin, drawing blood like a hungry dog. Rage bloomed in his chest like the pain in his fingers. He wrenched his hand away from her whore mouth and backhanded her hard enough to send piggy and chair toppling to the floor. The clatter of the chair couldn’t quite drown out the smack of her face against the concrete, but still she didn’t scream, didn’t cry. Red flickered around the edges of his vision. Wasn’t that just like a whore pig to think she could just flutter her pretty little eyelashes and get away with anything? Chromeskull flexed his bloody fingers and grabbed a fistful of hair, hauling her upright. She wasn’t looking him in the eye anymore, she was staring at the ground, at his feet, because she knew, she knew, she knew… She knew why they needed him, needed his knives, those sluts who thought they could cruise through life with their tits out and their faces painted, thought that slit between their legs entitled them to anything, and that’s why they needed him, needed that reminder that pretty was nothing and flesh was just meat and their power could be cut away in a matter of seconds. Sure, maybe this one thought she was better, was smarter, with that charade of modesty, but underneath the fabric, underneath the skin, way down where muscle met bone and blood pulsed and there was no beauty to be seen except for those tides of crimson, she was the same, they were the same, they were all the same same same…

The piggy lifted her head and spat a wad of bloody saliva at the lens of his camera with devastating accuracy.

And once again she was on the floor, this time with his hand around her throat as he straddled her waist. He’d seen grown men piss themselves with less provocation, but there was still no fear on her little piggy face, even as blood flowed freely from her nose and mouth where the impact had split her skin. She was breathing heavily, at last, but so was he, so it was no real victory. His pulse roared in his ears, and he could feel hers jumping in her throat like a rabbit kicking against a snare. For a moment there was nothing but heartbeat and breath, brown eye boring into blue, and there was something a bit dangerous in the way her knees brushed against the back of his thighs. With his free hand, he unsheathed his knife and slowly pushed aside that stupid mane of hair, pressing the tip in just hard enough to leave a thin line of red in its wake.

Her left eye was a noticeably lighter blue than the right, a starburst of ice radiating from her pupil. And it was surrounded by a web of scars. Silvery lines stretching from cheekbone to hairline, bisecting her eyebrow in several places. The tip of his knife danced over them, catching on a small ridge that almost looked like a tooth mark…

He pulled her upright by the throat, barely waiting for the chair to settle before he slashed the knife through her thin shirt and boring, utilitarian bra, leaving another stinging red line in its wake, but she still didn’t complain, and he wouldn’t have listened if she did, because what lay bare before him was nothing short of a masterpiece.

One of the oldest and deepest scars started just below her left collarbone, curving above her breast and coming to a stop in the valley of her sternum. Three more began near her left armpit and clawed their way down to her right hip bone, jagged and thick and purple like she’d been ripped open by some monster and sewn back together. Two pale circles, one in each shoulder, he recognized as bullet wounds; he had a few of his own. Another deep line, clearly a stab wound, nestled between two of her ribs. And carved deep into the side of her neck, somewhere between a cut and a brand, a single word in Cyrillic.

He traced a bloody knuckle along one of the claw marks, feeling the girl's stomach muscles contract involuntarily and leaving a stark red mark against her skin. A white hot bolt of something zinged down his spine and settled hot in his stomach and groin, danced down his fingers like flecks of lightning. His stone-faced piggy was no piggy after all. She was a map of pain and one of the most magnificent things he’d ever seen. And now he knew, he knew, what that light was in her eyes. It was fury and bloodlust and hunger and death, and he knew it because he carried it in his own eyes like a raging fire.

Well. This certainly complicated things.

#jesse cromeans #chromeskull #laid to rest #my writing #marena polunochnaya

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ranawaytothedas · 5 years

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From 100 -- #29-32 for Maeve

Thank you so much! I also included #33 because @faerieavalon asked 31-33... so getting them all done in one swoop...

see Alistair... swooping is not bad.

29. Are they a morning person?

Oh this is a big and hearty NO. Maeve is barely a “function in the world of the living during daylight hours” person... So much so she says on several occasion to people who question her snippy ways early in the day, “I have spent most of my life as a thief... thieves thrive in darkness” she never likes getting out bed... she is not a morning person though she does tend to get up early (which really I am blaming a lot more on Cullen and Alistair then Maeve’s internal clock).

30. Sunrise or sunset?

Sunset, it’s actually Maeve’s favorite time of day. When she was in Antiva she used to hide up on the rooftop of the Villa where she lived and watched the sunset by herself, usually with a cup of coffee or tea.

31. Are they more messy or more organized?

Maeve is actually quite meticulous and organized about some things. Her lockpicks and “kits” she uses when she is breaking in somewhere are all just so and Maker preserve anyone who would touch them. The same goes for any weapons she may have. Daggers, swords, staffs, anything else... everything has it’s place and you certainly do not touch her things...

but then like her room can be utter chaos... and she is not one to put her clothes away unless she has to.

32. Pet peeves?

Maeve can’t stand the people pick their nails with a knife where people can see it. Several of the boys (Bull, Rylen, Varric..) do this and every time Maeve just makes the most disgusting noise and face (it makes Cassandra proud ROFL) and usually will say something.

33. Do they own any objects of significant personal importance?

Well, there is the sparrow Necklace that Zevran gives her, which is so important to her because it’s this piece of Zevran who is like her elder brother/father in a lot of ways. It’s something she rarely takes off. The pendant is actually made from one the rings that Maeve used to always try to steal from Zevran as a child and it’s sent with the note telling her that if she ever needed a fresh start and work, he would be in Antiva waiting for her (an offer she does eventually take).

The first gift that Cullen gives Maeve is also something that ends up being fairly important. It’s a dagger he was given by Meredith during his time in Kirkwall, he never used it and it sat in his trunk for many years. The hilt is gold and there are small rubies in it. Cullen never liked dangers as a weapon, but he knows Maeve does. She also likes “Pretty stabby things” as she puts it, so when they are very early in their relationship it’s something he gives to her and Maeve ends up wearing it and using it for a lot of the time going forward.

For her 14th birthday (the birthday right before the whole Arch Deamon stuff during the Blight) Alistair gets her this necklace in Denhrim, it’s not fancy. It’s a silver pendant with a small blue gemstone on a thin silver chain. Maeve kept looking at it thought it was pretty and that she really wanted to steal it. Alistair told her don’t do that because he knew she would get caught. Maeve wears this necklace for years till the chain becomes thin and breaks. She keeps it and years later, when Jena is about 7 years old Maeve gets the chain fixed and gives the necklace to Jena, when she outgrows it, it’s passed down to Maeve’s other daughter (with Alistair) Roisin.

thank you again (both of you) for these lovely asks <3

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authenticaussie · 5 years

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Hmm... 18 (soul eater au), 52 (roommate), 42 (marvel), 98 (leverage), and or 14 (lantern lights)

babe……….you’re my Favourite™

also, under a readmore because this got LONG as SHIT

8. Soul Eater au

the soul eater au is really scattered because my wifi sucked on that particular day and I was posting it in the mas chat (sunshinepunks) BUT the basis is weapons ace & sabo and meister Marco. It’s a lot of “dumbasses refuse to accept New Friends (because TraumaTM)” and Ace/Sabo being dicks to Marco because he refuses to give up on them. (ahhh my favourite dynamic //swoons)

Part of the plot - my favourite part of the plot - is that Sabo spends a lot of time spying on Marco to try and catch him out as Secretly A Dick and Manipulating Them, and ends up finding out that Marco really really cares about him and Ace? And the way to Sabo’s heart is thrrrroooough his besssstieeeee lmao. So Sabo ends up crushin’ hard first, but then SPYING BACKFIRES and paranoia kicks his butt and he Feels Bad because he was ONLY MEANT TO TRUST ACE and Marco HURT HIS FEELINGS (sabo you moron it’s your own fault). Anyway Ace and Marco pair up to try and make Sabo feel better and it drives Sabo even Nuttier until there is battle couple stuff and a mid-fight Feelings Fight and then a confession and then they become the DMCA power couple. Ta-da!

Ace was a pipe and Sabo was a knife! Or…..you know, something in that realm pft. Basically hitty-stick and stabby-stabby, because you could make a) an argument for their personalities Being Like That (ace is blunt and strong and easy to just hit with but if you’re clever about it he’s awesome, and has the reach to be a longer weapon, sabo is more…well a knife can be used for a lot but also it’s very….vicious. There is very little you can do to Incapacitate with a knife that is not Wow Stabbed. Which I feel is very Sabo, he’s kinda…harsh??? in his way of handling battle, I think.) and b) because in canon, Sabo’s weapon is a pipe and Ace has that knife, and I thought it’d be cool to match that.

42. New Roommate Wanted

an OC-based commission!! James moves in with a shape-shifting thief and her GF and accidentally Falls In Love snickers

It is………..I wrote it a while ago so you can definitely see the self-projection of “I want cute rich gfs to love and adore me so I don’t have to stress about a job”

52. 5+1 Marvel AU

in the actual word document the title is “If you’re broken I will mend you” (Or 5 Times Sabo was There for his Team (and one time histeam was there for him). Sabo is Coulson and Marco is Hawkeye and Ace is a Black Widow (codename: Redback). It fluctuates between sorta implying MAS (but with a definite focus on Marco/Ace) and Coby/Sabo mainly because I made Coby Captain America (YOU CAN’T!!! ARGUE!!! WITH ME!!! HE IS!!!! PERFECT!!! AS CAP!!!) and I love fics that have the lowkey “Coulson has a fanboy crush on Cap.” lol.

(also coby/sabo is. fun? crackship but So Fun.)

Here’s the shortest one haha

It takes about five minutes after the comms. go silent forSabo to know that something is wrong, and two minutes afterwards to gear up.

It takes him approximately four seconds to tear through the people trying to keep him from helping Ace and Marco.

(It takes two weeks for them to heal, no matter how fastSabo was, and a month for Sabo to get off desk duty, but Ace and Marco refuseto do missions when he’s not their handler. They refuse to do anything thatinvolves leaving his side until after he assures them he’s fine, and that hewasn’t just a S.H.I.E.L.D agent because he had a pretty face - though that hadprompted an argument about Sabo’s ‘pretty face’ that he’d had to steadfastlyignore.)

88. LEVERAGE AU MOTHERFUCKER

THIEVES! CON ARTISTS! So this one is actually three different aus in one file - there’s a “MAS but as Leverage” and it starts out as “Ace and Sabo who fill in Every Job They Can (but their specialties are Ace = grifter/hacker and Sabo = hitter/thief and I have reasons, okay) and then they try and run a con on Marco but he’s like Um Excuse Me? And then he gets dragged into their Bullshit snickers. Oh ALSO they ONE THOUSAND PERCENT do not realise they are Madly In Love With Him (but he does. And he’s trying to be patient. But also. Dying. Because wow it’s kinda awkward being in love with. two daredevil thieves)

The second one in the doc is the Leverage trio in the OP world, ‘cause duh, and Parker starts off like…trying to steal kids from being SMILE experiments? and hires Eliot and Hardison to help her. Um I think I wanted to give Hardison a DF?? But I had a whole list: there was altering people’s sight/perceptions, being able to edit vision/specifics of reality in lines of like, code?? (aka he could do Little Changes but they could affect Big Things, a butterfly effect sort of DF). A lot of them were trying to give him a way to…manipulate stuff in a world where tech wasn’t as big a thing.

And the third one is ASL leverage! Marco still gets dragged into the disaster but it’s more found family stuff.

14. Lantern Lights

Lantern Lights is technically posted [here] under “all the light we cannot hold” BUT I have MORE. I wanted to make it longer when I originally posted it - mainly because Lea asked for angst - but I ended up running out of time (I am………so bad at deadlines, jfc). Plus, with all the things I wanted to include it honestly would’ve turned into something RIDICULOUSLY long and I was already pushing 5k when gifts were a minimum of 1k.

This was the original start / end bracketing.

START:

HiAce.

Hispencil hesitated above the empty page, only a single lead smudge marring theotherwise blank paper, and Sabo sighed softly. Eraser nub ticking against thedesk, he bit his lower lip and tried to think of what else to write. He had somuch to say – about Marco, and the Whitebeards, and about the new friends he’dslowly been making, like Koala and Hack and even the standoffish, arrogant Law,but it’d been so long since he sat down to write Ace a letter that the wordsseemed to have vanished.

Hi Ace, heread, as though the greeting would organise what he wanted to say intoneat lines for him to write. He heaved another sigh, resting his chin in hispalm. Casting his eyes up to the window above his desk he watched as theburning dusk faded into twilight blue and the stars began to shine, silverglints of light that were mirrored by the compound’s lanterns flaring to life.The gleamed against the darkness and Sabo couldn’t help but be reminded ofAce’s fire. How it glowed beneath his skin, lighting him bright red in fury orembarrassment or glorious gold in his joy. Sometimes Sabo couldn’t help butwish – but hope – that Ace was still burning, somewhere out there. In the sky,with the stars-

Hecouldn’t help but selfishly hope that Ace had given part of his fire to Sabo’sheart, to burn within him.

Sabogrowled, burying his face in his hands to try and stop the subtle sting formingin his eyes. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that so many simple things couldremind him of Ace, that undeniable frustration at his uselessness still restedheavy in his every thought, that the feelings he wanted to put to paper wereimpossible to articulate.

Thesharp tip of his pencil cracked as he pressed it into the paper, and the threewords he wrote turned from his usual neat cursive into a jagged scrawl.

I miss you.

END:

-Marco thinks that ouranniversary is the battle, but I don’t like it there. Besides, having ouranniversary on your birthday? You’d expect double gifts, and we can’t havethat.

Sabo’slips quirked into a bitter smile, his eyes drawn up to the small gift stillwrapped on his desk, bow deflated from his constant touches but nonethelessstill stubbornly holding onto the silver wrapping. He’d never had a chance togive Ace his birthday gift, and was sure that Ace wouldn’t have expected it.Would he have even been given gifts, when he’d been kept on the candle wick? Orwould the gift have been an extra moment of freedom, so painfully perfect in its rarity?

Pullinghis hair away from his face, Sabo gently bit his lip and scanned what he’dalready written, trying to figure out what else to say. His fringe curled infront of his eyes when he took up his pen again, but he barely paid attentionto the soft brush of hair against his scar tissue. Two years of having them hadgotten him used to his limited vision and things in front of his face that hecouldn’t see.

He’d never seen Ace’sflustered thoughts, nor known what each fleeting touch had meant until it had beenfar too late, and couldn’t help but wonder just how blind he’d been back then.

Did I tell you thatMarco finally stopped being chickenshit and used the word ‘boyfriend’? I feellike that counts more as our anniversary than the battle, especially consideringI wasn’t much better about speaking up about “feelings” after you left. Twomonths of not talking over the topic because one third of the topic up and-

It’s pretty stupid ofus, huh?

I mean, you werepretty fucking stupid when you-

Sabocrossed out the last few words with two strokes of thick black ink, his teethgrit in a way that made his head pound.

Regardless, everythingis going fine, now. I’m sure you’d be happy to know that Marco and I havegotten past awkwardly refusing to admit to holding hands and have nowprogressed to awkwardly kissing each other on the cheek (and then refusing toadmit to it, of course. Got to keep consistency). You’d think that as someoneso attention-starved I’d be better at this, but it always feels…not wrong, persay, but, like something is missing because you’re not here.

You’re a dick forthat, Ace.

Anyway, this will bemy last letter for a while. I’m sorry it’s short, but I’m already running late;Koala and I are set to sail with the afternoon tide, for Flevance, and Marco isgoing troll hunting. Whitebeard heard there was trouble with the gnomes in thefar north mountains, so he’s going to check them out and I want to say goodbyebefore we part ways.

As always;

With love, Sabo.

#marcoacesabo #ask meme #tag games #wip meme #wip list #12freddofrogs #ask aussie #bip bop nari drops #I feel like I should have put a limit on what I'd post in the whole 'snippet' section pft #I have NO!!!! self control!!!!#maracebo

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falseroar · 5 years

Text

Dark Laughter Part 8: Studio Time

((Here are links to Part 7: Just Be Happy and the start of the series, Part 1: What Dark Saw. Hey look, no warnings this time!))

The studio space that the egos used was, much like the rest of their home, not quite right with reality. Every time it was used it seemed just that little bit different, whether because the ceiling was slightly higher one day than the next or the segmented walls weren’t guaranteed to be in the same place every time the studio was used. Considering the wildly different uses the egos put the area to, there were props and flimsy backgrounds littering the floor everywhere outside of the relatively small space that was actually used for filming.

It also didn’t help that keeping a steady crew outside of the egos themselves was nearly impossible, as the guests weren’t the only ones lucky to survive even one segment. Right now, aside from the four egos standing around the cameras, the only other normal person was a man attending to the monitors where an earlier recording of Bim’s game show was playing.

“Wilford, why did you drag me here?” Dark asked, noticing that the Google standing among the other egos had already spotted him and was attempting to give him a warning glare. Dark returned it with interest and a silent promise to make the android regret any hasty words this time.

The glare was somewhat ruined when Wilford threw one arm around his shoulders and patted Dark’s cheek with his other hand. “I think it’s time to put you in front of the camera again! The fans have been asking for it, and this face deserves to be on the screen!”

Wilford shook his hand after the pat to dispel some of the cold seeping from Dark’s aura as he scowled. Behind him, the row of monitors began to flicker with static and ghost images while the intern pulled off his headphones and threw them as far away as possible.

“Or behind the camera is good too. Can never get enough help these days, and yes, Jerry, I’m talking about you. Tell your wife I said hi!”

Wilford ducked to avoid the mike that sailed through the space where his head had been a second ago and added to Dark as if nothing just happened, “But you want to get in the in, on the up and up, am I right? Here’s where we start.”

Wilford winked and strode across the studio floor toward the four egos.

“Good evening, everyone! Are we ready to start?”

“If you mean start my show, then yes,” Bim said, straightening his tie as he watched Wilford approach. “I have the studio for the day, and we still need to go two more rounds. Isn’t that right, my lovely contestants?”

“Uh, they all, uh, made a run for it,” Eric said from his place offstage and away from the cameras even though they were clearly not on. “During the break. The crew too. Jerry, um, he was the last one but I guess he’s gone now? Not that, uh, that’s Mr. Warfstache’s fault or anything, I’m sure he…had other things to do…”

Yandereplier hissed under their breath and said, “Yeah, kind of hard to finish the game without the players. Sorry, Bim.”

Yandereplier shrugged and the red-shirted Google appeared to be unable to care any less than he already did, but Eric seemed to make a determined effort to appear even smaller than his usual cowering. Bim’s anger, however, had only one target in mind as his eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

“Why do you do this every time?! Can’t you let me finish one segment without you butting your giant pink mustache into it?”

“Well, I don’t see how all that was my fault,” Wilford said, not backing down as Bim stormed up to him. “I’ve warned you about locking those doors, but you’re always so surprised when people run away because they ‘want to live’ or whatever. Why do you even bother with these game shows, anyways? Oh, whoop de do, ‘I’m the next Alex Trebek’ or whoever the kids are watching these days. Why don’t you ever change it up a little? Have some fun?”

Bim swelled up and gripped the lapels of his jacket as he gave Wilford the hard stare. “How dare you! Alex Trebek is a national treasure!”

“I’m…not sure that’s what you should be taking offense to,” Dark said as he approached. “And I also recall that you made an attempt to host your own game show, Wilford. What exactly did you have in mind here?”

“Hm…” Wilford paused to consider, long enough to confirm to everyone present he had no clue, before he said, “Oh, I know, how about an interview! Haven’t done one of those in a while.”

“And you’re not doing one while it’s still my studio time,” Bim said.

“Besides, how exactly is doing the thing you’ve always done changing it up?” Yandere asked, but both hosts ignored them.

“I’ll have to get my interviewing knife,” Wilford murmured to himself, patting down his thighs as he spoke. “How embarrassing, to be caught out with only my shooty and no stabbys.”

“Yan, go dig out some costumes, Eric, put on a wig, and Google, find some egos with nothing better to do, we’re finishing this show!”

“…Can I be the contestant that doesn’t have to go through the grinder?” Eric asked.

“Grinder?” Dark repeated.

“Only if you get your questions right!” Bim answered, playfully slapping the younger ego on the back. “…And get lucky with the Wheel of Wow.”

“No one is going through any grinder,” Dark said.

“Because we’re going to need to set up for the interview,” Wilford added. “Eric, find my chairs, Google, set the lighting, Yan, keep being beautiful, you. Oh, who should our guest be? I hear there’s a kid named Sally Face who’s got some wild stories to tell, we just need to get past the guards and—”

“Uh, no, we’re going to finish the game! You can’t just leave the grinder waiting!”

“…I rather think we can,” Dark muttered, noting to himself that this is exactly why almost no one else in the house ever got presents from Santa. He reached out and grabbed Eric’s shoulder while he waffled back and forth on who to listen to and said, “Just give it a minute.”

“I, uh—” Eric flinched as both Wilford and Bim threw out conflicting orders on what he should be doing as their argument escalated, starting with reasonable requests such as to get one of the others and going on to tearing down the set, finding a prison guard’s uniform, and turning on the “fighting music,” whatever that was. “Should we do something?”

“Nah,” Yandere said as they pulled out their phone to check some messages. “This happens all the time. Just let ‘em vent, right Google?”

“To save on memory and data usage, this unit ignores orders until the fighting stops,” Google answered, watching as Bim reached his arm up and around, trying to get a hold of Wilford’s mustache from the half nelson hold Wilford had him locked in. “Longest recorded time was 4 hours, 37 minutes, and 3 seconds.”

“Only because you stopped counting during the great pineapple on pizza debate because you said it was stupid,” Yandere pointed out. “That lasted, like, weeks.”

“Yes. We completed several tasks while you lesser beings were occupied arguing the merits of frivolous and ultimately meaningless energy consumption,” Google said, smiling to himself. “It was a good time.”

As entertaining as this was, Dark didn’t feel like waiting to see if these two would break that record. “That is enough. Wilford, enough!”

He hauled on both of them, pulling them up to their feet and using his aura to separate the two long enough for Wilford to fix his suspenders and Bim to run a hand over some flyaway hairs.

“Neither of you are going to be recording anything,” Dark said, and interrupted them before either could protest. “Bim, you have no crew, no contestants, and you might as well just try to salvage what you can from what you’ve already recorded at this point or start over. Wilford, you don’t even have a guest, much less any prepared questions, and again, no film crew.”

“Pft, who needs preparation?” Wilford asked.

“Weren’t you just saying you wanted to try and work on scripts a few minutes ago?” Dark asked.

“But this is my studio time, I don’t want to just waste it.” Bim scowled. “Who even asked you, anyways?”

“I could let Wilford put you back into a headlock,” Dark offered. “There’s enough cameras around here, maybe we could film that and post it instead.”

“I mean, I got most of it on my phone already,” Yandere chimed in. “But if you want to keep going, we could get some sweet angles, maybe get some props to beat each other with. Google, you can handle music, right?”

“I have access to a wide variety of music which may be suitable for this situation,” Google said. His eyes blanked for a moment and then he added, “Would you prefer heavy metal or banjo?”

“Banjo!” Wilford answered, cracking his knuckles.

Bim paused to consider and said, “You know, if you wanted another pair of eyes on those scripts, I’m sure we can come up with something…A little less harmful to my health?”

Wilford’s mustache tilted as his mouth twisted underneath it and he stroked his chin. “A crossover, you say? A little something to keep the fans guessing?”

Bim couldn’t hide his relief that Wilford was already moving on to another idea, but that meant he now had to follow up. After a moment of struggle, his eyes lit up. “You know, these ninja warrior, ultimate champion obstacle course type shows are fairly popular these days.”

“Obstacles?” Wilford grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Pits. Pendulums. Possibilities.”

“I know where we can get some chiranhas who are ready for some fresh me—er, fun.”

“Bim, my buddy, I think it may be time to move outside of this studio and really get our hands dirty,” Wilford said, throwing an arm around the ego’s shoulders. “Tell me more about these chiranhas.”

Dark watched the two of them start throwing ideas back and forth and admitted aloud, “I may have just unleashed a great evil upon this world.”

“Eh, it’s Tuesday. Bound to happen eventually,” Yandere said with a shrug. “You should see what I got up to in the Occult Club last week.”

“Remember, don’t make any deals with demons without letting me vet them first,” Dark said out of reflex and Yandere snorted. He noticed that Google was still giving him the glare and asked, “What? What problem could you possibly have with me right now?”

“It is my directive to keep an eye on you when in the same vicinity in case you revert to previous modes of behavior,” Google answered. “That same directive warns against behavior designed to curry favor or increased familiarity in an attempt to regain your previous station within the house.”

“For how long?” Dark asked. After all, he could wait. He had been patient before, he could do it again.

“Unspecified.” Google turned his head at a call from Bim and walked away without waiting for Dark’s response. Probably a good thing, as Dark wanted nothing more right then than to rewrite the android’s “directive” in a…manual kind of way.

Before long, Wilford and Bim were drawing out plans across the studio floor with Google running numbers and Yandere throwing in the occasional suggestion. Eric watched from a distance, “um”-ing and attempting once or twice to suggest that some of their ideas might be a little too lethal, but to no avail.

They were so wrapped up in their plans that some time passed before Wilford looked up and then around the studio before asking, “Say, where did that Dark go? He should be helping us!”

“Disagreed,” Bim said. “Do you think a second flamethrower would be too obvious?”

“He left a while ago,” Eric said and looked away when Wilford gave him a sharp look. “I guess he, uh, had something he needed to say to Y/N? Only they walked by the door and he practically ran after them.”

“Logical error noted,” Google said and grunted when Wilford pushed past him and ran out of the studio.

“Yeah, like that,” Eric said weakly. “Is…is something wrong, do you think?”

“Eric Derekson’s statement is incorrect,” Google continued, scowling a little as he rubbed at the spot where Wilford’s hand hit him. “Y/N is currently in the infirmary with another Google unit, and they have not left the room since they arrived two hours ago.”

“Well, it looked like them,” Eric said, frowning.

“Maybe you just wanted to see them,” Yandere said. “I see my Senpai in all kinds of places. In the clouds. In my tea leaves. In the monitor connected to the secret camera I set up in his bedroom.”

“…What?”

Bim sighed at the flurry of notes and stood up, dusting off his pants as he checked his watch. “Is it that late? We’re going to be late for dinner, and I have a feeling Wilford won’t be coming back anytime soon from wherever he’s run off to. Come on, if we’re too late, Chef Iplier will rope us into helping wash the dishes.”

“Ugh, I had prune hands forever after last time,” Yandere said, leading the way to the studio door.

But Google beat them all to it and slammed the door shut before locking it on the inside.

“Uh, what’s the deal there, Googs?” Bim asked.

The ‘G’ glowed on his red shirt, but the android’s eyes were vacant as he spoke as if reading off from an internal memo.

“Lockdown has been initiated. No one is to leave their current area, and no one is to go anywhere alone or unsupervised. All egos are to remain in place for their own safety.”

---

Dark swore as he rounded the corner and found yet another empty hallway. He had seen you just feet ahead seconds ago, but there was no sign of anyone as he continued on, checking every door he walked past as if you had enough time to duck inside before he could catch up. Rain lashed against the windows and he realized that, at some point while he was in the studio, a storm had blown in. Right, the King of the Squirrels had said something about it earlier, hadn’t he? But now the wind shook the house as Dark made his way from room to room before stopping outside of one door in particular.

He knocked, but no answer came from inside your bedroom.

After a pause, he opened the door and peered inside. The room was dark and clearly empty, but he still turned on the light and walked in.

Your bed was undisturbed (how long had you been staying with Mark this time?) and there was nothing obviously out of place as Dark made his way to the closet door and checked inside, just to be on the safe side. A flash of lightning outside the house briefly added to the light in the room and Dark stared down at the empty closet floor.

Where did you hide, when you were at Mark’s house? Was the closet in your room there enough to block out the lightning and thunder and the memories they brought with them?

Dark shut the closet door a little harder than necessary, causing one of the pictures pinned to the board on the wall nearby to flutter. He paused, taking in the series of photographs of you with the other egos, and Mark, and the other friends you had made in the time since you came here. Below the board, a strange stuffed animal sat on top of the dresser, its wide eyes meeting Dark’s. Its species was a complete and total guess, although for some reason Dark hovered between duck or lion.

In its lap was a dried rose petal. It had faded since the time Dark gave the rose to you, the almost black hue more clearly a dark blue that tinted toward red on the outer layer. And, for some reason, there was a trace of green running straight through it.

Dark frowned at the sight of that third color and reached for the petal, but realized he had no time to think about that as thunder shook the house.

“Wilford,” he muttered and turned toward the door.

Only to stop short when he clearly heard a knocking sound, but not from the direction of either door. Following the persistent sound of the knock, Dark turned around and saw the mirror hanging beside your bed, and the figure standing there.

It looked like you, but when Dark met the eyes of the person in the mirror, there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind who he was looking at.

The sound might have been inaudible through the glass, but their response was clear when the District Attorney saw they had his full, undivided attention:

“Finally.”

((End of Part 8. Thank you for reading! “Pits, Pendulums, Possibilities”... probably won’t be coming to a channel near you, for so many legal reasons.

And here’s a link to the next part, Part 9: Storm Warning.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @purpstraw @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate ))

#markiplier #fanfic #darkiplier #wilford warfstache #bim trimmer #googliplier #eric derekson #yandereplier #wkm district attorney #dark laughter #The storm is finally here #It's time to face your fear #Mirror mirror on the wall #Do you really think you can save them all?

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officialleehadan · 6 years

Text

The Regency

Brandon followed Razz through the hotel until they came to the presidential suit. The magnificent hotel housed celebrities and politicians, and anyone rich enough to pay for truly staggering luxury.

“Pretty posh,” he commented uncomfortably. The only people in suits in this hotel were staff, and bodyguards. They stuck out like a sore thumb. “Is there a reason they insisted on this hotel?”

“Have you ever tried to put a touchy group of off-duty expensive mercenaries into something sub-par?” Razz sked with a wry chuckle that was a little too knowing.. “Blaec is not okay with having anybody higher up than him. Not Happy on a dragon is also Not Subtle.”

“I’ll remember that,” Brandon said for lack of anything better. It didn’t take much imagination to realize just how much trouble an angry dragon could be.

Razz swiped his keycard through the lock and pushed open the door before stopping Brandon with a hand on his shoulder. Brandon froze, used to senior agents and the kind of caution they lived by when they were working with dangerous contacts. If half of the stories Razz told him about this group were true, these were the most dangerous people on the playing field.

“Where’s Xaenxa?” Razz called into the room, voice cheerful and eyes wary as he peered into the suit. He didn’t step through the door. “Anyone got eyes-on?”

“Living room.” answered the sweet female voice that Brandon remembered from the desert. Evelene Petros. “I have eyes-on. Come in.”

“Spoil my fun,” pouted another woman, voice husky and rich with seduction. Brandon could hear the edge of good humor under her whine and wondered what it was all about. Razz certainly wasn’t taking any chances.

Two women were seated across from each other and couldn’t be more different.

Evalene lounged under the window with her bare feet tucked under her. She wore a yellow dress that fell demurely to her calves and a white sweater wrapped around her shoulders against the chill of the air conditioning.

“Hello Razz,” she greeted them cheerfully when they walked in. She was in the process of getting her long hair under control, with limited success. “Did you have any difficulty with the traffic?”

“None at all,” Razz told her cheerfully. “Where’s your meaner half?”

“In the shower. If I hadn’t known you were on your way I might have joined him.”

“Sunshine over there thought I might do something dreadful if I was left unsupervised,” the other woman purred, tossing her silver-white hair back over her shoulder. She was draped languidly across the counter, cheerfully disregarding the dozen chairs and couches nearby. Her silver dress was made of something silky and came halfway down her thighs, just a breath above scandalous. Towering stiletto heels matched the dress exactly and looked like liquid metal. “What the world comes to, that a companion is so distrustful.”

Razz had briefed him, but his explanation fell short of the sight of a half-naked dark elf smiling at him with promise in her eyes. She didn’t bother to introduce herself, but she didn’t have to. This was Xaenxele Draugr. Notorious assassin and sniper, and renowned loose canon. The Agency had a file on her that filled four cabinets.

“You can’t be trusted not to kill them, Xaenxa.”

The speaker was a broad-shouldered man with white-blonde hair that hung in his eyes. His voice carried a trace of his native Russia.

“Hello Rhys.” Razz waved. “Brandon, this is Rhys Titov.”

Before Brandon could do more than proffer his hand to the newcomer, Xaenxa whipped a pistol off the counter beside her and shot the man between the eyes. Blood sprayed across the wall behind him, and he was dead before he hit the floor.

“Holy shit!”

“Don’t.” Razz said sharply, and blocked Brandon’s reflexive grab for his own weapon. He held Brandon’s wrist tightly to keep him from pulling away. “I told you this team was unusual.”

“This is a little more than unusual!”

“Xaenxa is allowed to kill Rhys when she feels like it. He doesn’t mind.”

“Who ‘doesn’t mind’ being murdered!?”

Half of the back of Rhys’ head was missing and some part of Brandon’s mind was wondering what the hell kind of gun the dark elf had. It was a hand-canon and a half, and she managed it like it was maid of air.

“Rhys is complicated,” Razz told him, and kept a cautionary hand around Brandon’s wrist. “Look. It’s already starting.”

Brandon did not want to look at the body on the floor. It wasn’t the first time he had seen someone shot, but it was never nice. When he forced his eyes down, his mouth dropped open.

Fire sparked along Rhys’ fingertips, and in his hair, crackling softly. In moments, it was a towering inferno that consumed even the blood-spots on the wall.

In seconds the body had vanished, and all that remained was a ball of flame hovering just above the floor. Somehow the blaze didn’t seem to be touching the wood floor, even though Brandon could feel the heat from it on his face.

Another moment, and the fire was gone, leaving Rhys as whole as he was when he walked in the room.

“I do not care how funny you think it is to shoot me,” he grumbled uncomfortably as he climbed to his feet. “It gets boring. Think of a more interesting way to go about it, da?”

Xaenxa was giggling with a slightly maniacal expression across her beautiful face. Her silver-painted lips curled at the edges and looked like nothing so much as a trap

“I won’t shoot you next time. I promise.”

“You just had to shoot me in front of the new guy, eh?”

“Better that he see it now than be startled later.”

“What the hell?” Brandon said, now officially sure he was out of his depth as he conveniently forgot the sight of a dragon rising out of the sand only a week earlier. “No, really. What the hell?”

“I am firebird,” Rhys said and shrugged, and took a seat with no indication of discomfort. Even his clothing was undamaged from the sudden shooting and the blaze immediately after. “Xaenxa would like to sacrifice me to her goddess, but she has to figure out how to kill me permanently first. Until then, I remain immune to Death’s stabby ways.”

“Don’t blaspheme,” The dark elf scolded. She balled up a napkin and threw it at him and he laughed at her “She is always listening, and even you will answer to Her someday.”

“I do not worship her,” he protested as he rolled his eyes. “Unless you manage to sacrifice me, I will not meet Her, will I?”

“I am going to leave something toxic in your bed.”

“Again? I’m terrified. You know, you sleep there too.”

“I do not mind toxic things.”

“Is this normal?” Brandon asked tentatively, feeling rather abruptly unequal to this particular task. He was human. What could he do about these people who were so clearly not? “How much of this should I be worried about?”

“As normal as their twisted little love story gets.”

The new arrival came in through the front door, and raised a hand in greeting. At first glance, he seemed more ordinary than any of the others. His red hair was tied in a tail of small braids that ended in metal beads and his beard was trimmed neatly. He was heavily muscled, but when he stood he barely came to Brandon’s chin. “Thori Jorensson. You’d be Brandon, aye? Blaec told me about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Brandon said weakly, trying not to listen to the argument the two were having. Something about experimental poisons. He did not want to know.”

“Don’t pay any attention to them. They’re always like this.” Thori said casually as he took a chair well out of Xaenxa’s reach. “Blaec will shut them up as soon as he gets here.”

“So, uh, she’s a dark elf, he’s a phoenix-“

“Firebird. phoenixes are Asian and they’re something different.” Razz corrected.

“Right, firebird.” Brandon accepted with a shaky nod. “But what about you?”

“I’m a half-dwarf.” Thori said easily, and now that Brandon looked, it was obvious. “And you’ve met Evalene and Blaec already.”

“He has, though he hasn’t seen my mate in his human form, nor me with my fins.” Evalene said as she shifted on her couch. She largely ignored the other two, and shoved a ling pin through her hair to keep it off her neck. “Speak of the devil. Hello my love.”

Brandon turned, not sure what to expect. The last time he had seen the dragon, Blaec had a hundred-yard wingspan. Whatever was in his mind, the tall, tawny-skinned Goth that strode through the door was not it.

Brandon had no idea how the dragon had gotten leather pants on over wet skin, but he had managed somehow. Paired with a black tee shirt with a leather vest over, he looked like he belonged in a smoke-filled nightclub. His thick black hair was loose, wet, and steamed slightly as it dried. Subject to the dragon’s too-hot skin, no doubt.

The only thing recognizable from that terrifying day out in the desert was the dragon’s eyes. Still yellow-gold and slitted. Those dangerous eyes softened at the sight of his wife and he accepted a kiss from her with a small smile.

“I see you’ve survived introductions,” Blaec said with a smirk that showed a flash of fang. “Did Xaenxa try to knife you yet?”

Xaenxa drifted over and wrapped her arms around the dragon’s shoulders intimately. Brandon had a moment of stunned amazement at her boldness.

“You told me I wasn’t allowed,” She reminded him, backing away when he rumbled lowly at her. Clearly she understood when she was outclassed and didn’t care to try her luck any farther.

“You’ve killed against my word often enough,” he commented as he pulled his wife close possessively. “But leave this one alone. We don’t enjoy breaking you out of wherever they try to lock you up.”

“Or cleaning up the wreckage you invariably create before we get there.”

Rhys came over. He didn’t protest when the black-skinned elf sidled up to him and smiled sweetly enough to set Brandon’s teeth on edge.

He wasn’t sure how the firebird put up with his murderous teammate. Being killed all the time couldn’t be enjoyable. Still, if she was busy with him, the others were probably safe from her. Rhys did seem to be fairly blasé about Xaenxa and her plot to sacrifice him.

“I enjoy carnage.” The beautiful dark elf murmured gleefully. It took all of Brandon’s control not to take a step back from her. Razz seemed unconcerned, and Brandon wasn’t quite sure what that meant for him. Maybe he was just used to it.

“We know.” Rhys muttered. “I still haven’t gotten the blood out of my suit.”

“I only stabbed you a small bit.”

“Enough.”

Blaec again proved his position as the leader of the motley crew by silencing them all with a firm command. “We have a job to do. Sit and listen.”

With only a few comments, the difficult mercenaries settled themselves around the room. Blaec took over his wife’s couch, and didn’t complain when she sat comfortably in his lap.

When the others were settled, Razz stood and pulled a stack of folders out of his briefcase.

“You all know about my position with the US government and the International Magical Defense Alliance.” Razz started as he passed out the folders. Brandon already had his own, and the huge,printout map of the attacks. “And while I’ve made my opinion about calling you five in known, sometimes we do need you.”

“So who do you need killed?” Xaenxele asked curiously. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and into the cluster of silver pearls in her hair. Brandon tried not to think too hard about it when the pearls skittered over her fingers and kept the fine strands in place. “You rarely call us unless the situation is dire indeed.”

“We’re not sure if we need someone dead, but there’s a good chance we do,” he spoke up, mostly addressing Blaec. “That’s part of why I’m here. I’m your official liaison with the IMDA.”

Razz was still snickering at him for it. He was junior agent. He wasn’t supposed to be running anything. He was supposed to be driving a desk and looking for patterns in information.

“We do not need a liaison.” Blaec growled. His gaze fixed on Brandon, who really would have preferred to sink though the floor rather than meet the dragon’s eyes.

“Yeah, you do.” Razz told him firmly. If he was intimidated by the dragon’s stare, he didn’t show it. “Brandon is also in charge of getting you any and all the gear you need for this Op.”

Brandon passed folders of equipment around to the group. It took more courage than he liked to get within Xaenxa’s kill-range, but she was curled, catlike, in Rhys’ lap, and hopefully wasn’t going to stab him without warning. “Let me know what you think you’ll need. Razz and I authorize any requests you have.”

“I’ll decide what’s reasonable after this meeting.” Razz said, eyes on Rhys, who smiled unrepentantly, and Thori, who Brandon hadn’t expected to be wearing the grin he was. “Thori, you’re not getting a tank, and I’m limiting you to one crate of grenades.”

Thori just laughed. “Are you sure? We needed them last time.”

“Our sources tell us that there has been some major magical power coalescing on the Canadian-US border.,” Razz continued pointedly as if he hadn’t interrupted himself. “We’re not sure what is causing it, but the result is an influx of undead.”

“By ‘influx’ I’m assuming you mean more than the normal ghouls and zombies,” Evalene murmured thoughtfully, and trailed her fingers over the pulse in her husband’s wrist.

“Much more.”

He could handle zombies. Undead weren’t usually a concern unless they gathered into a Hoard, and then they became a possible apocalypse if they weren’t contained. “We’ve had nearly a hundred more in the last two months than we’re supposed to have this time of year. When All-Hallows comes- we’re already swamped. A surge would completely overwhelm anything we could possibly keep hidden.”

Even Xaenxa looked alarmed by that news and Brandon realized that most of this team had probably lived through the last great Hoard that carved a bloody path through South America. Some of them might even have been there for the one in Russia two centuries earlier.

“Someone is raising them,” Rhys said after examining the map carefully. “A few here and there rise by themselves, and the vampires take care of their own, but true undead have to be raised to appear in numbers.

“Evalene and I were on the line against the Hoard in Russia, and in Brazil,” Blaec said grimly, sharing a nod with Rhys, who had been there too. “I had to take my true form in Russia. You humans managed the one in Brazil well enough without me.”

“I fought in Brazil,” Razz nodded, although Brandon hadn’t known about that. “Our only saving grace was that we caught the Hoard in the jungle before it could hit any of the large cities.”

“Russia was bad,” Rhys offered, eyes dark with memories. “We barely stopped them. If that happens on the border between Canada and the States, the body-count will go higher than ever before.”

“Give me a few minutes to make some calls,” Xaenxa murmured, already texting furiously on her phone. Brandon was surprised she even cared. He thought she would have encouraged the wonton destruction. He opened his mouth to ask, and stumbled over the words.

It didn’t seem wise to offend a volatile dark elf, and he wasn’t like Rhys. If he got shot, he would die.

“Her Mistress is the Queen of the Dead. It is terrible insult to Her to take what belongs to Her,” Rhys answered Brandon’s unspoken question. Xaenxa looked up. Her blue eyes were burning with fury.

“Raising the dead is forbidden by my Goddess without divine permission,” she hissed furiously, and curled her fingers around her giant gun. “The dead are Hers. Raising without her explicit permission is the darkest of blasphemies.”

Unexpectedly moral for a dark elf, but Brandon was glad she was on their side.

“It will be more than one necromancer. Probably a cult,” Thori said thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair and fingering his beard-beads. “Unless there’s a god involved, anyway. No necromancer can summon so many alone.”

“We will have to kill the core group at least,” Blaec thought out loud. “And we’ll have to find where they’re getting so many bodies.”

“They’re importing, and they’re digging up the native burial grounds,” Xaenxele cut in, never looking up from her phone, which chimed with replies every few moments. “Only way to get so many bodies so fast without killing them yourself or a convenient plague. None of my contacts have heard about a new necromancer cult, but none of them have looked for one either.”

“Time to start looking,” Rhys said quietly. “I’ll call around when we’re done. None of my contacts text.”

“Part of the ‘anything’ you can have from us is any information we might have that you want for this operation,” Brandon told them quickly. “Just tell us what to look for and we’ll give you everything we have on it.”

“They’ll need power on top of the bodies. Murder sites will have energy they can use that no self-respecting magicker would touch,” Rhys said, glancing at Blaec and getting a nod back from the dragon. “Most magic users can’t even see it, and many that do avoid it, which narrows the list of possible culprits considerably.”

Razz was taking careful notes.

“Bodies, power, and a base of operations. How many Necros are we talking here?” he asked, writing as fast as he could in his usual illegible scrawl.

“A minimum of seven fully trained. More likely we’re dealing with a group of eleven or thirteen and all of their apprentices,” Blaec muttered, eyes distant as he did calculations in his head. “They like prime numbers.”

“In Brazil there were thirteen,” Evalene contributed. “In Russia, twenty-seven. They were building on the Cholera epidemic there. It was a perfect breeding ground for the Hoard and their cult-leader was a full-blood demon. Demons complicate things.”

The Russia hoard swept through in autumn of 1861, when the undead lasted longest outside. Records in the eighteen-hundreds weren’t great, and the Hoard was defeated before spring the next year. Now Brandon knew why there had been huge swaths of burned and blasted ground mentioned in the records.

Dragonfire left lasting scars.

There was another try to create a Hoard during World War Two, but the Alliance had managed to keep the Necromancer cults distracted enough to derail the attempt. Fortunately, Necromancers tended to be insane and were prone to killing each other off more often than they worked together.

“I’m surprised they’re building a Hoard on this border,” Thori said, leaning back in his chair. “I have kin in that part of Ontario. It’s plenty big enough to hide whatever you like, but there aren’t the body cashes that you can find in Europe. Even down South in the States there are more.”

Xaenxa looked through her packet and came up with a copy of Brandon’s map. “They’re raising skeletons, not fresh bodies. Easier to import, and harder to kill.”

“The Russian hoard was zombies.” Rhys said, and furrowed his brow as he tried to remember. “So was Brazil.”

“So was Bulgaria. Egypt was skeletons.” Blaec said, a distant look in his eyes that spoke of many, many ages long past. “But there are few records of Bulgaria and none of Egypt. The fire in Alexandria saw to that.”

Brandon didn’t know there even had been a Hoard in Bulgaria, and couldn’t quite keep his mouth under control.

“Bulgaria?”

“The remnants of the Impaler’s namesake battle. One of his foes raised twenty-thousand dead Turks in a single night. The vampire covens handled it, but it was one of the greatest battles in their history,” Blaec supplied, surprisingly willing to give a brief history lesson. “We were in China at the time, but a friend of ours was there.”

“I was in the Congo at the time.” Rhys offered wryly as Xaenxa wiggled in his lap and continued texting furiously. “The magic there is old, and less refined. The witch-doctors don’t like to work together. Egypt is scary. Egypt has mummies.”

“Mummies are a different matter entirely.” Blaec grumbled, and gave a shrug that was remarkably reminiscent of wings. “That magic is nearly as old as I am, and powerful. Fortunately the Pharaohs cannot leave their tombs for long lest their power fade back to sand.”

“Thank everything Holy for that.” Razz said with real fervor. “I think you and Rhys the only people I know who can kill a mummy when one turns into a problem.”

“I didn’t know mummies were real.” Brandon said hesitantly. It seemed like today was the day to turn his world upside down and give it a good shake. He was staring to feel very young, compared to the others here.

“Real, and deadly.” Thori told him frankly. “They guard their tombs. Those big stone sarcophagi they’re buried in? Those aren’t to keep people out, they’re to keep the mummy in. The more ornate the tomb, the stronger the mummy.”

“When a mummy rises, it is always because the tomb has been disturbed.” Evalene said sadly. If she was as old as Brandon thought, she might even have known a few of those ancient kings before they died. “The older the mummy, the harder it is to kill. They’re intelligent, incredibly strong, and they have a great deal of magic.”

“Smart undead?” Brandon felt a curl of terror in his heart at the thought. The only saving grace with zombies and skeletons was that they weren’t that smart. “Smart undead with magic?”

He would be having nightmares about that.

“Very much so. They are the kings of old, and they have had a long time to learn their way around the world.” Xaenxa told him. She seemed less bothered by the mummies than she was by the necromancers, and he wondered why. Maybe it was a religious thing. “When they rise, it is best to stay away from them, or entomb them once more if you can. Nothing else will stop them save death.”

“Usually it takes burning one to powdery ash to kill it.” Rhys explained. He held out a hand and let flames play across his fingers. “Blaec can kill them because he’s actually harder to kill than they are, and I can do it because I can’t die. A human would be better off with military-grade saturation bombing.”

“I ate one once. They don’t taste like much.” Blaec commented wryly with a smile that hinted at a much, much longer story. His wife rolled her eyes.

“He complained about it for months.” She told them with a rueful smile and a kiss to her husband’s cheek. He snickered into her golden hair. “Speaking of food, I admit, I’m getting hungry.”

“Oh let’s go out.” Xaenxa purred, draping her arms over Rhys. “I promise, I’ll be so very very good. I will not stab a single person.”

“You will not harm, nor kill, any living human on this night,” Blaec corrected her, and held her gaze until she huffed and dropped her eyes to the floor. “Come. It has been long since we were in Los Angeles, but I still remember my way around.”

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HGE - Mismatched

Death Valley Sand

The Regency

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