#i’m gonna lump em in with ‘the good ones’’

[cicadaknight]

horizon drinking game where you take a shot of scappersap every time someone refers to a carjan as “one of the good ones”

[ervotica]

brat taming maybe with like dark!rafe???

pairing; rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings; dark(ish?), dub-con if you squint but no smut, public punishment, spanking, dom!rafe, brat tamer!rafe

a/n; not a clue what this is tbh but trying to get back in the swing of writing for my fav boy <3 rafe requests and concept discussions are open as always! i always wanna talk abt this boy <3

“Are you gonna fuckin’ quit it or am I gonna have to beat the attitude out of you, kid?”

You gurgle nonsensically when his thick fingers curl around your ribcage to pull you into his chest, thrashing weakly as the flat of his hand taps against your cheek to sober you. Goosebumps raise on your arms and legs— partially from the night breeze, mostly from Rafe’s cruel touch.

“Rafe,” you purl, voice rising three octaves and swollen lips parting into a silent gasp when a resounding crack permeates the chatter of the party. Your cheeks are aflame, a nasty welt already rising on the soft skin with the distinct shape of a hand. You crinkle your nose indignantly, pushing at his firm chest even as you go soft and pliant in his grasp.

“Wanna try that again?” he snarks, clamping your jaw between his digits to anchor your gaze to his own. “Quit it.”

“You’re a prick,” you hiss, your temper flaring. He rolls his neck, eyes fluttering as he groans.

“Okay, kid.” He slaps you again and your eyes burn, glossing over with tears. “Just remember you did this to yourself, yeah?”

Dewiness clings to your neck as he backs you against the nearest wall, indifferent to the stares of the other partygoers that crowd the vast yard. His head dips until his brow touches yours.

“Turn around.”

“Not here, Rafe,” you breathe, that bravado you had disappearing at his insinuation— to spank you raw in front of everyone. “Can’t we go somewhere else?”

“No, we can’t,” he mocks your whining cadence. “Turn round before I fuckin’ make you.”

You squeal when his fingers press indents into the fat of your hips and spin you, a corded forearm pushing on the back of your neck to hold your cheek against the wall.

“Count.”

“Rafe, stop! ‘s embarrassing.”

His lips press to the shell of your ear. “I don’t fuckin’ care if you’re embarrassed, kid. Count ‘em, or it’ll be worse for you.”

You choke a sob against the brick that grates at your skin, no doubt rubbing it raw, wrestling with the tears that slip down your flaming cheeks as he delivers the first blow.

“O-one.”

“Attagirl,” he murmurs, granting you temporary reprieve with a kiss to the curve of your jaw.

The next three come in quick succession, and you writhe, reciting the numbers obediently through the lump in your throat.

“Five.”

“Six.”

“Seven.”

By the eighth, you’re crying in earnest, any dignity you had somehow clung to slipping through your fingers as you sniffle at him with teary eyes.

His nose nudges at your cheekbone, his breath a ghostly touch against your scrunched features.

“Two more, kid.”

You swipe spitefully at your swollen eyes, lips pushing out into a pout as you fight back another onslaught of tears.

“Hurts,” you snivel.

“‘s supposed to, dummy.” Your ass is raw and you hiss and jerk as he delivers the last two before he’s finally freeing you of his grip, watching as you smooth down your clothes and drunkenly cuss and hiccup at him. He quirks an eyebrow in a clear warning that has the words dying in your throat, features crumpling further with every second he’s not consoling you.

Your lips are swollen, face flushed and ruddy from Rafe’s rough hands; you let him hike you up by your armpits and draw you into his chest, pressing your stinging cheek to his shoulder.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Feelin’ better?”

You don’t deign to answer, needling your way further into his warm body and going boneless.

“You’re mean,” you purl, muffled through the fabric of his shirt.

“I know. I’m awful,” he concedes, smearing a kiss to the crown of your skull. Your eyelids fall shut at the tender contact, such a stark contrast to the way he’s been manhandling you.

“‘s time to go?” you ask, limply twitching in his grasp.

“Yeah. Let’s go home, kid.”

[ragingbookdragon]

She feels the warmth flooding down the front of her gear as the frigidness seems to crawl up from her fingers and toes. Her breathing labors as the man pulls her inside the crumbling building under the veil of night and cradles her against his body, her back pressed against his chest. His fingers find their way underneath her vest, and she knows she should feel pain where his fingers press against, but all she feels is a numbness.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters.

“Ghost,” she whispers breathlessly. “I’m scar—I’m scared, Ghost.”

He shakes his head a single time. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“I don’t wanna die,” she says more to herself than to him, panic setting in. “God, I don’t wanna die now. I don’t wanna—”

“You’re not dying,” Ghost growls. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“Ghost—”

“You’re gonna be fine. I’m gonna fix this. I’ll fucking fix—”

“Simon,” she stresses, shifting enough to see his face from the corner of her eye. “I’m dying.”

He swallows thickly and gazes at her for a moment before the lump returns. “Fuck, I—I’m not ready.”

“Neither am I,” she smiles, blood staining her teeth, and leans back, her temple to his chin. “Will you…will you stay with me?”

Simon presses harder against her, cursing the tears that sting his eyes. “Yeah, love, I’ll stay.”

She settles then, flightiness stilling in her veins as she relaxes against him. “This isn’t how I imagined going.”

He doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t want to hear all the fanciful bullshit she’s about to spew about how they grow old and gray, but Simon also knows he’d rather hear her voice all he can before he can never hear it again unless it’s through a speaker.

“How’d you imagine it?” he forces his throat to open.

Her smile is like the stars in the night sky. “Old. In bed together. In our sleep.” She shuffles a bit. “Our kids find us, cuddled close, safe.”

Simon grits his teeth, cracking them under the strain, his jaw aches. “How many kids?”

“Two boys. One girl. Simon Junior, we’d call him SJ. Jonathan Kyle, after Price, Soap, and Gaz.”

“And the girl?”

“Aphra Emeline.”

He nods. “Good name. Strong. Built for a fancy lady.”

“She’d run everyone over.”

“With your looks and my attitude?” he jokes. “Of course. She’d strike ‘em dead with one withering look.”

Her lungs are starting to fail her, and she shivers. “Simon, marry me.”

He can’t stop the tears this time and they drop down his cheeks onto her head. “Who’s gonna officiate?”

“Me. All power vested in me.” She sucks in a breath. “Do you take me as your lawfully wedded wife? To love, honor, and cherish, through sickness and health, until death do us part?”

“I do,” he promises. “And even after life, I will.”

“I take the same. I now pronounce us husband and wife.” She turns with the last bit of failing strength she has, pulls his mask down, and says, “Kiss me.”

Simon’s calloused hands are gentle as he cups her face, brushes his thumb over her cool skin and presses his lips to hers, tears mixing on each other’s faces as he kisses her with everything, he has in him. All the things Ghost is not, he gives in this moment to her. All his hopes, all his dreams, all his love for a better ending. He gives it up in this moment as he burns it into his mind that Simon Riley will never live after—only Ghost.

“I love you, Simon,” she whispers against his lips, and he shakes his head.

“I love you too,” he manages between hers. “I’ll stay,” he promises, pulling away to press his forehead to hers, staring at her. “I will stay.”

“I know,” she says. “I know you will.”

He memorizes the color of her eyes, the shape of her nose, the feel of her skin beneath his hands, every detail he can about her, and it’s only when her head tilts forward, forehead bumping his lips that he knows.

Simon inhales and exhales one time, a single, agonizing howl.

[tootiecakes234]

Dad Katsuki and implied black reader (but open to everyone)

Katsuki Bakugo is good at almost everything he tries. A lot comes naturally but if not, he puts in minimal effort and then ends up exceeding.

But the one thing…… the one thing that he can’t wrap his head around is styling hair. Obvi, you have seen the way he tries to “style” his own hair.

He’d tried to help you with yours before but he couldn’t even figure out how to get the lumps out of a ponytail. He gave up after about 30 minutes of trying and never offered to help you with it again.

But of course you guys had gotten pregnant and had not one but two little girls.

One day you’re sick and there’s no way you’re about to get up and try and get those little gremlins ready for school.

“Don’t worry about it. I got time before I gotta head out. I got em.” He groans after the alarm goes off for you to wake up.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly because no one was screaming or crying. You eventually drift back to sleep.

Until… “ Noooooo!” And it scares you awake. That sounds like your oldest daughter. “ ‘m not going to school like this! Other kids will make fun of me!”

You fumble out of bed and start heading towards the child screaming bloody murder.

“Ya look fine. Anyone picks on you and I’ll kick their ass.” Katsuki says back to her.

Then all you hear from your youngest child is “Ass, Ass, Ass! Daddy said Ass.” And her giggles following after. The child is a menace to any situation.

When you finally get to the door you completely understand the situation.

Your baby girl is sporting “pigtails” that are uneven and crooked, and your oldest has what looks like chunky plats in her hair. They both look a hot ass mess.

“Both of you be quite! Your mom is trying to sleep! And you, stop saying ass. It’s a bad word.” He shouts loudly back at them.

“Daddy look at this! I look awful. Please don’t make me go to school like this.” Then the tears start falling and you finally make your presence known.

“Ok, ok.” It comes out all scratchy. “Everyone calm down.”

The youngest runs up to you and squeezes you leg, “mama, daddy’s gonna kick ass”

You pick her up and further examine the horrific job your husband made to her hair. “Oh yea?” And your brow lifts towards Kats because you’ve told him over and over to stop cussing in front of your kids.

“Mhmm” and she nods her head.

“Mom! Look at what dad did to my hair!?! I can’t go to school like this. Please fix it.” And she runs over to you with pleading eyes.

“Your mom is sick and your hair is fine. Now cut it out and get dressed.

“Da-“ but you cut her off.

“Katsuki this is not fine. It’d be a form of torture to send them to school like this. Come on sweet girls. I’ll fix it really quickly so you’re not late.”, you mumble and start taking them both to the bathroom.

“Are ya serious? It doesn’t look that bad.” At this point you think he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

“They look a mess Kats. Not sending my kids to school lookin like they aren’t loved.” And both your daughters start giggling at that.

“What the hell ever. I’m gonna go pack their lunches.”, and he stomps off toward the kitchen.

It takes you about 15 minutes to get them both done. You have a little extra time so you throw some cute bows and accessories in there just to show him what a cute hairstyle actually looks like.

“Ok whaddya guys think”, you ask them

“I’m cute” the younger one says and she’s playing with her hair.

“It’s a lot better. Thanks mom.”

You help them finish getting ready and then shuffle them in the kitchen.

“Daddy, mommy fixed your hot ass mess” your older daughter says as she sits at the table to eat breakfast.

Katsuki stands there with his mouth agape. “What the hell did you just say?”

And everyone burst out laughing.

“Don’t be mad. Momma said I could say it.” She says with a huge smile on her face.

“Just the one time. Cuz (youngest daughter name) got to cuss cuz of you this morning.”

“Haha…. This whole family is freakin hilarious.”, he grunts and serves them their breakfast.

While their eating Katsuki walks over to you and wraps his arms around your waist. “You think you’re better than me hah?”

“At doing hair… 1000%. At being the strongest, sexiest dad?? Never.”, you say and grin up at him all cheeky.

“You’re so annoying. Take your ass to bed you look exhausted.”

Next thing you hear is “Ass to bed. Take ass to bed” being sung at this top of the little one’s lungs.

You just know you’re gonna get a call from her school today and it’s all Katsuki’s fault.

Katsuki Masterlist

[estinesstories]

𝓒𝓸𝓻𝓴 𝓘𝓽, 𝓟𝓲𝓰. 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 1-2

𝙃𝙖𝙯𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙃𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙡 𝙭 𝙁!𝙋𝙞𝙢𝙥!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚’𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙢𝙨 𝙨𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙑𝙖𝙡, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙪𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙜𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙩’𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙣 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 💗

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨: 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙥𝙞𝙢𝙥 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙤𝙧 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡, 𝙨𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙮, 𝙨𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙖 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙧/𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙢𝙞𝙭, 𝙨𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙖 𝙗𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙑𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙤.

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝙑𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙨 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙗 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙗𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙨, 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚, 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙜𝙞𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙝𝙞𝙢. 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙣 𝙚𝙭𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙙𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙑𝙪𝙡𝙜𝙖𝙧 𝙇𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚, 𝙑𝙞𝙤𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝘼𝙗𝙪𝙨𝙚, 𝙎𝙚𝙭𝙪𝙖𝙡 𝙏𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙨, 𝙈𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙍—𝙥𝙚.

(𝙃𝘼𝙕𝘽𝙄𝙉 𝙃𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙇 𝘽𝙀𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂𝙎 𝙏𝙊 𝙑𝙄𝙑𝙕𝙔𝙋𝙊𝙋! 𝘾𝙍𝙀𝘿𝙄𝙏𝙎 𝙏𝙊 𝘿𝙄𝙑𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙂𝙊 𝙏𝙊 @𝙘𝙖𝙛𝙚𝙠𝙞𝙩𝙨𝙪𝙣𝙚! 𝙂𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙖 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙣, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙄 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮 💗)

You tapped your foot impatiently as you waited for the demon at the front desk. It had been thirty minutes, thirty minutes since you were supposed to meet Valentino for direction issues. You growled to yourself as both your arms and legs were crossed, your ermine coat sagging on your shoulders and showing your gold chains and velvet dress. Your star glasses rested softly the bridge of your nose as you looked around the room. Pulling out a cigarette, you lit it and watched as the demon at the front desk tapped away at her computer. Finally, the door in front of you that led to the hallway to the studio opened, revealing Val in all his glory. He smiled evilly at you through his glasses while you glared at him. He took a drag of his own cigarette as he watched yours hang from your mouth.

“Y/n! Good to see you again~.” He slurred your way, watching as you stood up and strutted over to him with narrowed, pink eyes.

“Your lucky I didn’t leave, ya fuckin’ lump.” You growled at him as you walked past.

You’ve never liked Valentino. You were aware he abused his cast members and employees, so you tried your best to stay away from him. You didn’t need him anyways, you were the biggest pimp/porn director in hell! It helped a lot that you were half-hellborn, so you could travel to all of the rings and make videos for everyone. You were also friends with Asmodeus, who gave you plenty of tips and tricks. He also taught you that list should be enjoyed and never forced, and that it’s an art. Which was specifically why you and him alike hated who Val was and what he did. He was just lucky Ozzie couldn’t travel to the Pride ring, or else Val wouldn’t have a career anymore, let alone a life. The only reason you were teaming with him for this was because you his movie meant really good money.

Val glared at you as you walked in, but held his tongue for the money. As you entered the studio, you looked around at the actors and crew members. All of them looked rather… on edge. You furrowed your brows, but ignored it.

“So, where’s the star?” You huffed as you looked around the room, multiple large, buff sinners as well as tiny petite, skinny ones as well. Val seemed to be searching as well for a moment before growling and turning to you with a very forced smile.

“One moment.” He seethed before stomping off to a door on the other side of the room. You quickly glared at him and stopped his movement. Her stopped dead in his tracks and cold sweated as he heard your heels walk up behind him.

“I’m gonna get ‘em y’ abusive prick.” You whispered to him, making sure no one else could hear as they worked. “Go back t’ yer fucking chair.”

You heard him scurry off as you softly knocked on the door that read Angel Dust at the top, golden plate. Moments late, a hesitant “come in,” came from inside. You gently open the door, having to duck your head as to not hit it as well as your horns on the top of the frame. You smiled at the sinner in front of you, a white, demon, spider boy in a red velvet robe. He looked at you with wide eyes.

“Hey, darlin’,” you cooed as you strutted up to him, subconsciously swaying your hips. You took note of his funny expression. “Are you my star?”

“Who are you?” He inquired, turning in his chair to actually look at you.

“I’m y’ new co-director, doll!” You cheered. “Whenever yer ready, come on out. We’ll wait for you.”

Angel looked utterly confused as you twiddled your fingers his way as if to say goodbye before walking out of the room and back over to Valentino who sat impatiently in his chair. You sat in the one next to it leaned back.

“If I ever find out you hurt another one o’ yer workers, girls or boys, I will rip your limp dick off of your bald balls and chop it in half, and then I’ll shove one half up your ass and see it shut. The other half will go in your throat, and then I’ll see that up too.” You threatened him in a low voice, not looking at him in the eyes. You just heard his breath hitch for a moment before Angel’s door opened, revealing him in nothing but black leather boots. You snatched the script from the table beside you and looked over the first scene. You turned to Valentino with a snarl.

“Are you kidding me? The main subject is gonna be some random robbery rape? No one’s gonna like that shit.” You whispered at him. He huffed at you with crossed arms.

“Fine then. You direct it if you’re so full of it.” He seethed. You scoffed at him but stood and walked over to Angel and the group of large sinners.

“We’re changin’ the script up a bit, fellas.” You took a huffed of smoke and blew it down and away from their faces, something that made them raise a brow.

“Who the fuck are you, bitch?” One of the bigger demons rasped out. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“I’m Y/n, owner of Star Streaks. And your new director, since your old one,” you growled out, glancing back at Val, who was glued to his phone. “Is a bit busy at the moment.”

Their eyes widened at your names, and they all immediately shut up. Your eyes finally landed to Angel with a sweet smile as you looked down at him. “We took out the rape-y-aspect of it, darlin’, don’t worry about it.”

Angel’s eyes seemed to soften slightly till you finally looked back to the others. “Alright, here’s the new script,” you snapped your fingers, making each of their hands hold a packet of papers. “I’ll give you an hour to memorize it. Now, I’m gonna order everyone some bloodbaths from Frazzola’s!”

Before they could say anything, you walked off and pulled your phone out, failing the bakery. “Aye, Baldi,” you turned to Valentino, who looked like he was having the worst day ever. He gave you a half-assed glance. “How many people are workin’ on this right now? Cast and everything.

“Uh, like, I don’t know, forty?” He sighed with a rose brow. You smiled at him and walked off, listening to the cheerful woman answer the call.

You watched carefully as the sex scene finally took place. Suddenly, your phone vibrated on your lap. You picked it up and looked at the name, your assistant’s popping up on the screen. You showed Valentino and watched him silently nod. You exited the room quietly and stood outside to pick up the call. A few seconds later, a blonde woman you knew as the princess of hell, Charlie Morningstar, walked up to the door to the studio. Your eyes widened.

“Excuse me for a moment, Honey.” You whispered to her, looking to Charlie again. “Princess Charlie! What a lovely surprise.”

Charlie seemed startled by your voice before widening her eyes at you. “Y/n Star? Woah, I didn’t know angel works for you too!”

You chuckled at her and smiled sweetly at her excitement. “Oh no, honey. I’m just his co-director. Speaking of, make sure yer quiet when you go in, their recordin’.”

She nodded at you silently before entering the room. You then unmuted yourself and apologized to Honey for having to hold on her.

As you were talking with Honey about statistics, which quickly just turned into how excited she was that she was pregnant with her dear wife’s baby, it was a few minutes after Charlie went into the room, and you heard crackling and screams coming from the room. You also noticed an orange hue illuminated under the door. Soon, smoke poured out of the door, and the screaming stopped. Your brows furrowed.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry darlin’ I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I think there’s a fire in the studio.” You hurried out and hung up before whipping open the door. Behind it, stood charred equipment that had been knocked over, as well as multiple workers and actors sprawled all over the room, terrified expressions on their faces. It didn’t help that you looked furious. You searched the room and landed your eyes on Charlie, who looked more scared than anyone there. You frowned and looked at her worriedly. “What the fuck happened in here? Are you okay?” You put a hand on her shoulder, but she didn’t speak. You turned to the rest of the sinners and demons in there room. “Is everyone okay?”

You got multiple nods and “yeah”’s from everyone, making you sigh in relief. Suddenly, you realized you couldn’t find the two most important people of the movie in the room, Angel Dust and Valentino. You seethed, angrily storming to Angel’s room and slamming open the door so hard it causes the handle to get stuck in the wall. Valentino whips his head up to look at you, and all color leaves his expression as you slowly looked down to Angel Dust, who was crumbled up on the floor in pain, and held a black bruise on his eye. You were absolutely fuming. Angel looks at you with a painful expression, tears just barely brimming his eyes. You looked back up to Valentino. You stepped over Angel and towards Val.

“Angel, go get Charlie and leave. Tell ‘er you ain’t comin’ back ‘ere. And remember not to be mad at her, be mad at this little cunt sucker.” You growled, never taking your wild eyes off of the abuser. He said nothing, and only left. You ripped the door out of the wall and slammed it shut. “Are you FUCKIN’ KIDDING ME!?”

“W-wait, Y/n! Please, it was an accident-“ He stuttered, backing up as you stepped closer. You growled as he finally fell back onto the couch in his room.

“Fuckin’ accident my ASS, you SHIT DICK BITCH!” You screamed in his face before slapping him hard across the face. The hit caused him to fall to the side, but you caught him by the throat before he could go very far and slammed him back into the wall behind the couch. “What’d I tell you!? WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU!? I TOLD YOU IF I CAUGHT YOU DOIN’ THAT FUCKIN’ SHIT I WAS GONNA FUCK YOU UP, RIGHT!? IS THAT WHAT THE HELL YOU WANT ME TO DO TO YOU!?”

You slammed a flat palm onto Val’s crotch, causing him to let out a mangled mix between a pleasured moan and a pained grunt. You narrowed your eyes at him in disgust as he looked at you with wide, lustful eyes. Your grip on his neck tightened, causing his top hands to grasp your forearm weakly, his bottom hands spreading flatly onto the back of the couch to hold himself up.

“You, are fuckin’ disgustin’. You’re the sluttiest, bitchiest, most insecure, insufferable piece of pimp trash I have ever had the torment of meeting. You’re lucky that I have a lick of damn sense, or I’d rip that hard little mealworm you call a cock into pieces. I know that you own Angel’s soul. Give me that contract or I’ll still consider your damn punishment.” And with that, you let go of him. He panted and quickly snapped his fingers, the golden contract appearing before your eyes. You snatched it and glared at him before storming out of the room. You turned to the sinners who were still left in the room, an apologetic look crossing your features. “I am so sorry t’ all of ya, y’all can go take the rest of the week off, and I’ll make sure to give you all your paychecks by Tuesday.”

Soon, everyone left, and you stepped out of the room left with a closed eye sigh. Your index and thumb were rested on the bridge of your nose as well as your hand on your hip as you felt a headache coming along.

“Uh, Miss Star?” You were startled at the name, whipping your head to the side to find Charlie and Angel seeming to wait for you outside the room. They stepped up to you when you softened your gaze. Charlie smiled sadly at you, while Angel just kinda looked sad.

“Oh, what is it sweet heart?” You asked tiredly, leaning down a bit to talk to them both. Charlie looked over to Angel and nudged him towards you encouragingly. He sighed.

“Thank you. Thank you so much fer helpin’ us,” his voice cracked, and he sounded like he was about to cry. Your frowned at him. “Fer helpin’ me.”

You smiled gently at him and looked in between the two. “Can I give y’all a hug?”

Charlie looked ecstatic, while Angel rose a brow, but you pulled them both in for the most genuine, comforting hug either of them had ever felt, like that of a mother. They both relaxed into your embrace for a moment before you suddenly remembered. “Oh! Angel, I forgot.”

The then snapped, the contract the sinner had signed appearing in front of all of them. Angel’s eyes widened, tears brimming them yet again.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered and grabbed the paper, before you set it into cold flames, causing him to jump.

“You’re free now Angel, no more abuse, and no more pornos unless that’s what y’ want.” You spoke softly, placing a hand on his shoulder with a smile as he turned to look at you. Suddenly, he rushed to take you in a tight hug, leaving you surprised. But your gaze soon softened at him.

“Thank you…” he whispered, and you patted his back.

“Course, honey! Now, if you did wanna keep working, do not work for that man. If you want, I’ve got an open spot for actor. No contracts needed, tons of friendly demons, loads of breaks, and you can totally quit whenever. But I do understand if you don’t wanna keep the business. Just make sure you call me if you want the gig!” You gleamed at him, giving him your card as you started to walk down the hall to the elevator. “Or, you can just call me! I’ll be happy to talk whenever! Love you, kids!”

And with that, you left, strutting iconically down the hall and leaving the two staring at you in shock.

“Oh, she’s definitely my new idol.” Angel mumbled.

“Uh huh.” Charlie answered.

𝙄 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀𝘿 𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙎 𝙊𝙉𝙀!! 𝙃𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙩𝙤𝙤! 𝙈𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨! 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙜𝙪𝙮𝙨 💗🫶

[gh0stsp1d3r]

hellooo! I just had to request this I know its corny and technically it makes no sense but in a way it does. Like a story with the song Helpless from hamilton lmao. Like reader eliza luke is hamilton and maybe like clarrise is angelica not in the like romantic way just in shes the readers sister!

ℋℯ𝓁𝓅𝓁ℯ𝓈𝓈

How’d you know I love Hamilton, anon? LUKE AND HAMILTON? I love it.

Warnings: not too sure on Clarisse’s age but i think she was around a year older than Percy?? In tlt she would have been 13/14, but my timeline is most definitely off so…

i. “Boy, you got me helpless. Look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit.”

The second his eyes met yours, you felt your heart race against your chest. You swallowed the lump in your throat as he sent a small smirk to you, before going back to talking to his friends.

You looked down at the floor now, you’d only been admiring him and for some reason, felt attracted to him more than you had anyone.

ii. “I'm helpless. Down for the count, and I'm drownin' in 'em.”

When you first started dating, you always told him how much you loved his eyes. They were beautiful.

You got lost in them often, when sparring and even when you both taught some campers together. The younger campers teased and gossiped about you both while you rolled your eyes at them, telling them to shut it.

No one has ever seen an Ares kid be as soft as you are with Luke. Even Dionysus is confused at it.

iii. I have never been the type to try and grab the spotlight. We were at a revel with some rebels on a hot night.Laughin' at my sister as she's dazzling the room. Then you walked in, and my heart went "boom"

Clarisse was talking and you turned your attention back to her, laughing at something she said.

As you leaned against the wall, a boy had caught your eye. He had brown curly hair, he looked to be the same age. He was holding a cup of something and looked at the others partying. He had a scar that ran down his cheek.

He was undeniably attractive.

You met Luke at a party. His first party he’s gone to, your sister stood next to you. She was younger than you, 11, She was brave, not afraid of anything really. And despite only knowing her for a year, you loved her.

Granted, you were 15 at the time, but you couldn’t leave her in the cabin alone, especially after she begged to come. You stared at the boy from afar, the more you looked the more interesting he got. He was talking with some friends.

She began to talk about something before realizing you weren’t listening. Her eyes went over to where you were looking, and they landed on the Hermes boy.

She quirked an eyebrow at you, a small smirk on her face. “Do you like h-“

You quickly snapped out of it, putting a hand over her mouth.

“Shhhh. Clarisse!”

“What?”

“Do you know him?” You asked her.

“It’s Luke, he’s a counselor. Annoying as sh-“

“Language.”

“He’s annoying as shit. Good swordsman but annoying.”

“How have I never realized him?” You muttered to yourself.

“Probably because there’s a million Hermes kids. Kinda hard to keep track. Plus, since you train with the…” she paused to do her best impression, which was just a high pitched squeal. “Aphrodite kids, you don’t see them much.”

“Huh.” You murmured.

“Are you gonna stand there gawking all day or are you gonna actually go up to him?” she asked you. You sighed, looking over to him again. You thought for a moment before shaking your head.

iiii. Tryin' to catch your eye from the side of the ballroom. Everybody's dancin' and the band's top volume. Grind to the rhythm as we wine and dine

“Oh, seriously, you’re not gonna live a little?” One of your friends asked, coming up to you.

“I’m good.” You shook your head.

“You’re coming.” She told you, and before you could even protest, she dragged your hand and dragged you to the dance floor. You sighed, shaking your head as you slowly began to move to the music, your friends wildly and loudly cheering you on.

A smile on your face, you glanced back at the boy in the corner, your smile faltered.

V. My sister made her way across the room to you. And I got nervous, thinking, "What's she gonna do" She grabs you by the arm, I'm thinking "I'm through.”

It was then that you noticed Clarisse go over to him, tired of your gawking and ogling, even on the dance floor.

Vi. Then you look back at me, and suddenly I'm helpless. Oh, look at those eyes, oh, look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit. I'm helpless, I know down for the count and I'm drowning in 'em.

Your eyes widened, and you pushed yourself out of the crowd, watching her grab his arm and point over to you. His eyes snapped from her small form to you, a soft smile making its way onto his face.

Your eyes looked into his from across the room, both of you seemingly lost in them as Clarisse slipped away from Luke and made her way back to you. But you didn’t even notice.

You knew at that moment, that you loved that boy with all your heart. You didn’t believe in true love at first sight until you felt it.

[wisteria-cherry]

forty days and forty nights (day thirty-two!)

the last thing you wanted was to scare off your most recent friend, and by no means did you mean to, but it was painfully obvious what you’d done when katsuki got his coffee to-go.

that night had been horrible. you barely got any sleep because you were just so incredibly anxious that you were tossing and turning all night. you didn’t want to scare katsuki off, but it was just as scary confronting him about it. however, after a very long night of internal struggle/debate, you opted to confront him. after all, it was that, or lose him.

“medium black. t’go.” katsuki grunted as usual when he came in. you nod, your lips sealed tight. you had told yourself you were going to mention it immediately, but, well, it just didn’t feel right.

who were you kidding? you were just chickening out.

“okay.” you rung him up, made his coffee, and set it down on the countertop. he took his coffee and turned to leave and you could already feel the regret washing over you. you’d missed it. you missed your chan-

“katsuki!”

katsuki turned around. you swallowed, immensely relieved but twice as nervous.

“what?”

“can.. can we talk?” you ask breathlessly. katsuki narrowed his eyes.

“…yeah.” he agreed finally. “what?”

“i’m sorry.” you confess, before glancing around. you come out from behind the counter, your hands sweating as much as you’d imagine katsuki’s did. you swallowed a lump in your throat as you approached him. he looked down at you. he really was quite tall. “for all this.”

“you mean your weird-ass behavior.” katsuki ascertained. you nod, looking down at your feet. katsuki was silent for a few moments before he spoke again. you looked up when he did.

“did… did i do somethin’ or some shit?” he grumbled, looking away and scratching the back of his neck.

“what?” you blink, processing for a moment before frantically reassuring him. “oh, no, no! not at all! trust me, it’s not in any way your fault.” technically speaking, it was, because he was the one you were pining over, but you weren’t about to tell him that.

katsuki finally looked back at you. as usual, you could read him like a book— he was trying so hard to maintain his tough-guy attitude, but he clearly felt like he might’ve had a part in your strange behavior.

“i’m happy we’re friends.” you tell him, meeting his eyes. such pretty eyes— carmine red, with the outer ring of his iris a beautiful crimson. “and i’m sorry for acting how i did. i don’t want this to become the norm.”

“yeah, whatever.” katsuki’s lips twitched into the slightest smirk. “fuckin’ dumbass.”

you smile, and your shoulders go limp. you knew him, and you knew that his smirk was the telltale sign that he’d be back tomorrow, sitting in his rightful seat.

“thank you,” you exhale. “katsuki.”

“tch!” katsuki clicked his tongue. “shut up, loser.”

“you shut up.” you manage a breathy laugh amidst intense relief, lightly hitting his chest.

“you’re fuckin’ tiny, y’know that?” katsuki snickered. “tiny fuckin’ hands, didn’t even feel ‘em.” there was only one natural response to a short joke, though, and you executed it perfectly: a swift kick in the shins.

“oi, what the fuck?!” katsuki demanded, jerking his now incapacitated leg back and grabbing his ankle to support it. “the hell was that for, huh?!”

“serves you right.” you stick your tongue out, and katsuki flicked your forehead. “hey!” you laughed, and it was the first time you’d laughed since that period of awkwardness.

“i hate you.” you gasp amidst laughter.

“nah, you love me.”

“so, um…” you trail off to catch your breath. “are… are we good?”

“obviously.” katsuki rolled his eyes. “same as always.”

“but you got your coffee to go yesterday.”

“some chucklefuck scheduled a meeting at 5.” katsuki scowled. “dunno who yet. gonna kill ‘em when i find out.”

“so— so it wasn’t me?” you gape. wow, how self centered of you.

“like hell, moron.” katsuki flicked your forehead again. “now move it. i have to get to a damn follow-up meeting.”

“the door is behind you, i’m not in the way.” you retort, poking him in the chest in retaliation.

“whatever. go do your damn job.” katsuki snapped, whirling around to head to the door. you smiled to yourself as he walked out.

it was good to be back.

“i’m happy we’re friends.”

(feel free to comment + give ur thoughts :)

tags: @k0z3me @cherryblossomclarity @jazzafayesworld @failingstudents-blog @stevenknightmarc @chuugarettes

[the-himawari]

A3! Outing Event Translation - You're my first and last love. (4/11)

*Please read disclaimer on blog

---

Sakuya: And so, gathering together all our ideas from today… A sweets making class, a flyer and costume exhibit, a hands-on makeup experience, and selling merch. We have a lot to work with here!

Azami: Maybe we can pull off somethin’ decent if we combine them with the other teams’ ideas.

Sakyo: Hold it. There’s still one more guy who hasn’t contributed an idea yet. Oi, Usui. Don’t you have anythin’?

Masumi: …

Misumi: Anything’s fine, Masumi~.

Masumi: …What about a letter writing corner?

Sakuya: That sounds great!

Sakyo: Huh? You just wanna write one for Director, don’tcha?

Masumi: So what? What about your idea? You just want to make sweets for Director, don’t you?

Sakyo: Don’t lump us together. It’s not about Director. Sweets are a classic for White Day, aren’t they?

Masumi: In that case, letters are a classic way to express your gratitude.

Sakuya: P-Please calm down, you two!

Misumi: Nooo fighting!

Masumi: We aren’t fighting.

Sakyo: I’m not even touching him.

Hisoka: …They’re like kids.

Azami: For real. By the way, we could’ve just used our troupes for the teams this time. Why’d we go outta our way to choose through a lottery?

Sakyo: This is an event for MANKAI Company’s fans. Seeing as all the members are participatin’, it’s meaningful if we do something that transcends the borders of our troupes. Well, we also thought that stayin' in our troupes could lead to biased opinions. That’s why Director suggested we do a lottery with all of us mixed together this time.

Sakuya: If we all work together, then I’m sure it’ll be a wonderful event!

Azami: I mean, I guess so. But it’s pointless if our efficiency also drops because of that.

Hisoka: Zzz…

Sakyo: —Tch. We’ll disband for today. All of you, give some more thought into what you wanna do, got it?

-pause-

Masumi: … (What I want to do for a White Day event…) (Director is the first person I want to express my gratitude to. That’s why I want to do something that makes her happy.) (But I’m sure Director will like anything I do. She complimented me and gave me the okay for the letter writing idea I came up with earlier.) (But that’s not what I want. I want something that will make her happy from the bottom of her heart—) …The only thing I can think of is a play. *Sigh*…

-pause-

Sakuya: —And so, we’ve come up with even more plans…

Azami: Just like our first meeting, none of ‘em feel quite right.

Hisoka: …Nothing sticks out.

Misumi: Hmm… is the triangle shop no good after all?

Sakyo: We never said it’s no good. But that alone ain’t gonna fill up the whole day.

Masumi: … (Maybe a play is our only option…)

Azami: I’ve been thinkin’. Is doin’ a play like usual off the table? I mean, we’re a theatre troupe ‘n all.

Sakyo: I understand what you mean, but we’ve got 24 members… We were fortunate enough to line up everyone’s schedules. It’ll be hard to prepare the script and costumes for all 24 of us if we start now.

Sakuya: That’s very true. Our invitation to the event also came on such short notice…

Sakyo: Right. And even though it’s called a hall, I don’t think there’s any area that’s like a stage.

Hisoka: Is there not much space?

Sakyo: The layout is kinda complicated. Given the structure of the building, the organizers probably wanna use this event to see how it can be used.

Azami: Once again, I’m amazed at how flippant they are about this…

Sakuya: In any case, I’ll make a note of the play. If there aren’t any more ideas, then let’s close today’s meeting.

Hisoka: …Sure.

Masumi: …

---

previous | next

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged this week by: @theresaruggedroad @thesingularityseries @inafieldofdaisies @kyber-infinitygems @direwombat @nightbloodbix @mxanigel @simplegenius042 @wrathfulrook @trench-rot and @cassietrn (thank you all so much!!)

Alas there have not been a lot of words coming out of me lately with life stress and whatnot but I have a few snippets to share (Warnings for misogyny and talk of gender roles):

“Joseph brought something along for ya.” Jacob smirked and reached under the desk before tossing a balled up lump of white material at her. The grin he had on slipped and his face became emotionless once more, staying that way as she unfurled the clothing item. 

Flowy and made of lace, it was cut for a smaller woman and what would have been knee length was going to sit mid thigh for her. She swallowed heavily, knowing this article had been worn by someone else before. “Is this one of Faith’s?”

“One of ‘em, I’m sure.”

Her brow furrowed as she gripped the material, ready to shred it in her fingers. “Is that what he plans to do?” She looked up from the dress, her eyes flaring with an anger that started deep from within her. “To make me –”

“No. You’re not another Faith, you have a different role. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“You’re not lying to me, are you? This isn’t some sort of punishment because he suspects we’re –”

“Kit. There’s no extra meaning to it. It’s just a dress.”

Her glare became downright icy. “Why can’t I just wear what I’m wearing then? It’s not like you’re having to wear your Sunday best.”

“Because it’s what Joseph expects,” he said coldly, a hint of a threat behind the words. She might have been given a place amongst them but they had grown up in the church just like she had, given roles they were expected to carry out and as the woman she was meant to be submissive, subservient, to do as the man said. If she didn’t have a husband to rule her then she’d have a Father to do that for her instead. 

...

The dress sat unbearably tight against her arms, the lace restricting her movement, digging into her, imprinting its pattern upon her skin and cutting off the circulation. She’d never been especially fond of dresses as it was, wearing them under her parents’ express ruling that it was expected for church and the odd occasion where a date deemed it necessary she make an effort. In her mind they never suited her, they were something soft, pretty and sweet, the embodiment of what it meant to be a girl and she always felt as though she came up short – never quite fully a woman – but the world was happy to remind her that was the role she was required to fit. It squeezed at her, hugging her sides, showing off the curved form of her womanhood, not letting her hide behind the loose cut clothing she normally wore, letting her blend in (as much was possible) in a room full of men. 

Jacob’s stare rested on her, looking at her more indecently than he had when she stood before him in the nude. She understood it, she was no stranger to her own wandering eyes landing on the lean muscle of legs shown off in a summer dress, or the way cleavage peeked over a heart shaped neckline, and the sunlight glistened off collar bones. It was the fact that as much as the body underneath was left to the imagination, all it took was a hand slipping up the hem of a skirt to find heaven so readily available. 

“Are you gonna keep staring, or are you gonna help zip me up before your brothers arrive?” She asked, pressing her hands to her hips. 

“Just taking in the view, angel. It’s not too often I’m gonna get a sight like this, I figure I might as well appreciate it while I got it.”

Kit rolled her eyes and turned her back to him, bringing her hands to the nape of her neck and sweeping the waves of her hair up, coiling it around her hand before resting it against the top of her head. She looked over her shoulder at him with a coy grin. “I promise I’ll let you make good use of the visual later, but for now –”

He stood up and walked over to her and ran his rough hands down her back, pressing the lace into her skin and with it came with the same abrasion as the fibers of a rope on skin. She shut her eyes and grit her teeth as he dragged the zipper slowly up her back. Letting her hair fall loose, she was entirely thankful Jacob didn’t have a mirror in the room, the last thing she wanted to see was the image of herself dressed like Faith. A pretty girl all frocked in white – innocent and pure – when she already knew she was anything but. 

“I bet you had all the mamas jealous their little girls weren’t as pretty as you were growing up,”Jacob teased. 

“Hardly,” she said with a tired sigh. 

There was a knock at the door and a few extra feet were put between herself and Jacob before it swung open and Joseph and John entered the room. The Father stepped forward, once more setting out his hand in wait for his brother’s approval before touching his arm. He looked over at the table and beamed at the sight of it, prepared with four chairs around it, plates, cutlery and glasses set at every corner, and steaming portions of food waiting to be served. 

“It smells delicious. Come, let us sit and eat.”

They took their places, John sat on one side beside his older brother, and on the other were Kit and Jacob (who’d been enough of a gentleman to remember to pull out her seat for her). 

Joseph brought his hands together and bowed his head, John quickly followed suit and Kit brought up the rear. She looked over at Jacob who didn’t move a muscle, his arms left crossed over his chest as he rested back in his seat waiting for Joseph’s prayer to be over. His eyes met hers briefly before she closed her own and listened to the words Joseph spoke, “Lord God, Heavenly Father, bless us and these gifts which we receive from Your bountiful goodness. The eyes of all look to you, O Lord, and you give them their food at the proper time. You open your hand and satisfy the desires of every living thing. We are thankful for the meal we are about to eat, for those that made it possible, and for those with whom we are about to share it. Amen.”

Jacob had already begun to dig into his meal as the others lowered their hands, but Joseph seemed unbothered by it. Willing to forgive his brother’s lack of faith, understanding why he rejected it after all the things he’d faced in life, knowing one day, eventually, he too would return to God and find peace.

As she began to eat, Kit had that same unbearable sense of having all eyes upon her once more and wasn’t surprised when she looked up from her meal to see all three brothers’ gaze upon her again. Joseph stared at her quietly, drinking from his glass of water, before returning to his meal, bringing a piece of stewed elk to his mouth. “I’m so glad that dress fits. I wasn’t sure if it would be your size, but my, it suits you.”

She plastered on her best fake smile as she gripped tighter at her fork, her knuckles burning white against the metal. “Thank you Father, I appreciate that.”

and a bit more from the Herald/Role Swap AU:

Stepping off the plane, the soles of Kit’s shoes hit the tarmac and the weight of the world crashed down upon her as if gravity was stronger here, desperately trying to pull her down into the center of the Earth, down into the pits of Tartarus where the souls of the ruthless went, into Hell where the traitor found it’s kin. She slid her sunglasses from the breast pocket of her jacket and covered her eyes from the burning flames of the sun’s rays. The heat here was nothing like that which scorched and blistered her back in the desert, it barely even scratched at her frozen core. The sweat upon her brow removed with an easy swipe of the back of her hand across it as she gazed out at the jungle of concrete and glass that made up DFW International Airport. 

She was home.

But this place brought her anything but comfort. Texas was a stop gap along the way to where she really needed to be. The Voice had proclaimed that she needed to be with her family – to some that would mean their parents, their blood – to her that meant finding those of a like mind, not the people who merely shaped her to their will. 

James and Elaine Cross had lived a perfect life of their own making and had now settled into a gated suburb community with all the same falsity as the idols they visited at the megachurch on Sundays. Rows of houses with perfectly sculpted gardens, mowed lawns all trimmed to the same inch of freshly watered green, painted the same sickening shade of welcoming white that the veneered teeth of the owners shone with when they smiled. As Kit exited the cab and stood outside the gate, the sun glinted off of the polished metal bars making her teeth ache with how hard she clenched her jaw. She waited for the taxi to pull off, leaving her to her long awaited business. Pale eyes steered towards the security camera that panned the exterior of the gates and watched as it scanned it’s all seeing eye away from her until she was in its blind spot. The mechanisms of the gate that kept it locked together clicked and clanked as a crackle of static settled on the air. Tasting ozone on her tongue, the electrical charge that powered the privileged man’s prison of protection died and the bars swung open granting her access to their Eden. 

Two vehicles were parked outside her parents’ house, sat in the driveway was a large black SUV, the other a white BMW 3 series convertible. Kit clucked her tongue against her teeth at the sight. Long gone were the days of her father’s dark green pick up truck that he had for over a decade, that they rode in for every camping trip and hunting trip, that traveled across their great nation with them. Her parents lived in luxury, flaunting it more so than they ever did in her youth. They’d become comfortable. Complacent. 

Placing her hand upon the knob of the front door, all she merely had to do was turn it and it was as if they’d kept it wide open for her arrival. Her senses were dialed up the same way they would be if she were in battle, her adrenaline pumping throughout the entirety of her body. She could hear every little creak of the floorboards, every groan of the pipes as they settled within the walls, the spark of electricity that flooded the light bulbs in the ceiling above her and in the sconces that decorated the front hall, and the rhythmic beating of two hearts within the house. The warm incandescent light of the bulbs seemed to vibrate in her vision, radiating out towards her in shafts, bathing her skin in jaundiced hues. The sickeningly sweet vanilla perfume of paraffin candles bought for far more than they were worth burned at her nostrils to the point she was sure they might bleed and the metallic tang of copper blanketed her tongue as her teeth pierced into the flesh of the muscle as she swallowed back any of the fear that tempted to test her nerve. 

Kit stood at the french doors that led from the entrance hall into the main heart of the house, her hands balling into fists so tight that the trimmed nails of her fingers still managed to carve crescents into the meat of her palms. With a deep breath, she stepped forward, her boot crossing over the threshold into a place she could never come back from. She had to walk the path. 

Tagging: @shallow-gravy @strangefable @stacispratt @eclecticwildflowers @ladyofedens-blog @florbelles @v0idbuggy @josephseedismyfather @theelderhazelnut @marivenah @josephslittledeputy @peppertheferalraccoon @neverthesameneveranother @statichvm @strafethesesinners @adelaidedrubman @clicheantagonist @voidika @confidentandgood @roofgeese

Writing tag list here to be added/removed

[direwombat]

so many wednesdays, so little time

tagged by the beloveds @wrathfulrook, @inafieldofdaisies, @adelaidedrubman, @ivymarquis, and @gaeadene for wip wednesday specifically, and by @river-ward, and @cassietrn for general wip sharing (thank you all so much <3 <3 <3)

tagging: @strafethesesinners, @strangefable, @detectivelokis, @sstewyhosseini, @confidentandgood, @henbased, @voidika, @poetikat, @roofgeese, @vampireninjabunnies-blog, @aceghosts, @purplehairsecretlair, @deputyash, @harmonyowl, @madparadoxum, @euryalex, @clonesupport, @neverthesameneveranother, @trench-rot, @jacobsneed, @josephslittledeputy, @g0dspeeed, @socially-awkward-skeleton, and anyone else wanting to share their wips today! (but as always no pressure <3)

as of checking the poll i made, looks like syb's public speaking is in the lead (by the slimmest of margins), so have some of that :)

Sticking two fingers in her mouth, she whistles loudly to get the room’s attention. All eyes turn to her. “Alright, y’all, we’ve got company inbound,” she says. “At least three trucks — estimated nine to twelve hostiles — en route comin’ in from the south. Likely just as many’re gonna come in from the north. Got maybe another seven left still outside. Now, Grace is keepin’ ‘em busy ‘cross the street, but she ain’t gonna be able to hold ‘em off forever. We also got air support incoming. I ain’t gonna lie, shit’s bad. We’re outgunned and outnumbered.”

The gathered civilians mutter anxiously among themselves. Doubt suddenly casts dark shadows over their faces, causing Sybille’s stomach to knot, but Pastor Jerome gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

She takes a deep breath. “But it ain’t hopeless,” she continues, and everyone falls silent. “Now, I want y’all to listen up and listen good ‘cause I’m only gonna say this once. Y’all willin’ to fight, we gonna leave out that back door, okay? After that, buddy up and do not let each other outta your sight. Just like huntin’ or hikin’, alright? Your buddy is. Your. Lifeline. Y’hear me?” 

The civilians nod. 

“Good,” she breathes. “Stick to cover and when that plane comes, get under a roof or awnin’. Key is makin’ yourself as small a target as possible. You get shot? Hide. Don’t get cocky. Don’t take unnecessary risks. Don’t be a hero. There any part of that y’all ain’t like, ain’t nobody gonna judge you for it, okay? Any of y’all wantin’ to stay behind, barricade the doors, head on down to the basement, and wait til someone comes to get you.” She swallows thickly and says, “Everything’ll be just fine. We all clear?”

In a chorus of voices that reminds her of her brief stint as a Staff Sergeant, all present — including Jerome — say, “Yes, ma’am.” 

There were many she served with many who hungered for such authority. So many who went career not out of patriotism but rather lust for power. But she always found issuing orders to be agonizingly unpleasant. She hated having that kind of trust, that kind of loyalty in her hands and the weight of her unit’s lives on her shoulders. 

Still hates it, as it turns out. 

Jesus Christ, she’s gonna get all these people killed and it’s gonna be all her damn fault.  

“Alright then,” she nods, trying to force the lump of dread down her throat and into her stomach where it belongs. “Move out.”

“Yes, ma’am!” they all cry in unison. They gather their weapons and begin to file out the back door of the church. She follows behind them, ensuring she’s the last one out to provide covering fire.

Jerome waits for her by the door, but before she crosses the threshold, he stops her. “These are fully grown men and women, Deputy,” he says quietly. “Their choices are their own.” 

Her eyes go wide and she blinks owlishly at him, her mouth slightly agape. Swallowing thickly, she presses her lips into a tight, firm line and nods. So were the people I was in charge of, she doesn’t say. It don’t make the guilt any less unbearable. 

But there are more pressing issues than arguing about who bears responsibility over whom. Debates of blame and morality are best left to the peacetime philosophers and judges. No, she has a job to do. She can’t allow herself to slip into the same guilt and ruminate on the same ghosts that plagued her in the quiet nights she spent in the hospital before being honorably discharged with a purple heart that she doesn’t deserve. 

No, this is war, and war necessitates action. Movement. 

If she stops, she’s as good as dead. 

Her jaw sets and expression hardens. She looks at Jerome and nods towards the single civilian yet to partner with a buddy. “Get movin’,” she grunts.

[misiwrites]

Mayblade Days 1 & 2

i got a questionable idea of trying to write a fic for @may-blade where each daily prompt makes up one chapter… will i be actually able to keep up with it? idk. i have to write really fast if i want this all done and posted on time, so this is very first draft tier writing

high school AU, a focus on hiromi and tyhil, set in a culturally ambiguous setting of a "bey town". this will be a bit different from what i usually do because i decided to throw in as many ships as i can fit (for high school shenanigans) and many are stuff i've never posted before, tyhil included. it felt like a fitting ship for a school AU and goes well with a side dish of reimax (and all this other stuff i'll sprinkle in) so here goes nothing. just gonna go bonkers with it. may clean this up later for posting on AO3, may not if i don't manage to even finish it, which is possible

and i flipped days 1 and 2 so i'm posting both at the same time. it felt sensible not at all because i ran out of time on monday

prompts: school, unpopular character characters: hiromi focus; see each chapter for who's included bc even i don't really know yet pairings: hiromi/takao; same as above

Hiromi is a first-year in Bey Town High where the majority of students engage in afterschool club activities. When her only friend in school quits their club with no other members, she's forced to venture outside her comfort zone and try to make more friends.

CHAPTER 1 prompt: school characters: hiromi, emily, mentions of others pairings: --

“So, what now? Are you going to quit the club for good?”

Emily’s chin dropped. “Well…”

“So you are.”

“I’m sorry, Hiromi – but you know how much I need the scholarship. Prioritizing the tennis club is the only sensible thing to do. It’s okay if you’re angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” Hiromi said, though she was a little. She stared down at her fidgeting leg.

“It’s not like we really need a club to keep meeting like this, anyway. I mean…” Emily’s hand gestured vaguely around the space they were in, the lousy excuse for a clubroom they didn’t have; since its foundation in the beginning of the school year, their astrology club had been holding its meetings at the end of a musky corridor in the cellar floor of the school, next to some rusty pipes and other unfitting backdrops, where a perpetual waft of paint and some cleaning agent lingered in the air.

Alright, so maybe their astrology club didn’t have a clubroom. And maybe it had only two members, which were Hiromi and Emily. And, just maybe, they could as well have done their astrology-related geeky stuff literally anywhere else, such as either the Tachibana residence or the Watsons’, but. But but but.

“And, you know,” Emily then decided to put into words what Hiromi precisely didn’t want to hear, “maybe you could go check out some other clubs, too. It would be a good way to meet new people…”

The fidgeting intensified. Em, don’t do this to me.

“…and maybe even make new friends,” the ginger finished, tentatively.

“I don’t want to join other clubs.” Hiromi preoccupied herself with picking stray lumps of lint off her hoodie while talking. “Everyone’s got their own cliques already. It would be awkward. Nobody wants a random weirdo forcing herself into their group in the middle of the year.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. The people in this school aren’t as bad as you think, Hiromi. And you’re not a weirdo.”

That was easy for Emily, fairly popular and a rising youth tennis star, to say. Hiromi, on the other hand, was an unathletic tomboy with few redeeming social qualities; she was studious and quite enjoyed school, had never been the out-going type, and preferred putting an effort in homework over partying or whatever it was that others did in their free time; she had no impressive hobbies to speak of, as her main interests were geeking out about all things spiritual or supernatural and collecting old books; she had plain brown hair and brown eyes and had never been the type to pour copious amounts of time and money into her hair, make-up, or clothes.

Her personality was on the serious side, she wasn’t a playful jokester or a vending machine for clever one-liners like all the popular girls seemed to be. She had never been the bestie that someone would choose first for anything, she’d never been part of a tight-knit group, and she’d never had a real relationship with anyone. No, it would be awkward to the extreme to squeeze herself into some club now – not to mention that she wasn’t terribly interested in, well, almost anything mainstream. She wasn’t very artistic or good at games or well-versed with popular culture other than the couple of shows she religiously followed (and even then, she wouldn’t have joined a club for those because the extent of her nerdiness was definitely embarrassing).

She was, simply put, just a normal girl. Just a Hiromi. She couldn’t become something she was not.

For a minute longer, Emily tried to persuade her to come check out the tennis club, or maybe the rest of the sports clubs. Hiromi gave her a tentative “maybe later” while harboring feelings of intense disinterest.

No, she thought, I’m not giving up on the astrology club that fast.

The following morning was the first time in months that a nervous sweat threatened to dampen her palms as she walked the short way to school. She had so perfectly adapted to her role of being invisible in class already, now she’d have to actually start a conversation with someone new for the first time in weeks. It made her heart thrum uncomfortably. She’d even forgotten to properly prepare for the morning group class. Very uncharacteristic of her.

She took her usual seat by the window near the back of the room, set her backpack to the side, and turned to look at her class. A critical thought. Who in here could I in any sensible way imagine at least consider joining the astrology club?

And there it was: her group, 1-A. Stitched together from wildly different types of people by the infallible hand of the one and only Bey Town High.

Emily, who sat next to her, had yet to arrive. The few other girls she’d done as much as talked to before sat near the front of the classroom, including Ayaka whom she didn’t know much about – apart from the fact that she had a jerk of an older brother who was part of the school’s most notorious bully squad, which effectively kept anyone from starting any shit with her – and Salima, the school council president. Salima seemed alright, always cool and collected; she had a mature air to her that alleviated the intimidation factor. Next to Salima, as always, sat Kane – the two were inseparable, for all Hiromi had seen so far. Even now, as she ogled the pair from her seat in the back, the two were engaged in looking at something together from a shared phone screen. Hiromi wasn’t sure if they were a romantic item or not, but if they weren’t, they sure were a close set of friends.

Two desks over, usually behind the now-absent Emily sat Zeo, a dainty sort of boy from a rich family; behind him, another boy of the same rich sort but infinitely worse in personality, Olivier Bohringer (who insisted on being referred to by his full name by his “pleb classmates”) whom Hiromi was surprised to see present in the first place, the snob had a habit of being chronically late with very little regard to how it might inconvenience others. Olivier had the repugnant aura of do not associate with me, whereas Zeo was lively, friendly, if not a little pushy, as if he always had something to prove. Always trying, mostly in vain, to show off to the boy whose desk he now, too, was leaning back towards in his seat with the expression of an obedient dog – yes, right there, behind Zeo, sat the boy that Hiromi had been actively avoiding making eye contact with for the past few months. Kinomiya Takao.

Not daring to look at him for too long, she stole a deliberate glance at Takao as if in passing. As if her gaze was simply wandering. He was sitting back in his chair, relaxed, laid-back as always, wearing a cap of red and blue and white with the lid facing back, engaged in conversation with some classmates, some guys called Brooklyn and Garland, Hiromi hardly knew them, as she hardly knew anyone to begin with; Zeo was eagerly trying to join the conversation that he hadn’t been included in, he never was yet always tried, wanted to be one of the cool boys and their cool circle.

Hiromi let the words float by. She could hear Takao talking but didn’t want to listen, pretended not to hear his vivid voice that carried over the sea of classroom clatter like it always did. She swiftly fixed her posture and decidedly set her eyes on the back of the person sitting in front of her. It was this short boy called Ivan who only ever read comic books in class, some weird nerd she knew absolutely nothing about.

She was oh-so-annoyed by the way her heart had chosen to leap in anticipation. It was stupid, the way she riled herself up for doing as much as looking at Takao for a bit. She crouched to grab a notebook from her backpack; it felt safe, hiding behind the excuse of urgently and thoroughly needing to check something in her notes.

While making sure that nobody could see her writing, she scribbled the names in the corner of the notebook page:

Kane, Zeo – maybe?

LITERALLY ALL OTHER BOYS – NO.

Ayaka – maybe? don’t know what she’s like

Salima – ok.

So the decision had been made.

CHAPTER 2 prompt: the past characters: hiromi, takao pairings: hiromi/takao

Hiromi and Takao had been childhood friends.

Their houses had been right across from each other on a long, long street in the eastern district of Bey Town. To young Hiromi, this street had been her entire world. The old, wooden house like a jewelry box across the street had been so fascinating to her child’s mind, the large Kinomiya residence with its traditional dojo and yard full of unusual trees. She’d started visiting the family regularly and befriended their younger son, a boy of her own age, Takao. Everything had been so effortless back then, and they’d become friends with the ease and sincerity that only children possessed.

They had built a beautiful tree house with help from Takao’s older brother and held secret meetings; they’d gone to the corner shop of that long, long street to buy candy with the first pocket money of their lives; Takao dug out bugs with a stick from the ground and proudly presented them to her. Innumerable wonderful childhood memories had stuck close to Hiromi’s heart all through her life.

They had only been children. Silly and unassuming, copying what they saw adults do, turning it into just another game. After visiting some family to attend her aunt’s wedding, Hiromi had wanted to play it out. Let’s get married! Just like that. And Kinomiya Yoshie, Takao’s beautiful mother who always wore flowers in her hair, had sewn her a little white dress because she’d asked for one.

Hiromi’s understanding of “getting married” had been to hold Takao’s hand a lot. Parroting cheesy lines about how they would be together forever and taking oaths that were comically solemn for children of their age. She had told him he needed to get her a ring because a boy was supposed to get one for the girl he married, so he’d made one of some twigs he'd picked from the ground. It had been big enough for two of her fingers to fit through. She hadn’t minded, because it had been a gift from him; she’d been so grateful that she’d given him the smallest of kisses on the cheek, just a peck.

Then she proceeded to never forget about that peck. Not for one minute of her life.

Eventually, the Tachibana family had moved to a different house, to a plain flat in a plain apartment building where the only view was the wall of an equally plain neighboring building and a parking lot. She’d been as heartbroken as a child could be – for about three weeks. Then she’d started attending elementary school right next door.

She’d sworn to visit him at least once a week, but it was quickly forgotten. In her new school, she’d begun to notice that girls and boys did not play together – that it was, in fact, embarrassing to play with boys because they were stupid and messy and stinky. The next time the Tachibanas and Kinomiyas held a get-together, Hiromi had hid behind her mother and avoided Takao’s attention all day. The whole pretend marriage thing had started feeling thoroughly humiliating and she didn’t want it addressed ever again.

And she didn’t want to know if Takao still remembered that peck on his cheek now, in high school where they had been put in the same class to her absolute mortification. He had tried to talk to her in the first couple of days of the semester. She’d greeted him politely, then proceeded to pretend she didn’t know him. She prayed to gods that he hadn’t told anyone else in their class about their shared past – but he probably hadn’t, as it didn’t seem like the kind of thing guys would talk about.

Not that she really knew what guys were talking about. After all, she hardly spoke to anyone.

[racerchix21]

Fic Request:

Nick Jackson x Reader, fluff. If you're comfortable with the idea: reader has chronic illness and in a flair up and Nick's taking care of her.

Pairing: Nick Jackson x Reader

Word count: 689

* I know this is super short but I promise as I get more confident in my Nick Jackson writing I’ll add more to it or write you something else Nick related 🖤❤️ Also hopefully close to what you were wanting

Work Text:

Pulling up in from of the house he shares with his girlfriend, Nick notes immediately that all the curtains are closed and his instincts tell him something is wrong. He quickly rushes to the door and only takes a second to make sure the car is locked before going inside to find his girl.

“Baby, I’m home and Kenny and Matt sent you some stuff since you couldn’t come with us this week,” Nick calls out and he’s met with nothing but silence, “Princess where are you?”

Glancing into the kitchen and living room on his way to the stairs and their bedroom. Halfway up, he can see that their door is cracked and when Nick finally peeks in he can see a lump in the middle of the bed under multiple blankets.

“Hey, sweetie can I join in this little snuggle fest,” Nick jokingly asks lifting up the corner of the little blanket cocoon laughing when he’s met with a squawk of indignation. The laughter quickly dies in his throat when he realizes how miserable his love looks, “baby why didn’t you call one of us? The boys woulda understood if I needed to get home right away. No matter I’ve got just the solution to help.”

“Nicky, wait a minute. I didn’t call cuz I didn’t wanna distract you and the guys from going and kickin some ass. I’m sorry.

“I’ll be right back and then we’re gonna snuggle up and I’ll see what I can do to make this flare up just a little more bearable, okay?”

Pulling his phone out, Nick sends a quick text to Kenny and Matt before going about collecting everything else he needs. The Nick Jackson Cure Kit consisted of:

- Fuzzy blankets

- Fuzzier socks

- Hoodies (preferably one of his but the one Kenny left at one point works too)

- Ibuprofen or Tylenol

- The candy and popcorn that Matt and Kenny were grabbing

- An assortment of movies

- And ALL THE SNUGGLES

Walking back into the bedroom with all the fuzzy blankets, it finally hits him to ask if there’s anything else she might want before flitting back out the door when the doorbell rings. Nick says turning for a second see his girl peeking over the blanket pile, “baby I’ll be right back. I asked if Matt and Kenny could go grab some stuff for us for the rest of the weekend.”

“K. And Nicky tell-’em I said thank you.”

“Will do baby,” Nick says as the doorbell begins to be aggressively hit, getting louder and louder the closer he gets to the door making him cringe. “What is wrong with you two? She’s not feeling good and you’re down here like madmen playing with the doorbell.”

“Flare up? Or at least I’m assuming it’s a bad flare up or you wouldn’t have texted us to go get this stuff,” Kenny says handing off the bag of stuff he got per Nick’s instructions.

“Yeah and the last time she had one this bad she got upset when I left to pick stuff up. She doesn’t like to be alone when flare ups happen if she can help it.”

“Well give her our love and if either of you need anything, call us,” Matt says pulling Nick into a hug then handing off his own bag of goodies as they turn to leave.

“Hey by the way thank you guys for being willing to do this for her.”

“She’s one of ours. She’s family Nick and we’d do anything to help her you know that,” Kenny says, “now go take care of your girl and we’ll call you later to check in.”

Heading back inside, he’s met by a blanket clad figure at the top of the stairs and has to laugh cuz trust his girl to try and catch a peek of Matt and Kenny. She might be Nicks girl but she loves those 2 like brothers. “Back to bed, I’ll be up in a minute with all the goodies.”

“Love you Nick,” she murmurs turning around and pulling her blanket cape even tighter around her body.

“Love you too baby.”

[softguarnere]

Like A Girl (Like A Man)

Shifty Powers x OFC

Chapter 6: Nothing to Hide

Summary: Zenie swallows the lump in her throat and nods. “Could have been worse.”

Warnings: language

A/N: Ya girl has been in a Mood™️ today, and since I have a feeling that the storm is gonna knock out my wifi, have another early LAGLAM update, on the house 😉

Taglist: @liebgotts-lovergirl @latibvles @lieutenant-speirs

March, 1943 – Camp Mackall, NC

Liebgott is the best at cutting hair and his prices are fair. If you’re a paratrooper and you want your hair cut and you want it cut right, then he’s your man. He’ll throw around jokes, talk about camp drama if that’s your style. And if not, he’ll work quickly and quietly through the silence without complaint.

They never talk while he cuts Zenie’s hair. This is mostly on her, because ever since that day in Toccoa when he accused her of being “performance shy”, she swears that every time he looks at her he sees straight through her disguise. She wants a good haircut. What she doesn’t want is for her observant barber to hear her voice up close and realize that – despite all her practice and effort – it’s probably more feminine than it should be.

He's close to being done and Zenie is counting down the minutes. Liebgott might be a nice guy to joke around with under different circumstances, but she’d rather get back to her friends, who are less observant.

Behind her, Liebgott sucks in a breath, and she’s worried that he’s about to say something when Luz rounds the corner, fiddling with what appears to be a stack of papers.

He smiles. It’s duller than usual. “Hey ho, Tommy Boy!”

“Hiya Luz. Watchya got there?”

The radioman looks down, his mouth dropping into an O of shock. Then he smirks. “Oh, this old thing? Just some maps that I’m helping the Black Swan misplace.”

Liebgott snorts, his hands still preoccupied with Zenie’s hair. “Plain sight is the best hiding place. I’d try slipping them into Regimental HQ.”

“Or the kitchens,” Zenie suggests. “He spends a lot of time in there.”

Luz taps his nose. “Those are both good. We have that field exercise tomorrow, and I don’t want him to find them before then.”

“Put ‘em under his own mattress,” Zenie jokes, thinking about the hiding place she used back in Toccoa. No one ever looked under or in her mattress until Eugene started helping her. And who would think to look under their own mattress for missing maps?

The laugh that escapes Luz isn’t as jolly as it usually is. It’s offkey, sour. “Yeah, that’d be some sort of poetic justice.”

Liebgott’s hands pause. “How?”

“You haven’t heard?”

“Obviously not.”

Luz tilts his head, motioning for them to follow him as he shoves the maps into his pocket. Zenie turns to Liebgott, whose eyebrows are drawn in a way that must mirror her own. He gives her a pat on the shoulder and says, “You’re all through, Tommy” before they follow George away.

“Holy shit,” Liebgott says when they step into the barracks.

“Holy shit,” Zenie echoes. Her stomach drops at the sight before her.

The barracks look as if a tornado has swept through them. Mattresses have been toppled off of beds, the sheets that once adorned them tangled together in heaps on the floor. Footlockers have been forced open and toppled over, their belongings spilling out. Socks and underwear are everywhere. Letters line the floors. Even their pillows haven’t escaped the massacre, Zenie notes as she watches a few paratroopers trying to seal up holes in the sides of theirs.

“Fuckin’ Sobel,” Liebgott mutters, taking a step further into the mess.

Surveying the carnage, the room suddenly feels cold, like ice water has been poured down the back of her shirt. Zenie has nothing to hide – no physical belongings to hide, anyway – yet she feels exposed. Her hands shake as she reaches her bed, pulling her mattress back onto it before she searches the floor for her few letters from Bobby.

Thank God none of them call her by her real name or mention her secret.

Thank God for Eugene helping her keep her secret.

Around her, the others are comparing the damage done to their personal belongings, but their voices seem distant. She plucks a sock off of her pillow and busies herself trying to put it into a neat ball. Everyone else is pissed off because they feel like their privacy has been violated, like their secrets have been laid bare. Ironic, that she – with the biggest secret of them all – somehow had nothing to hide and got of scot-free. A trickle of cold sweat runs down her spine as she takes it all in.

“You okay?” A gentle voice beside her pulls her from her thoughts and back into the loud, indignant atmosphere. Gene’s hand is paused halfway to her shoulders, like he was going to place one there to comfort her before thinking better of it.

Zenie swallows the lump in her throat and nods. “Could have been worse.”

They look around at the rest of the company. Someone is complaining that all of his letters are gone. Someone’s socks were stolen. A few men are packing their belongings away for good, readying themselves to be shipped home after what was found in their belongings.

Eugene nods. “Coulda been much worse.”

The deep, throaty croaking of a crow in the branches above her makes Zenie pause mid-step. Back home, the crows that hung around the farm usually only made that noise when someone entered their woods, or when they sensed some sort of perceived danger. She holds her breath and waits. Sure enough, someone – or something – rustles the greenery nearby.

On instinct she crouches and freezes, turning her attention towards the noise.

To her right, a group of paratroopers and a medic are crouched around an unconscious body, giggling and talking quickly. It becomes obvious the second that one of them lifts the body that whoever it might be is unconscious. She almost starts to worry that there has been an actual accident, but when she creeps closer she realizes two things: the paratroopers are pulling down the unconscious body's pants, and that the unconscious body in question belongs to none other than Captain Sobel.

Curiosity satisfied, she turns away and heads back in her original direction. It’s supposed to be a training exercise. No one is supposed to get hurt. Yet she has a feeling that things will be much worse for Sobel when they get into actual combat. Especially since what she just saw is definitely born out of revenge, no doubt about it.

Maybe the next time that there’s a boxing match, Sobel will try his luck and get in the ring. It’s too bad that Bill stopped boxing once he got promoted from corporal to squad sergeant. He’d have a thing or two to show their captain when the gloves were on. Then again, Liebgott’s a hell of a boxer. It probably wouldn’t take much convincing for him to get into the ring and show Sobel what’s what.  

That’s what he gets for going through our stuff and taking our weekend passes, she thinks. Remembering the barracks – turned inside out and completely trashed, people’s personal effects strewn everywhere, half of it missing – still makes her throat dry. Thank God for Eugene and his friendship. If not for him, her mattress would have been torn open to reveal rolls of bandages and packages of health sponges, and she would have been . . . Court martialed? Thrown in military prison? Or worse, maybe sent home. She makes a mental note to thank him again for keeping both her secret and any supplies she might need safe for her.

In a different part of her life, or maybe some time back at Toccoa, Zenie might have felt bad about what she just witnessed. Part of her might have felt bad watching Luz and some of the others misplace the Captain’s maps and equipment. If there’s one thing she’s learned recently, it’s that the Airborne is no place for secrets or emotions. She simply tries to numb the feelings, push them down and ignore them, as she plunges into her training.

Ahead of her, she spies more movement that she thinks she recognizes. Sure enough, Popeye turns, allowing her a glimpse of his face through the trees. And beside him moves another familiar figure – one that makes her heart speed up.

No! She swallows, trying to concentrate. These feelings will go away if she ignores them long enough. Then things can go back to normal; she can go on being friends with Shifty without worrying about ruining the whole damn thing.

(Because right now, looking at him is like looking directly into the sun; she feels like she can only do it in glances. She would never ignore him. He’s her friend, and she couldn’t do that to him. Especially when she knows how awful it feels to be the one being ignored. No, it’s just uncomfortable to talk to one of her friends while I think I’m in love with you and I really can’t afford that runs through the back of her mind the entire time. She’s got to find a way to fix this – whatever this is.)

There’s more movement to her left. She turns in time to see the smiling face of Joe Toye.

“Easy, Tommy.” He tilts his head back towards where he came. “Rest of your squad is that way.”

She shoulders her gun and starts after him. Part of her wants to go after Shifty and Popeye instead, but she needs to find the rest of her squad, not follow her heart.

Because no matter how she does or does not feel, here, on the ground, there is only one thing that matters: being prepared to jump into combat. If there’s one thing from her life before the Airborne that is useful, it’s that – as per the usual – her feelings do not matter.

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

@febuwhump DAY 11: Fever

Fandom: Undertale

Characters: Toriel, Sans, Frisk

~

“Come on, Tori. I think you’ve worked enough overtime by now; let somebody else take a shift,” Sans urged, voice low so as not to disturb Frisk. After several hours and at least a dozen trips in their mother’s arms from the bed to the bathroom, exhaustion had finally overpowered the pain and granted them a fitful slumber.

From her chair at the bedside, Toriel ran a soothing hand over the human’s mussed hair, damp with sweat and water that had seeped from the cool cloth on their forehead. She had already re-soaked various other compresses in the bowls on the nightstand, tucking them in around Frisk’s wrists, underarms and neck. Her soul ached to see them shrink and shiver so violently, even with the heat beating through their flushed, tender skin.

“This is not an office job where I can simply clock out, Sans,” she murmured. “This is my child. Frisk’s wellbeing is no one’s responsibility but my own.”

“Okay, sure, but it’s not gonna do them any good if you work yourself to the bone, no food, no rest, no help. You’re not the only one who cares about ’em.” Although she didn’t deign to respond, he continued regardless. “You ever hear of mandatory lunch breaks? Besides, Papyrus made a quiche.”

“Your brother’s culinary exploits are…very earnest but I-I’m afraid I don’t have the stomach for it.” How could she muster an appetite now? If it weren’t for this bout of food poisoning, Frisk wouldn’t be bedridden, bloated and burning.

If it weren’t for food poisoning, Chara wouldn’t…

No. Swallowing the bitter lump in the back of her throat, she impulsively peeled the cloth away from Frisk’s forehead and wet it again. The splashing and sloshing drowned out the memories. Frisk’s beading brow furrowed at the noise, heavy eyelids flickering faintly. Guilt bristled Toriel’s fur but she’d barely opened her mouth before Sans took a shortcut to the bedside and interjected softly.

“Hey…s’okay, you’re okay. Go back to sleep.” When he patted Frisk’s nearest hand, they shifted, clammy palm curling sluggishly around a couple of his fingers. “Heh. Sure, bud, I’ll stay. Lemme just take a seat.” He shot a meaningful look at the chair Toriel currently occupied, earning a stifled sigh before she reluctantly surrendered. Perhaps she could busy herself replacing the battery in the thermometer.

[cuteallo]

7 Comfort Movies

in no particular order

thanks for the tag @cicadaknight 🧡🧡

1. Pride and Prejudice (2005) - You know and understand

2. Knives Out - I’m a sucker for a good murder mystery and it’s timelessly funny, well constructed, and beautifully shot

3. Zombieland - I like zombies, it’s found family, reminds me of left 4 dead which is one of my all time favorite games

4. Lord of the Rings - All of it. All of it. The whole thing. Is it like the books? Eh. Do they stand on their own? Certainly and I like them

5. Seeking A Friend For The End Of The World - I find myself partial to Steve Carell’s dramatic roles and I think he and Keira Knightley have an endearing sort of chemistry. I’m gonna lump in Little Miss Sunshine here too.

6. Pitch Perfect - I KNOW. But hear me out. Shower singing scene. Fruity.

7. The Secret of Kells - I watched this for the first time in school and I was the only one in my class that liked it so I became fiercely protective of it and now I watch it a couple times a year

I’ll tag @wretcheddthing and feel weird tagging anyone else (who hasn’t already been tagged) because I get nervous so if you see this and wanna do it. tell em I sent you

[dajaregambler]

HeliosR - Lock On The Lost Night - Chapter 7

Translation of chapter 7 of the event ‘Lock On The Lost Night’ from ‘Helios Rising Heroes’.

Smuggler A: Are these all the goods?

Smuggler B: There’s a few left. Let’s move them outta here already. Since we had that whole ordeal yesterday

Smuggler A: To think some heroes would just waltz in here. Actually, giving it some more thought, how did they even get inside?

Smuggler B: You’re not supposed to get inside without a rosary---

Keith: Oooh~ What a scene to just stumble into by chance…

Keith: Yer legit part of that whole smugglers organization?

Smuggler C: W-what are you two…!

Smuggler A: Gah! They’re those heroes from yesterday….!

Keith & Brad: …..!

-

Keith: Oooh, it’s a bar after all~ I kinda did have a hunch it was one

Brad: Strange how the rosary served as a key.

Keith: It’s some kinda remnant of how during the era of prohibition, people used bibles and rosaries to trick others into thinking they weren’t doin’ anything bad

Keith: Remember seeing it as some retro bar

Brad: Huh…

Keith: Ooh, they got some rare alcohol here

Brad: Bastard, you're still in the mood for drinks? What about the rosary

Keith: We’ll talk ‘bout it with the people here later, s’fine if I hold onto it for now

Keith: More importantly, yer gonna drink too after coming this far, right? Right?

Brad: No, I’m---

Keith: One cup, two cups, we’re in it together! Who cares ‘bout all the work tomorrow! That’s how it always goes for me!

Brad: Don’t lump me in with you

Brad: Sigh… Well fine, one glass will do.

Keith: Now yer talking. Oooi, we wanna order

Smuggler A: Y-yes, one second please…!

Smuggler A: Hey, are they…… they’re heroes, right…..?

Smuggler B: This is bad….. Did they come to snoop around…?

Smuggler A: What do we do? Contact the boss and book it…?

Smuggler B: No, leave this to me! Thought of something good….

-

Brad: ….It’s mostly in bits and pieces, but I’m starting to remember more clearly now.

Keith: Same for me. So we did come here after all.

Smuggler B: Didn’t think you’d get this far given how we drugged you to the point of fucking up your entire memory.

Brad: …….!!

Smuggler A: Damnit, killing you would’ve been the right call!

Smuggler B: Idiot! We be tracked down if we did. That’s why we drugged ‘em and tossed ‘em outside!

Keith: So these handcuffs are yer work, eh? Geez, sure dared to fuck us over with it. Hurry up and and over the key 

Smuggler A: Those handcuffs are the type of special goods exhibited during the auction. There’s no key!

Keith: Haah? Don’t screw around….!

Brad: Keith, no using powers! While they’re criminals, you’re still up against normal people.

Keith: Guh, yanno it’s difficult enough to just get around…..

Smuggler C: Think you’ll catch us here or what!

Brad: They’re running away! Keith, on your left!

Keith: Gotcha!

Smuggler C: Guh…!

Smuggler A: W-what’s up with them…!? They’re handcuffed yet strong as hell…..!

Smuggler B: Split up and make a run for it!

Keith: Oi Brad, who’s up next in line?

Brad: The larger one. Stop him in one hit.

Keith: Yeah, yeah. Sheesh, you sure know how to work people to the bone!

Smuggler A: Guhah…..!