#id rather have batter do it for me.......

[angryborzois]

HOW DO YOU DO BOSS BATTLES MANUALLY BDSHSC

[thecapricunt1616]

Hello all I’m still working on my requests daddy Carmy has just been taking over my fucking brain.

I’ve been seeing the trend on tik tok of wives asking their husbands questions about their babies it just got me thinking how Carmy would KILL this challenge and he would be super proud of himself because he’s so competitive I think it would go something like (Drabble below)

You walk out onto the patio of your gorge house where he’s in sexy daddy mode cooking breakfast on the little black stone grill while he drinks his coffee and you’re like -

“Babe I saw this video about this dad he didn’t know anything about his baby but I know you know cause you’re an awesome dad can we show the people what a good dad you are?”

and ofc he gets all blushy and is like “I’m not a good dad because I know stuff about my kid but I love talkin’ bout’ em so you can ask me questions sure.”

So you start off easy “What kind of formula do we use for cub when I’m taking a break?”

He answers straight away “Yellow one Enfamil neuropro I’m like 99% sure it’s in a yellow container”

“Correct and how many naps does he take a day?” You ask and He chuckles

“Uhm well when he’s bein’ good he’ll take 2 er 3 even if he’s doin’ a lot ‘er he’s sick, but we can usually only get one outta him.” He said while shaping the pancake batter into little Mickey Mouse shapes

“He gets being a bad sleeper from his dad, and what time does he usually nap?”

“Ye’ but he gets the attitude from you. We try gettin’ ‘em down at 12:30ish 1 but he usually fights us and he doesn’t go down until 2” he teased

“What brand and size diaper do we use?” You panned the camera down as he sprinkled blueberries on top of the batter

“Huggies - you like the snug and dry ones - he likes the snug and dry ones cause the box has Mickey on it- and he’s size 4 I think - ye’ 4 now cause the 3’s were lookin uncomfortable - are you filming my hands?”

You laughed, blushing a bit having been caught “sorry you have nice hands, how does he like to be held?” You moved the camera back up

“Uhhh depends? Is he tired is he upset is heee-“ he questioned

“Mm puttin him down f’bed” you said

“Ohh lil’ man likes the football hold” he demonstrates “likes to be all curled up here in my arm like a football and I’ll give ‘em his bottle. But w’you he wants t’fall asleep eating” he said and you smiled big at how attentive he was

“You got an A, I knew you would” you said and he grinned proudly

“That was it? Cmon! Those are easy gimme harder questions then that!” He chuckled

“Hmmm… alright-“ you think for a moment “oh! What’s his favorite movie”

“Monsters inc and monsters university” he said without missing a beat “he goes nuts he loves it he makes us do scary feet with ‘em” he laughs a bit at the thought

“Also correct, what abouttt…his favorite-“ he cuts you off

“Animal? A Bear” he smirks and you both laugh

“Okay what makes him laugh every time?” You asked

“Ohhh hmmmm…” he thinks with a big grin “well there’s a lot- oh well I’m gonna get you that always makes him crack up, also coughin’ if anyone coughs kid is done for” you giggle

“Which is why he is always wakin’ up laughin’ when you cough up a lung in the middle of the night after coming in after a cigarette” you teased and he laughed a bit

“Id rather him wake up laughin’ then cryin it’s easier to go in there and read to em till he falls asleep” he said

“Oh! That’s a good one- what’s his favorite book?” You ask

“Brown bear brown bear what do you see” he smiled “or Goldie locks, but he likes it better when you read that one to him” he said and you heard him squealing over in his playpen happily

“See he agrees doncha little bear?” He coo’d adorably over at him as he bounced up and down

“Dada dada dada dada” he babbled happily and lifted his arms, golden curls like Carmys of course falling over his forehead.

Of course carmen couldn’t deny his little guy so he walked over, picking him up and holding him on his hip and came over to resume cooking

“ you win this challenge bear you crushed it” you told him and your son is just so smitten and happy, cuddling up to Carmy and sucking on his pacifier contently

You post the video ofc it goes viral bc he’s Carmen but also becomes dilf of the year all the ladies in the comments simping over his sexy muscley arms and his tattoos and his ability to hold a baby and flip pancakes at the same time, everyone’s heart melting at the end of the video when your son pointed at the pancakes and went “mi-tee” and Carmy smiling telling him “you’re right cub! Such a smart little man. That’s Mickey Mouse. We gonna watch Mickey house while we have breakfast mm? With mommy?”

[swampgallows]

sowwy being petty

.

tried making that dunkaroo dip tonight because my sister brought over animal crackers and it sounded good. it turned out great! and i got to use some of my fun sprinkles for it. my mom came in and had a little, then said "ive been craving birthday cake because i didnt get one on my birthday." then immediately launched into a several minute long apology (as always) because "it sounds like i'm complaining but i'm not, everything i say comes out wrong"—which, unfortunately, tends to be the case. my mom has a tendency to phrase things in an absurdly negative manner, probably because she is the negative self-talk champion. she DID get a birthday cake, but it was a costco cheesecake rather than a traditional buttercream frosting vanilla 'birthday" cake. because that was what she asked for in lieu of a traditional cake. so, perhaps the better verbiage would have been to say "i've been craving birthday cake, probably because i wanted to get cheesecake instead on my birthday." she then left, whipping herself for her imagined transgression the entire way back to her room.

anyway, so i thought, i know, i'll surprise my mom with a birthday cake. i've already made all of this frosting (the dunkaroo dip was pretty much just cream cheese frosting: butter, cream cheese, and powdered sugar w a lil vanilla), and we have cake mix, it'll be easy and maybe make her happy. so im looking around the kitchen for a pair of springform pans and i find this vintage cast iron pan of animal shapes, perfect for making animal cookie sandwiches. it even has a recipe on the box. i heave it out of its battered box and set it aside, intent on using the dunkaroo dip for filling and surprising my mom in the morning with these adorable cookie sandwiches. my sister and i were playing a few more days on stardew valley, so the plan was she'd go to bed, and i knew id be up all night (it's 6am and i am still awake) so i'd bake then. it's gonna be 100F today, way too hot to use the oven, and besides then both she and my dad can wake up to a fresh cake on a sunday morning to enjoy with coffee.

but at 2am, right as my sister is heading to bed, my mom trundles out again. i quickly try to hide the tray so i dont ruin the surprise, but she spotted it anyway. she then made a comment about how i apparently HAVE seen this tray before (i have no memory of this) and said "you wanted it!", implying that she'd purchased it at my request. i ask her for clarification of when i'd said that, and she starts at the very beginning of its history, saying "I bought this before your father and i were even married, maybe 40 years ago"—i try to stop her, asking how i could have possibly asked for this tray before they were even married, let alone that i hadn't been born, but she presses on—"I guess i had this stupid idea in my head that I was going to be a good mother and bake cookies for my kids once i had them, but obviously i never did, so i failed at that too".

she eventually tells me that i apparently asked her "within the last six months" for this tray (for some fantasy day when i ~move out~ i guess?), but i have zero memory of this. then again shit all has been worth remembering in the last [mumble] years so what the fuck ever. regardless, with the surprise reveal of the "jumbo" animal cracker cookies ruined, i simply rinsed the decades-abandoned cast iron tray, dabbed the excess water, and set it out to finish drying in the steadily increasing warmth of the ambient air.

i still have the dip so i could try again another night but. well, the love has been sucked out of it. all the animal shapes will do is remind her of what a shitty mother she says she is. and if i say i wanted to do it the night before, then she'll flog herself even more for ruining the surprise. i don't really have a point, i guess. just airing my grievances somewhere about how trying to do something nice always ends up with me somehow hurting my mom no matter what i do

[habit-poxly]

filthy work - simon “ghost” riley

description: ghost has a moment of emotional weakness and invites you over to his flat after a fight. ( ghost’s pov, gender neutral, they/them pronouns, no physical description of you, x reader )

warnings: toxic relationships, smoking, fighting, fluff 

mentions of: drug use, age gap, suicide

word count: 3k

When I look into my eyes in the mirror, I can see the shadows behind those glass bulbs dissolve into a rushing black sea of shame. I'll often avoid catching glimpses of myself in the feeble attempt to put off confronting my cruel reality just a bit longer. The skin that sits atop my flesh, scattered with scars of wounds caused in every way imaginable. The torture in my youth was endless, my father took a keen interest in ensuring I never had a moment of peace. So, I do not, nor have I ever. Except, of course, when I'm with them.

The way their fingers delicately dance across my skin, the way they kiss my scars, the way they run their fingers through my hair, all heal my broken soul in a way no other living being ever could. Initially, I treated my interest in them as an infatuation, a schoolboy crush I could subdue by plunging myself into their core and then rapidly pulling away. Unfortunately, the second their lips met my skin it felt like my heart had been set on fire. After our first night together I found myself spiralling deeper and deeper into the ocean that is them- threatening to submerge me completely. If it was them, I thought, drowning would be something I'd beg for. Something I'd need. 

The moans and shutters I got the pleasure of drawing from them were enough- for a while- but eventually, my mind began to wander. We had shared very few tender moments, something I lamented over often. I almost always leave immediately after we finish having sex, the air always feels poisoned by me somehow, like the sickness that rested in my bones had infected the air in the room. If I'd say id only suffocate them with my rot, and they would pull me under the surface. Staying always forced something out of me, some soft, sensitive part of myself that I was petrified of presenting to anyone, let alone them. But, every once and a while my resolve would fade; I'd watch as a frown tugged at the corners of their mouth as I stood up and would crumble. 

"What does your dream house look like?" Their head was laid on my chest, looking up at me with bright eyes. The question made me pause, the answer truthfully was sappy; a combination of 'Whatever you'd like' and 'I don't care as long as you're there with me.'.

I let out a 'hm', not wanting to ruin the moment- that's something I found myself doing often. It was a habit of mine to accidentally ruin the mood by opening myself up before snapping closed again the second I got uneasy. I had collected more of those memories than I cared to admit, but I had been making an effort to change that- as best as I can. I'd never say that to them, though. What would I say? 'I'm working on not being as big of a piece of shit to you because I love you.' I'd rather be chopped up in Siberia than say that out loud. 

"Something far away, middle o' nowhere. Big land, small house." My voice was noticeably horse, something that had always made them shiver. Their index finger began tracing small shapes onto the exposed skin of my chest. At that moment I felt lucky they hadn't been laying their head above my heart- they differently would have heard how fast it got when they began tracing love hearts. Something like this a few months ago, so sickeningly homely, would have been unimaginable- might have even made me gag. 

They hum before leaning up and planting a soft kiss on my lips. 

"All alone?" They had muttered, the question genuine in its phrasing yet still leaving something unsaid. 

No. Not all alone. For a moment I wanted to whisper out how deeply I needed them, how they infected me and how it wouldn't be fair to leave me suffering- struggling to breathe without them kissing life into my battered body. Yet, the words always seem to lodge in my throat, my body throwing itself into panic. 

They can always sense when my mood shifts, never pushing any further. 

The memory ends with me wordlessly leaving them lying alone in bed, that night cruelly ending the same as every other. 

Normally, we both do our fair part in avoiding conflict with each other, but tonight had been different for them somehow. The words I had flung at them had been completely meaningless to me, all being dragged out of me by the anger I've struggled my entire life to control. I had always hoped they knew that. Despite me never saying it, I desperately hoped they knew I didn't mean it. On the other hand, the words they would say, full of care and unconditional love would burn themselves into my heart forever. 

It had started off simple enough but quickly rolled downhill into a complete mess. 

"I just want to know what we are, Simon. I can't keep stringing myself along like this!" They were trying their best not to cry as my form towered over them. I know it's cruel to push them away and then run back to them, especially at the frequency I do it, but no matter how hard I try I can't seem to stop myself from sabotaging my relationship with them. 

"It's just sex." I had told them harshly, I remember feeling unbearable pain tug at my chest when tears finally fell from their eyes. They staggered a breath in- more than a few tears fall down the glowing flesh of their cheek, threatening to break me completely. 

"I was very clear with you about that from the beginning. I always told you all I ever wanted out of you was sex." I was correct, I had told them that, too many times to count. At no point had I ever meant it. In my heart, I've always wanted them. But I would never say that. Never out loud. I wasn't built to, no part of my body was put together with love. I can't. 

"I thought I was changing your mind!" Their voice cracked and faltered, silently weeping. I had never heard a sentence spoken more broken, more emotionally shattered. I had justified- in some twisted way- pushing them away in this manner as me protecting them from getting hurt- and me taking them back as the selfish part, but this clearly had hurt them more than anything else I could have done. 

Those were the words that forced me out the door, the words that buried themselves into my heart when it spilled from their lips. I hadn't thought of a time in years when a sentence had caused me to shake so violently- or one that had crushed my spirit so completely.  

Staring into my flats bathroom mirror I note the deep bags under my eyes, ones that have resided in their spots for decades, seem slightly darker now. I wanted to call her, the phone sat unlocked- waiting- on the counter in front of me, but I couldn't manage to work up the courage to do it. No amount of bourbon seems to assist in writing out a coherent apology to send over text, absolutely shocking. 

They had changed my mind, and long before they thought they had begun the process of doing so. 

All I wanted was them. 

I wanted a little house on a big property with them, with shutters and a nice porch where we could smoke together. A cat, maybe a dog too, we name them together. A kitchen they design, one they feel comfortable slow dancing in together. We'd have a pool table and a mini bar in the basement, we get drunk and play pool, I'd show off and make them giggle while leaving sloppy kisses on their shoulders. They'd bring light to the dark world I've been trapped in my entire life and I'd finally be able to breathe. 

"Fuck." I grumble before reaching for my phone, all my resolve disappearing. 

My flat had always been strictly off limits in our 'situationship' as they jokingly referred to it once. Our meetings would almost always take place either on base, at their flat, or in a hotel room. Initially, I hadn't allowed them over because I was trying to be as impersonal with us having sex as possible, but even as that became something that wasn't the case I still never invited them over. It had become more about me being embarrassed about how empty my life was than anything else. 

The walls of my flat were bare. No clean clothes were ever folded and put away- they would sit on top of the drier until the washing needed to be done again. I had three plates, two bowls, 1 mug, 4 normal glasses, and 8 liquor glasses, all of which have only ever been used by myself. It was always a bit messy, but only ever with my gear, booze bottles, or cigarette ash; which consists of almost everything I own. 

I hadn't wanted anyone to know how barren my life was, but as I poured myself a fifth glass of bourbon my insecurity faded with my sobriety. 

'I'll do it as quickly as possible' I drunkenly whisper. My thumb presses on their message contact in my phone. When they put it in they had put their name as a little text face, I had snatched my phone away and changed it to something formal in front of them- but the second they were out of my sight I had changed it back. I was their Lieutenant, not just a hook-up regardless of anything else; yet I still found it cute enough to keep to myself. 

They've been ' :3 ' in my phone for weeks. 

Taking another sip I attach the link for my address before pressing send. It was the most I could manage. 

Immediately the amount of booze I drank is not enough. 

'Read' pops up under the message only a few seconds after it delivers, making every hair on my body stand on end. I fucking hate that I turned that on now. The grey bubble to indicate that they're typing pops up for an unbearable amount of time, minutes on end before disappearing completely. 

I feel my heart pounding through my entire body- they'd be right to not respond, or to respond with a heart-wrenching, suicide-inducing paragraph about how big of a piece of shit I am. After what felt like an eternity of radio silence I get a response. 

"give me 20" 

It felt like a bomb went off in my chest. There was not a soul before them that could have made me flustered, made me blush like a 6-year-old boy getting a kiss from his crush. Somehow they managed to reduce my massive form to a heap in front of them and yet never pass judgment. My scars to them are part of me, my damage is something not to push away, but something they hold tenderly for me to help ease how much weight is on my shoulders. 

I didn't think people like them actually existed. Someone who would hold the world up for me regardless of me having never said thank you, regardless of me pushing them away. I took their heart, tore off a piece and handed it back to them no longer whole- and still, they rub my back and kiss my neck. I couldn't imagine a human being was capable of being so divine. 

Another swig of bourbon makes its way down my throat, generously subduing the overpouring of emotions bubbling in my stomach. 

Rushing around my flat I pick up a few things off the ground, make my bed, and hide the countless empty bourbon bottles under the sink. There's nothing I can do at the moment about how depressing this place looks, or the lingering smell of cigarettes and mid-life crisis. Their flat was a stark contrast to mine, making the anxiety seep its roots deeper into my gut. Part of me wondered if the dated furniture and my drunken, desperate demeanour would be off-putting. I strain to pull my mask over my face in anticipation of their arrival, it'll most likely come off the second I feel like I gained some confidence. 

Staring at the clock I wonder why I've even done this. They'll come here expecting change, expecting me to crawl back a different person. For them, I would try. I would work so hard to please them that It could kill me, but I know myself well enough to know I can't promise to be better. 

I had only really opened up to them once, drunkenly pouring out how I felt like there was no good in me. Like all I had been through had created deep cracks in my soul that let everything good fall out. I held onto their hands tightly, my eyes to the ground. Every part of me had been screaming that I shouldn't have, that they would think of me poorly, as weak and leave. But, of course, they didn't. They would never. They ran their hands through my hair and rubbed my back, whispering words of comfort that I had never had directed at me before. 

My eyes fixated on the stove clock, these are no doubt the most agonizing 20 minutes of my life. I've been beaten, burned, thrown out of helicopters and hung up by my rips, and this is the most unbearable moment of my life- second only to the countless other times I've made them miserable. 

I pace back and forth, pouring and downing yet another drink. I've always had a drinking problem- well, a substance abuse problem in general. 

"With your smoking habit, I'm surprised you're almost 50 and have both your lungs!" They had said to me teasingly during some patrol on base once. I was rather quick to remind them that 45 is not 'almost 50'. Our age gap has always worried me, I'm able to keep up with what they want but it often made me feel like an old man.

More and more anxiety settles in as the 20-minute mark comes and goes, my eyes move from the clock to my phone- waiting for any sort of indication that they were standing me up.

Three soft knocks at my front door shut down all thoughts of them not showing up. Without thought, I move to the door and swing it open, desperate to look down into those oceans of eyes once again- to breathe. They almost always bring me something when they see me- joints, booze, cigars, some weird chip flavour they saw at the store, anything- I've never been sure why; so it was no surprise to see a clear plastic bag sitting in one of their hands. We stand there, my frame blocking the entrance to the flat. I adore the way they look up at me, eyes clearly tired from the hoops I've dragged them through today, yet still managing to make my head spin. 

"Hi" They break the silence, their voice timid and unsure. I move to the side and motion them in. They take off their shoes and place them neatly off to the side. I think about the boots that had been lying there on the floor haphazardly just minutes before, it drawing a small smirk from me. 

"Nice flat." It was a rather expected comment, but it still brought heat to my face. I shrug. 

"I'm never here." I respond a bit too quickly, causing them to raise an eyebrow. This was a lie, I'm exclusively here when I'm not on deployment. I suppose if I downplay how often I'm here it'll make the lack of possessions less freakish. Especially considering I'm an adult man and not a broke college kid. 

They pause, their face contorting into confusion for a second before faltering to unimpressed. 

"You're hammered." They said sternly, no doubt now smelling my drink of choice whisking off me. They wander over to my kitchen island and place the bag on top of it. 

"I needed.." I pause, unsure if I should finish my sentence. 

"I needed to talk to you." 

A deep sigh leaves their lips before they rub their hands over their face, stress dripping off them like water. With their face still buried in their palms, they nod- the gift of their continued presence one that I welcomed. 

Their eyes turn up at me, peering holes through my flesh and looking deep into the foundation of my soul. 

"I... I can't stop thinking about our fight, love." My fingers itched to be interlocked with theirs, it was like some part of me was tethered to them- and no matter what I did, it always pulled me into them. I study their face, their mouth somehow dropping even more at the events mention. My words lodge in my throat again, causing a familiar panic to settle over my body. Their eyes flicker over my mask, they had always expressed how pissed off it would make them when I wore it during 'personal' moments. But, It was my safety net- they always respected that.  

They suck a deep breath in before reaching for my hand- as if they could read my mind. I let them take it, their thumb rubbing soothing circles over the meat of my palm. 

"You did change my mind-" I mutter, just loud enough for them to hear. It felt desperate to let spill, like a sobbing prayer for mercy. 

"From the moment you set foot into my eye line, you're all I've been able to think about." 

A soft, comforting smile plants itself across their lips, their hand coming to meet my masked cheek. 

"Will you be able to tell me all this when you're sober?" Their voice hummed through my skull. 

Quickly, I scoff and chuckle before responding with a swift 'no'. With a tired look in their eyes, they chuckle with me and pull me into a hug. My arms wrap around their frame and after a few moments, we begin rocking back and forth. It was wholesome and loving, overwhelmingly so. Maybe this was worth it, even if they can't handle me forever. 

"Do you love me?" I blurt out. The prospect of being in love with them had been so unbelievable that for a period of time I had refused to even think of the word. It became quickly apparent during our semi-regular night meet-up sessions that I was beyond madly in love.

It was clear they liked me, and maybe they did love me; I've always convinced myself overwise though. 

"I love you." They respond, their words are spoken into my chest sending shocks through my body. I grip them hard, those words still unable to leave my throat to return how I feel. I hoped there was an understanding between us that I did love them- as much as I'm possibly capable of. 

My hand grips the top of my mask before tearing it off. I plant my lips on theirs, trying my best to be gentle, something I had never done while kissing them before. It was sloppy at first, my face half numb from the booze- but eventually, we settled into it. Their arms wrap around my neck as my hands meet their waist. This was far from the first time my lips danced haphazardly across theirs, yet it felt like it for some reason. My ears were buzzing, my face red and hot, my heart swelling with a feeling I'll never be able to articulate. 

They pull back, letting both their hands slide to the sides of my cheeks. Looking at them, I've never felt more peace, more hope for our future, possibly together. 

"It'll be hard, filthy work- loving me." My eyes dart across their features, stunned.

"I don't care-" They respond, no hesitation to be found in their voice. Their fingers brush across my cheek leaving me a mess. 

"Not as long as it's you." 

[sukacheri]

hinakasa wip snippet - superhero x civilian

happy sunday here's a wip snippet of something i am very excited to finish soon (it's not angst..!!!!!!! a miracle!!) (it's also an attempt at humor which is... not my specialty but it's getting there i think!)

it's based on a prompt where a superhero is meeting his civilian boyfriend's family for the first time over dinner and is running late. i thought this premise was very funny, especially having yuuta being the judgemental family role (he was born to be a hater)

enjoy!

Hinata called Tsukasa, swearing to take off one of the countless heart emojis from his contact name if he got sent to voicemail.

Dialing… dialing… dialing… and then a beep of the call going through.

“Ah, hello! This is Tsukasa Suou, thank you for calling.” He sounded breathless, and Hinata distantly heard a car alarm going off. “I am unfortunately engaged with something right now, may I ask your--” An awful crunching sound cut him off which Hinata deeply hoped was not his nose breaking. “Your name? And I will call you back as soon as I am able to.”

“Honey," Hinata sighed. “Did your suit’s Caller ID break again?”

“Oh, Hinata-kun. Hi darling.” Tsukasa’s tone flipped on a dime, his smile oozing through his voice. “Yes, it did. I thought it would be more resistant to the um, battering, but it appears to need more upgrades. I’ll fix it this weekend, hopefully.”

Hinata tapped his fingers against his phone case, finding little comfort in the cracked plastic that needed to be replaced. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Well, the internal clock broke too, but don’t worry! I know dinner with your brother is at 6:30. I bought those chocolates you told me he likes, the spicy ones. And I have been mentally preparing for the past month, as you have advised. You gave a rather long list of topics not to bring up, but I have it memorized and thus I promise to deliver an outstanding first impression to your brother.”

Hinata loved Tsukasa, he really, truly did, but he could not stop the pained groan from escaping his mouth.

“Tsukasa-kun,” he said. “You are very, very, very late.”

“What?! No, but I left work on time! Darling, I-- hold on--” A minor explosion interrupted Tsukasa, and after a few more booms and the sharp crackling of flames, he resumed speaking. “I swear on my honor I was out the door on time, even a few minutes early. I haven’t been fighting that long, have I? What time is it?”

“It’s enough time that Yuuta-kun is, decidedly, not impressed with you. Or fond. Or even likely to approve of you by the end of the night,” Hinata said. “Listen, dear, honey, darling, sweetie. Yuuta-kun is going to kill you. He is going to pull you limb by limb and scrutinize you under the world’s largest microscope and make fun of you. This is inevitable, because you are just so very late.”

“Hinata-kun--”

“And I am warning you,” Hinata continued, pinching his nose as if Tsukasa could see his exasperation. “If you are not here in the next five minutes, then you won’t need to worry about Yuuta-kun. You are going to have to worry about me killing you. Not Yuuta-kun, not whatever villain of the week you’re fighting right now. Me. Me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, dear. Of course. I will be there right away, I promise.”

“Good!” Hinata cheered. “I’ll see you then. Love you lots!”

“I love you too. Goodbye, Hinata-kun.”

[aronarchy]

[image ID: thread by butchanarchy

Maybe folks prioritize an abuser’s need to be “healed” from the abuse they inflicted because it is far more comfortable to think of an abuser as “broken” than it is to see them as someone who takes many of our society’s values about relationships and control to their logical conclusion.

I think many people’s real concern isn’t even how survivors handle abuse so much as the fact that we call actions they see as ultimately acceptable/justifiable abuse in the first place. Because even if they’re not outright abusers. many folks see control as integral to relationships.

Easier to see an abuser as the ultimate victim of circumstance that can be “fixed” from their “deviancy” rather than reckon with the fact that they don’t actually deviate that much from our dominant cultural norms and what that says about those who buy into those norms, too.

Many people believe that there is a level of control over a partner’s/child’s/friend’s/etc. autonomy that you have a right to once you have a close connection to them. People don’t want to have that belief challenged, as it is a significant player in many of their relationships.

So it’s easier to think of an abuser as a poor, broken deviant in need of fixing because they take those values “too far” rather than have to question why any of us have a right to claim ownership and control over the people in our lives.

My abuser very much knew exactly what she was doing, and told me so explicitly at more than one point. She saw her attempts to gain and maintain control as utterly justifiable. She had no illusions about her actions, she just didn’t want them labeled as abuse.

And neither did the community we both shared, and not even in denial of the specific actions I outlined when I outed her. Rather, they all saw actions of control, manipulation, sexual exploitation, as just natural and acceptable parts of relationships in general.

Deeply appreciative of this point @/ClarissaAdjoint made here a couple weeks ago. Abuse IS a learned behavior, but not learned from being abused as much as learned from being taught who is an acceptable target of control and the tactics of domination. https://twitter.com/ClarissaAdjoint/status/1559677090516967424

reply by greatplainspunk:

This is so true and why Batterer Intervention Programs are court ordered and you don’t see people voluntarily lining up at the door. Most abusers know what they’re doing and don’t want to voluntarily give up control because they know it serves them to meet their needs.

reply by salome_af:

It really fucked me up when I recently discovered my father was never a direct victim of violence, rather he witnessed his step sibs beaten. And decided that was the type of parent he wanted to be. The violence was about keeping him feeling powerful.

/end image ID]

[image ID: the nested thread by ClarissaAdjoint from the above thread

screenshot of a tweet by AbolitionBuns: “1. The core idea of TJ is to break the cycle of harm. It is understood that people only engage in abuse towards others because of prior experience of being abused. Abuse is a learned behavior. No one is born to abuse others.”

Okay look I’m screenshotting because I don’t feel like directly arguing since I don’t think it’s going to do any good

but here’s the deal: yes, no one is born to abuse yes, abuse is learned behavior

but that doesn’t imply “hurt-people hurt people” like op thinks

what I mean is that they’re operating under a false dilemma: there's more ways to learn to abuse than having it done to you

I argue that the primary way is by learning how/when you can hurt others to get what you want without consequence

learning to commit violence against your intimate partners, your children, your coworkers, your employees, to women you don’t even know, &c.

is about learning what kind of violence your society tolerates and more importantly who it tolerates that violence against

cops don’t learn to beat their wives because they were abused anymore than a karen learns to threaten black strangers because she was abused

it’s about navigating social rules of acceptable targets to get what you want

it is not just a choice it is ten thousand choices

the only real cycle of abuse is not the abused growing up to be abusers—a mere determinism by another name—but the abused growing up to think they deserve abuse, to habituate to it

again and again and again

til they’re more scar tissue than soft flesh

so, no, no one is born to abuse

and that is why they can be held accountable for their choices

/end image ID]

[hinumay]

So I wrote something.... Out of nowhere I'm not really sure how much I can write bout this but here ya go

I don't have a title for it yet tho but for the meantime let's call it... Orchid's Lament

the orchid smells of sunlight and dew, of course they should be, i thought to myself, the storm has passed 2 days ago and now the warmth of the Sunfather has embraced the isles. it has always been like this, as i walk every morning through the age old corridors and in disrepaired tapestries and fading murals on this humble castle i call home, i can always smell them. i took a pause, looking up an arch with a wooden orchid symbol ornately carved i wondered there for quite long, initially i thought of how old that might’ve been, im not really that old, i think it might be older than grandfather, well, as being the youngest son, i think i might just live as long as it, slowly noticing its decay hiding inside. as if its not an apt metaphor i thought. i breathed in and continued walking towards the courtyard.

smany people think we do things strangely here, which im not really sure whether their right or not, since ive lived here for all my life and havent traveled anywhare at all. but our lord, hmm, my father usually addresses the town in the courtyard whilst other clans would either do it in an enclosed throneroom or the town center, but were not like that, id like to think its because were more closer to our subjects. my father was trying to speak over the loud noises of concern and even some shouting of worry, there must be a problem in the device since hes standing up imploring 9 thousand people inside a castle that can support only 2 thousand to listen. i was escorted in behind the platform, along with my kelpper my dog, there was indeed a commotion on the staff, for some reason, somebody seemed to have hammered the vox, gosh, thats an expensive thing, its like 90crowns, 5 years of the town’s earnings is what it is, and somebody just decided to damage it. i looked around adn found my eldest brother trying to organize this mess, “they did it” he said furrowing his brows more filled with concern though rather than rage. my brother Enver is an amazing man, he usually is annoying once he starts odering you specifically, but he was born to it, he was the eldes i mean he didn really have a choice did he, but he performed well as a leader, he isnt like our grandfather who had a bellowing voice of command and charisma, or like our mother who had been liked by so many of her students and had become somewhat of a legend in the town school for always putting their needs first, my brother is somewhat a mix of my father’s subtlety and my mother’s determination, and in all honesty, to see him worried like this frightens me. “wheres Serdar?” i asked, “there busy trying to organize the crowds on the gates of the castle, hes working on his light screens along with Hans. after a while though, several aids and guards did manage to bring in the replacement. ”repairing it would cost a lot, i murmured“ trying to redirect the conversation, my dog whined in agreement. they managed to set it up quick and our conversation was abruptly cut as the voice of my father, trying to imitate his father before him echoed through the castle halls. and suddenly the sound of 20 thundering engines of 25 ft tall walkers in vaguely humanoid shape old beaten and battered but ornately designed, bearing shields and swords wearing the orchid symbol on their pauldrons slowly started to stand in synchronized attention in response to my father’s plea for the people to listen. these are the guardians of our isles, these are our knights.

[percontaion-points]

The Chemist chapter 2

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 2

Her bathtub mixture was not the same thing they’d used for Barnaby, but it was close enough. It was the simplest way she knew to kill someone so swiftly and so painfully. And it was a renewable resource, unlike many of her weapons. All she needed was a good stock of peaches and a pool-supply store. Nothing that required restricted access or even a mailing address, nothing that her pursuers could track.

She says shit like this, yet in chapter one, she told the readers that she needed to take private contracting jobs so that she could buy her lab equipment and chemicals. 

I get that fake IDs cost a lot of money. But if she’s whipping this shit up in her bathtub with a peach pit and common pool chemicals, then there’s literally no need for her to endlessly put herself at risk by continuing to stay in her former occupation. 

If Carston was lying to her—which she was 97 percent sure he was— and arranging an ambush, then everything he’d said was a lie.

This is why I can’t take her seriously as a protagonist. Because I would not risk my life for that 3% chance that the entire thing wasn’t yet another trap to murder me. 

Casey went back to her room and changed into the clothes she’d kept inside the briefcase…

It’s not that I don’t mind the fact that our MC is constantly using fake IDs. I don’t even mind that the narration drops a name, especially when it goes on to explain to us WHY MC is going out of her way to intentionally use gender-neutral names. 

But what I cannot even begin to comprehend is why in the name of sanity does the narration itself randomly rename her every single time a new ID is flashed about? 

Like her name isn’t fucking Chris or Taylor or Casey. PICK ONE NAME AND FUCKING GODDAMNED USE IT FOR THE DURATION OF THE STORY. 

Next, the earrings, which she always handled with delicate care. She wouldn’t risk wearing them for this part of the journey; she would wait until she was closer to her target. Once they were in, she had to move her head very deliberately. They looked like simple glass globes, but the glass was so thin that a high note could shatter it, especially as the little spheres were already under pressure from the inside. If anyone grabbed her by the neck or head, the glass would burst with a quiet pop. She would hold her breath —which she could do for a minute fifteen, easy—and close her eyes if possible. Her attacker would not know to do that.

This is 100% written by somebody who is only thinking of how cool that it is, rather than the practicality of it all. 

One wrong head turn from our dear MC, and it’s all over for her. Why the fuck would anybody risk something like that?

“I don’t suppose you have the files on you,” she said.

Chapter 2 summary: The next day, Chris’s anger reaches a boiling point. She goes out and rents a car, and drives out to the DC area, where she rents a second car and goes to a hotel. On the way there, she tells the readers about the first attempt on her life.

Her mentor, Dr. Barnaby, had seen the writing on the wall. The two of them had been preparing for their own ends… and how to avoid it for as long as possible. But in the end, it was Chris’s small bladder and an urgent need to pee that saved her life; nothing but dumb luck. They’d used a poison gas through the vent system into the lab where the two of them worked. After that, they’d sent 3 hit-men, all of whom had been killed by the poison gas in the bed system Chris explained to us in the first chapter. 

At the hotel, Chris talks to the manager and spins a tale of being a battered woman, of how the police weren’t helping, and neither were the restraining orders. I don’t know what any of this is doing, since it’s never explained. 

We then spend the next THREE pages going over all of the cool murder gadgets that Chris has. It’s beyond tedious to read, and could have been completely and utterly cut, since none of it currently serves any purpose at all. 

She then goes to the park where she told Carston to meet her. Even though she’s early, the dude has a security-breach level of daily patterns by eating lunch at the same restaurant. Three costume changes later, and she slides into the seat across from him. 

Her actual name is finally introduced as Juliana (Julie), so that’s what I’m going to fucking call her, since the goddamned book changes her name every time a new fake ID is used. Carston says all of this garbage about how “there were so many untrustworthy people who didn’t believe that honest people could exist!” The only thing Julie can think of is that he’s quick to put the blame onto a mysterious third party, and never the fact that he himself was complacent in letting Dr. B be killed. 

Eventually, Carston gets around to telling Julie about this great danger that’s so urgent it trumps their need to have a hit on HER. The usual buzz words are thrown around, like “terrorists” and “biological”. Julie sits and thinks about this for a full page before asking if he has the files. 

[josiebelladonna]

i’m reading “are you with me now?” and i’m laughing at the thought of nick’s number being “666″ on her phone’s caller id.

it’s the most unintentionally funny thing i have ever seen, because you know what she’s trying to do, right?

it’s like...

you take

(ahem)

six, six, six on the head and the wrist, the bloodied, battered crucifix. two coins to cross the river styx on bended knees and satan's fist. 

yes. nikki had a hard life with heroin and abuse and homelessness, and he was technically dead for two minutes at one point. his comeback story is absolutely incredible.

but no amount of edginess from the green druidess can convince me that she’s evil when jeff becerra exists.

i really wish i could tell her, “girl, just relax and be yourself! no need to be overly edgy” but then again, i don’t think there’s anything i can say to her without fear of discord/back-and-forth dm reprisal. and aside from that, this one’s not even funny. it’s just nothing. it’s like she saw my whole “i poke fun at you if i like you” and went “absolutely not”, even though i have had all manner of stuff thrown at me and called every name in the book by kids in the schoolyard and had it dismissed with “oh, they just like you!”

apparently, her excuse is that she bailed on me to mirror lizzy’s antics in state of euphoria (or something like that, i wasn’t properly paying attention and i immediately knew it was nonsense as well) like an “art imitates life” sort of thing-

yeah, don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining.

you did it because you can’t handle someone who’s different than you. you want someone who’s your equal so you can leech off them until there’s nothing left. you did it with me and then you moved over to temple when you found that i wasn’t cutting it for you anymore because i wrote a little something called “the mirror never lies” after you wrote stay, and then “amped and wired” the same time you wrote crawl (a kind of pointless retelling of state of euphoria where amped and wired did in fact have a point).

“sketchiness of wattpad” i never yelled BITCH PLEASE so loud, especially when you’ve got reads in the literal tens of thousands and an actual cult following over there. at worst, that is the most ungrateful attitude i’ve ever seen in my life (coming from someone who struggles with that mindset, that is saying so much). 

moreover, she tries to play dumb with people, saying that i don’t know what i’m talking about and i’m being a bully to her, probably so people can come over to her and pet her head. let me get this perfectly straight, because i’m still trying to comprehend this. i’m being a bully to someone who cut me off for no reason other than to be petty...? how in the world does that work? you’re in the arts of self-defense, i would hope that you know you do not fight unless the aggressor comes first.

she also has the balls - THE BALLS - to justify her plagiarism, too, which... on its own, just amazes me, especially in an era where you have literal hordes of people justifying stealing art from hardworking artists (such as myself) to pump through algorithms and make shitty, soulless ai pieces out of them. steal from us and also have the audacity to pick a fight with us just to be a horse’s ass, and we’ll fight you right back (weird how the whole incident foreshadowed the whole thing with ai art in my eyes).

she cut me off and then covered her ass because she’s territorial, among other things. and she’s lying to her followers constantly which is just... i have no words for that. what do i even say to that? that probably infuriates me more than the plagiarism.

really, never mind me: this piece of work. this scumbag. this lowlife. is flat-out lying to her followers right to their faces for absolutely no reason than to appear as though she’s right. day in. day out.

cowardice. that is utter cowardice.

given the choice, i would much rather speak opinions about fic just to spit in the face of “don’t like, don’t read” than lie to my own goddamn followers.

it makes me wonder if her whole thing is merely an act or if she really is that cunning and believes her own bullshit that much.

[sparkraptor]

Medusa (1)

(Several weeks prior)

the view from the Olympian towers on Arcadis was breathtaking. the planet was gleaming blue and green beneath them,  space glittering dark above. the apartment was luxurious: golden walls, just muted enough to be tasteful rather than first family gaudy, set the stage for dark velvet couches in deep garnet and emerald, woodwork in teriazeen ironwood and the creamiest granite from Heidigger X. the stone had a subtle glitter as the delicate lamps shone down upon it.

seated on one of the couches, the back draped in golden fur, sat a woman in a scarlet gown. at her wrists sparkled jeweled bracelets, twinkling as she toyed with her gilded hair.

the only things that marred the scene were the two ugly cyborgs behind her, and the the battered, shabby synth bleeding out on her antique palladian carpet.

Medusa delicately nudged the synth with the toe of her ivory boots, and regarded him with a cool eye.

"Ise, we've been over this." She said indulgently."I don't give a shit about the Pilgrims. I want to know about those clowns you provided false IDs for."

"Fuck off, Medusa." The Milspec growled.

"They were good, by the way. If it had been anyone but me, they wouldn't have noticed the subtle data fragments." She leaned forward. Across the way, the combat mech that Ise had restored lay in a heap. She wasn't a monster, she reminded herself. She could've forced it to tear itself apart. "I have Adi's eyes." Medusa purred then. Gently she reached over and pulled the ratty old watchcap from Ise's head. The sunset-pink hair, so at odds with his scarred face and rough demeanor.

Medusa watched the synth's hands clench until the engineered flesh on his palms began to tear. She pitied him in a way. Primes might not have been able to truly feel the range of human emotion, but what they could was real enough for them. She twisted the connections in his mechanical legs again, until he rasped out a little cry.

"The Pilgrims don't deserve you. They may have unchipped you and carved a valley inside of you for your love." She sat back, looking at the box on her side table that contained Adi's eyes and faceplate. "But they won't ever come to your aid. If they get wind that I've had you in my hands, they'll cut you loose and never look back. Now, tell me about that marach and his friends - the big, handsome solarae and that remarkable synth they brought to the fight." __

She was impressed how little Ise gave up when he finally spoke.

"What happens now?" Ise rasped, trickles of synthetic ichor dripping from underneath his tattered blindfold.

"Merrick will clean you up and reboot your mech friend. Weapons cold, of course." Medusa ran a finger over Adi's box. "I'll return these to you before you leave. I'm not an animal, old man."

She paused. "I'm going to have Merrick spin you up a new set of legs while he's at it." The burly augment picked Ise up as if he weighed nothing at all, and the synth's ruined legs dangled uselessly above the floor.

She could tell that Ise was clenching his jaw, fighting back the sarcastic vitriol for fear she would destroy Adi's eyes. "I know it might not seem like it, Ise. But I've always respected your work. The Pilgrims  won't know you've been here, but think about what I said."

__

She waited until her pet augments had left with the synth and his mech, drumming her fingers on Adi's case. With a small push, one of the gems on her bracelet unfolded into a tiny, glittering drone. "Update my to do list. I want to know everything about this Kiosho and his friends."

[skzsauce01]

For You

Anniversary Request Special

Description: You and Minho are a little more than just an heiress and her bodyguard, but you know your parents would never approve of a relationship like this unless...

Warning: anxiety, injury

Word Count: 2.1k

Pairing: fem!reader x bodyguard!Minho

He is buttoning up his shirt after a warm shower when his phone buzzes. He smirks at your caller ID on the screen before picking it up. “What, miss me alr—”

“Hi. Sorry to bother you.”

Minho drops his smile and grips his phone tighter at the tone of your voice. Panic bubbles in his chest. “Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s not like that. I’m just… out right now, and it got dark a little quicker than I thought. I know you’re off the clock on Sundays, but—”

“It’s okay. I'm coming to get you. Where are you?”

“I’m near the 7-11 near your house. The one with the blue umbrellas in front.”

“Okay. Go inside for now. I’m coming.”

“Alright. Thank you, Minho. And sorry.”

“Don’t be; it’s my job. Call again if something happens before I get there.”

“Okay.”

“Alright, I’ll be there shortly.”

Minho doesn’t even bother drying his hair and dashes out the door. He runs and runs, unease crawling up his skin, but when he sees you through the window of the convenience store, his stomach completely drops. There you stand with your shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around yourself, and knees bowed in, a stark contrast to the proud heiress he is used to seeing. 

The worker who is leaning over the counter seems to be saying something as Minho bursts in. “If you aren’t buyin’, pay for your loitering with cha number, sugar.”

Minho slaps a bill on the counter and takes a bag of chocolates. “There. She’s a customer,” he hisses. Turning to you who looks shocked by his sudden appearance, he asks, “Are you okay?”

You nod dumbly. 

“Okay. Let’s get out of here.” He puts a hand on the small of your back and guides you to the door, using himself to shield you from the eyes of the worker.

He thought you’d relax a little after getting away from the creep, but your posture remains closed off. He wants to ask why but does not know if you’re ready for that yet. Instead, you break the silence first.

“Thank you for coming, and sorry for ruining your Sunday.”

“Y/N, you know I’m always ready to be by your side.” 

He looks for clues. You have on a deep blue dress, minimal jewelry, and light makeup. In other words, effortlessly enchanting, but that’s not important; you went to something fancy but not overly formal. A first date? Minho’s heart starts racing at the thought. He needs to know. “What were you doing out here by yourself?”

You bite your lip. Instead of answering, you tug on the cuff of his shirt gingerly with the tips of your fingers. “I-is it alright if I don’t talk about it?”

His chest breaks at how fragile your voice is. He stops in his tracks and looks at you.

“I-is it not?” you squeak.

“Of course it is.”

“Then why are you—”

“You look like you need this.”

He steps up to you under the streetlight and wraps you into a hug, gently stroking your back.

“Minho!” you gasp. “What if someone sees?”

You’re an heiress. Your choices of men are Chan from JY Group, Changbin from Seo Enterprise, or even Jisung from Han Motors. Lee Minho the bodyguard is definitely not on that list even if your heart is taking flight from this small gesture of endearment.

“Why does that matter?” he hushes you.

“If Father finds out, you’d lose your job.”

“I’d rather that than not be able to be here for you when you need it,” he says plainly and holds you tighter when you try to push him away.

Gradually, he feels you give up and give in to his embrace. Finally, he feels you begin to shake as tears escape your eyes.

“It was so scary,” you whimper. “I was so scared.”

Your words are like hammers battering his chest,making it impossible to breathe. He holds you tighter and speaks quietly, letting the vibration of his voice calm you.

“It’s okay. You’re okay now. I’m right here. Nothing can hurt you.”

You arrive at the gates of your house, an empty bag of convenience store chocolates between your fingers.

“Minho?”

“Yes?”

“Father can’t know what happened. Are my eyes swollen?”

He turns you by the shoulder so he is directly looking into them. “Not at all. They’re—”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees your father approaching, and cuts his sentence short. “Good evening, Mister L/N,” he greets.

“Ah, Minho. What are you doing here on a Sunday?”

“I found Miss Y/N around my neighborhood and thought it best to escort her home.”

“You found her around your neighborhood?” 

“Yes, I was just taking an evening stroll.”

“Evening stroll?” he echoes yet again. The old man looks at the younger one’s wet, unbrushed hair.

Minho can’t do a thing but cough nervously, knowing how weak his lie is.

Thankfully, your father does not comment further. He looks between the two of you and smiles to himself. “Alright. Since you’re here, you should escort her all the way to the house.”

“Yes, sir,” Minho bows. When he straightens up again, he grins at you. “Shall we go?”

You nod with a smile of your own. “Thank you, Minho. Really.”

“Like I said, I’m always here for you.”

He cheekily takes your hand in his and hides it behind his back in case your father turns around.

“Oh, and Y/N?” he whispers.

“Hm?” 

He swipes an eyelash that fell with your tears from your cheek. “They’re not swollen; they’re beautiful.”

Your father coughs loudly in front of you.

The following week, you accompany your parents to a showing of the latest models of Han Motors. Of course, this means Minho is to lurk around in the shadows and follow you all night. At least, that’s what he’s supposed to do instead of being dragged out to the main floor by you to discuss which refreshment tastes the best.

“You know, if you wanted to spend time with me, you could have just said so,” Minho teasingly whispers into your ear.

“Shush and try this.” You roll your eyes and stuff a truffle-topped cracker between his lips. 

Minho chews for a moment before commenting, “Not great. Better than the cherry thing earlier, but the truffles your uncle gave you last time was better.”

You take one and mull over it yourself. “You’re right. This one’s too sweet.”

“Like someone I know,” he sighs off-handedly.

You snort. “I can’t tell if you’re talking about me or yourself.”

He raises a brow. “Oh, so you think I’m worthy of being called ‘sweet?’”

“Good gracious,” you roll your eyes.

The two of you have tried less and less to suppress your flirting. Thankfully, most of your comments are made in indecipherable whispers or behind closed doors, so most people haven’t noticed, but those who did definitely have a thing or two to say about it.

“Y/N!” Your mother’s voice breaks your conversation. 

You walk quickly past displays of shiny luxury cars to where she is. “Yes, Mother?”

She looks past you at Minho. “This does not involve you.”

Without missing a beat, he bows. Before he leaves though, you flash him a hand signal. Stay nearby. 

“You should meet the Hans’ son tonight,” your mother tells you after Minho is gone from her sight.

“Mother, I’ve already met him at my birthday party last year.”

“Yes, but this time, meet him as a man like you’re supposed to, you understand?”

“Mother, Jisung already has his eyes on—”

“Madam Han!” your mother calls before you can even finish your sentence. You close your eyes to roll them and let your shoulders slouch, knowing exactly what is going to happen.

The said woman walks over, her son in tow to help his mother introduce new cars. “Madam L/N! It is good to see you.”

First the sweet talk.

“Your face is smaller every time I see it. How do you do it?”

“Oh, you flatter me!”

Then an indirect indication of true intentions.

“It’s the truth! You simply must tell me your secrets. In the meantime, let’s have our children play amongst themselves.”

Madam Han quickly understands her implication. “Of course! They must be bored being around us old ladies. Jisung dear, take care of Miss Y/N, won’t you?”

“Yes, Mother,” he promises obediently.

You watch as the two women walk away in a fit of faux compliments. Despite leaving the two of you alone, you know they have hawk eyes on you to make sure you do as they intend.

“So,” you decide to play along, “we, uh, meet again, Jisung.”

“Yep.” He clasps his hands in front of him and looks around nervously. Not much of a conversationalist, you note.

“Tell me about this car.” You motion towards a blue SUV nearby.

“Ah, yes!” You can see the boy light up from having something he can actually talk about. “This is the Model YG. It is a family car, but it certainly does not leave out the power and class of a…”

You soon tune him out. You both know you have no interest in cars anyway, and he’s just glad to have something to fill the silence with. Your eyes begin to wander, and you catch sight of something darting around. You first pass it off as your imagination, but when you see it again, alarms go off in your head.

You grab the arm next to you. “Minho.”

Jisung looks at you inquisitively. “I’m Jisung.”

“Sorry,” you apologize. “I need to find my bodyguard. I think there’s something—”

Just then, a low whistle cuts through the air. You look up and see the giant chandelier above you beginning to tilt.

“Run!”

Unfortunately, you are right at the center of the whole structure. You bolt away right behind Jisung, but there is just no way your stupid heels can keep up with his powerful strides. There isn’t much time. You aren’t going to make it. You can hear the lower hanging parts of the light structure crashing and shattering when someone tackles you to the floor, shielding you with his own body.

“Minho!”

He lets out a hallowed gasp as a metal rod strikes him in the back. He struggles to regain his breath but keeps his eyes trained on you.

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” you repeat, knowing that’s what he wants to hear most. 

It’s your turn to worry about him now as he continues struggling to breathe. You help him sit upright, trying to avoid touching the million shards of glass impaling his skin. 

“Miss L/N!” You turn and see Jisung calling you from the perimeter of the mess. Thankfully, he does not look too scathed. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m—”

“Get away from my daughter!”

Amidst the panic and army of security running about, everyone looks up at your mother fuming on the second floor. It is only then you realize how intimate your position with Minho is. You’re seated between his legs, turned towards him, and he has his arms around you, using your body to press on his spazzing diaphragm.

A new voice directs everyone’s attention. “Are you crazy?” It is your father this time, pulling his wife away from the railings. “He just saved her! What are you doing?”

“Jisung was supposed to save her!”

“Jisung saved himself! Can’t you see? Minho’s the one who’s willing to risk himself for our daughter. What more do you have against that?”

You blush under the eyes your parents’ conversation has put on you, but Minho does not back down. He keeps you covered as you shrink in embarrassment. 

“Jisung just needs more time with her!” your mother continues. “He’ll learn to love her!”

“Like you ever learned to love me? How many years have we been married? How many years have we tried to learn to love? Do you really wish the same thing for our daughter?”

A wave of gasps ripple through the building. Security has caught the criminals who sabotaged the convention, but no one cares. You can feel your stock prices dropping. You and your family are going to be on the front cover of every gossip magazine tomorrow. You struggle to find something— anything— to distract the crowd from what was just said. You need something big— something even bigger than your father’s confession.

In the midst of your dilemma, it is Minho who speaks first. “Let’s date.”

Another gasp echoes across the crowd. At least that did the trick.

“What are you doing?” you whisper-scream at him.

“What?” he says not-so-quietly. “Your father’s giving me permission. We might as well make it official. I promise to protect you and cherish you for the rest of our lives. What do you say, Y/N?”

Jisung is the first to start chanting, “Say yes! Say yes!” and is soon joined by the rest of the party-goers. Your mother nearly faints and your father beams proudly.

“Okay,” you finally agree.

“Then kiss me,” he prompts, and you do. 

[onenicebugperday]

@schrodingers-cate submitted: A collection of friends from [removed]. Please redact location thanks!!! I know the first moth fella is a BEAUTIFUL Luna moth, the first I've ever seen alive, I feel so honored!! But the rest I have no idea about! Could you help me ID them?

The 5th and 6th picture are the same moth. It's wings were like that when I found it. Love the big buggy eyes it's got though!

The big beautiful fellow after that is one I found on the grass. I saved him from getting stepped on. I'm afraid he looked like he might have been at the end of his life... I put him on a bush and wished him a good rest of his little moth life!

The second to last picture of the caterpillar friend is one that gave me a scare.. I felt something tickling my leg and looked down to see him crawling on me! I was afraid his hairs might be dangerous to the touch... I took him off carefully and released him. Is he a poisonous haired caterpillar?

That's all, thanks so much!!

I can definitely help!

1. Giant leaf-footed bug, Acanthocephala declivis

2. Luna moth, as you said

3. Red-bordered emerald, Nemoria lixaria, which is a type of geometer

4. Yellow-striped oakworm moth, Anisota peigleri

5-6. Poor fellow! Likely had a hard time emerging from its pupa or possibly was diseased. Because the wings are so crumpled, I can't see the markings properly, so I can't confidently ID it. I thought maybe some kind of tussock in Lymantriinae based on the antennae, but the legs aren't as fuzzy as I'd expect to see. This one'll have to remain a mystery unless someone else recognizes it, though that'll be difficult with your location removed.

7-8. Looks like a male tulip-tree silkmoth, Callosamia angulifera. And yes, he's pretty battered, and they don't live long. Hopefully he got to mate and he'll be the father of one million tiny babies :)

9. Definite tussock, Orgyia definita. Some people report rashes from their hairs. I think it depends on how you touch them and how sensitive you are. From what I've read, reactions are more common in children. Because children are more sensitive or more likely to grab a caterpillar? Not sure! It shouldn't do much just from crawling on you, but always exercise caution with fuzzy friends, just in case.

10. Best guess is a blinded sphinx, Paonias excaecata. There's quite a lot of scale loss on the wings but the darker markings I'd expect to see are visible!

Thanks for sharing all your friends! They are all beautiful and perfect.

And just as an FYI, in the future, I do prefer to have multiple submissions with a few bugs per submission rather than one long one! Just makes it easier for me :)

[f1nalboys]

this is my ‘the collector’ live post i’m gonna edit it as i go and post it once i’m done so i don’t bombard y’all

-the mfs in the beginning deserve to die bc who walks around in their pitch black house 🙄

-ew these opening credits….. maybe i just don’t like the music choice but i’m like 😡

-ok so arkin knows the family i guess? idk

-he’s so sexy i want him so bad y’all…… i would FUCK him so god damn hard y’all wouldn’t believe it

-jill shut the actual fuck up PLEASE

-arkin why don’t you come in my box 😝😝 if u get what i’m saying babe

-his wife is kinda sexy hehe

-milf and dilf powercouple

-arkinnnnnn ur a little thief but ur sexy so it’s fine

-the collecter walks like a fruit i know that bc i walk the same

-waiting for the sexy sexy scene of arkin when he gets his face grabbed by asa and he looks breedable

-damnnnn he’s fucking michael up 😭 asa ur a lil monster fr

-15-24-7 everyone remember that ok

-most fucked uo thing asas done so far is breathe in that lady’s face bc i just know his breath is rank as fuck

-not arkin searching through all of the drawers like mf he SAID the bottom one. ur wasting time

-ngl to yall id get the rock and just fuck off there’s no way i’d even try to help these folks 😐 does that make me evil….it’s just like,,,, i can’t help! at all! i’d try but id lowkey just look for a way out 😭 i’d die regardless i guess

-ok maybe id try to help instead of just leaving but idk 🙄

-NOOO THE POIR CAT STUCK IN THE ACID????? WHAT THE FUCK THIS MANS EVIL

-this yalls man fr 🤔

-NOO THE CAT GOT SLICED IN FUCKING HALF I HATE IT HERE

-arkin yelling at the lady while she’s getting tortured LMFAO

-jill avoiding all the traps cuz she’s horny JFJSJDJ

-EW THE WAY HE LIVKED HIS LIPS WATCHING JILL GET FUCKED?,, FREAKAZOID

-there’s sm nipple in this movie

-asa is such a weird little freak LMAO

-THE BEAR TRAPS??? what is wrong w him omg

-arkin just leave babe y’all could not fucking catch me here any longer than that lol

-arkin is too good i don’t give a fuck abt that little girl tbh

-not them electrocuting the wrong guy

-also how tf is asa unable to locate or kill the little girl??? mf how many people have u tortured and kidnapped at this point???????

-RUN ARKIN RUNNNNN

-HES RLLY USING TGE MFS HEAD AS A BATTERING RAM

-r these noises fucking asa screaming??

-HERES TGE SEXY SCENE IF BREEDABLE ARKIN LETS GOOOOOO

-personally i think asa has too much time in hands like how long do y’all think it took to set up all those traps??? my man needs a hobby i think

-he only takes one fr

-sorry it happened to be u sexy arkin lover babe

-IS HE PURRING

-asa furry confirmed????

-i think there r nicer ways to wake him up rather than cutting his forehead asa

-no ass on him that’s why he’s a serial killer

-is he digging out his teeth w the chisel???

-i like the effects on asas eyes

-the way arkin had to be homophobic to get asa to come back and beat him up sir that’s the por calling the kettle black ain’t it

-i mean if asa rlly wanted to fuck him up he could’ve just killed the girl

-or try to get bugs to eat through his stomach, that works to i guess

-asas evil little dogs damn

-arkin let me fix u up babe plssss i’ll take care of u hehehe

-the random noises they put over asa is so weird like what is he doing

-is the dog gotta eat this little girl 😭

-arkin hurry up bitch let’s GO

-this is why i’m a cat person

-HE LIT THE DOG ON FIRE 😧

-the stuffed fake dog was rlly something tho

-isn’t there 2 open windows upstairs? why don’t they go through those???

-HAHAHA he got stabbed by the knife chandelier 😝

-HIS WAILS OF PAIN LFJWJCNWONFKWJDJSJS THATS SO FUNNY

-NOT THE POLICE CAR RUNNING ARKIN OVER COSNCINWIDJE

-wonder what happened to arkin a daughter and gf ex lady

-the added the scream from asa like he’s in the fire or something

-also this little girl has GOT to have extreme ptsd from this

-THE AMBULANCE???? also damn arkin was strapped in tight tryna save the emt

-asa is so extra taking arkin w him like man u could’ve just killed him then and there 🙄

-how tf did he survive the knife thing tho 🤔 if it was anyone else they’d be deadzo…. anyways time to go watch the collection hehe

[cantuscorvi]

[ A Memory. ]

An undercover verse drabble related to this headcanon I posted a while ago!

BIG CW: violence, blood, kidnapping, torture, murder, gore, trauma, toxic family relationships, just dark things in general, lack of proofreading and copius usage of potentially bad Russian. If you see any typos or things that don't make sense lemme know! ( I wrote this in two sessions of hyperfocus lmao forgive me )

“Дерьмо.” [ Shit.] Cyrus rummaged in his pocket for his ringing phone. He hissed when he saw the caller ID. “I must take this. Watch him for me, boy.”

Raum dragged his gaze away from the bound man and turned his head abruptly at his uncle, a muted sense of alarm in his eyes. “Me? I can’t.”

Cyrus paused in the doorway and frowned at him. There was an urgency in his posture and voice as the phone droned away in his hand. He didn’t have time to assuage the teen’s fears, but he was always indulgent with his nephew.

“He’s out cold and he cannot move, Левка, you’ll be fine. Just watch him. Five minutes.”

The door opened. Raum’s stomach lurched. 

“Дядя–” [ Uncle– ]

Cyrus fixed him with a stare and Raum closed his mouth. His uncle lifted the phone to his ear and turned away.  “Слушаю вас. Да, говорите…” [ I'm listening. Yes, go ahead... ]

The door closed and locked behind him. Raum felt something cold grip his insides when the room went silent apart from the wheezing breaths of their captive. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. His eyes remained fixed on the door. He didn’t want to look at the prisoner.  Yet every breath the man took, filling the room like a ticking clock, beckoned him to look. Raum bit his lower lip and tried to calm down. He knew this was probably some sort of trial. Cyrus had been trying to ingratiate him into the business for a while now, and these kinds of tests had become commonplace for him, especially as he’d been approaching his sixteenth birthday. Cyrus would drop Raum into a new situation and watch how he reacted – like trying to teach a child to swim by throwing them into the deep end of the pool. 

This wasn’t a pool anymore, Raum thought. It was the ocean.

There was a low sound from behind him, a muffled kind of moan, and Raum spun towards him quickly, like a deer at the snap of a twig. 

He was met with the still, battered body of the captive. He was tied to a metal chair with his arms behind his back.There was a bag over his head. It was made of some kind of heavy black cloth, obscuring his face. Regardless his head hung low between his shoulder blades and he didn’t move except for breathing. Out cold, exactly as Cyrus had said. Raum took a deep breath through his nose and forced himself to look. He wasn’t stupid. No doubt it was what Cyrus wanted - to get him used to the situation in a controlled manner. If Raum would take over their family business someday, these sights would become commonplace. He needed to be desensitised. He knew that. Intellectually, he knew, and he accepted. Raum desperately wanted to please his uncle. He was already willing to do whatever it took to earn his proud smile - his, ‘very good, Левка.’  But it was altogether different when faced with the situation in person. When his age and lack of experience got the better of him. Only through determination did he prevent his hands from shaking. Yet, it wasn’t fear of the captive, or the violence against him that paralyzed Raum, rather the situation. The idea that Raum was the one in control – that he was being tested, and he could fail. He could disappoint Cyrus if he didn’t hold his composure. 

Raum watched the unknown man’s exposed chest rise and fall, shallow, but steady. Bruises and scrapes littered him. There were several dark, purple shoe imprints on the man’s torso. Raum recognised some of them as his uncle’s. He’d seen him, and others, do it before. When someone fell out of line, when someone was a disappointment, they’d get a beating, a kicking, even. Strangely enough, Raum never felt sorry for them. They should have followed orders, they shouldn’t have made mistakes, they should have been better. He told himself that often, and he’d never been in their position so far. A sharp slap on the face maybe, when he’d spoken out of turn. But never a beating. 

Under the bruising, tattoos lined the man’s body like a canvas. His suit, a story of his life and his crimes. Ugly, gaudy things that Raum regarded with distaste. Relics of the past. On the abdomen, a female pinup pierced with a comically oversized syringe. He was an addict. Crosses on his knuckles to show times spent in prison - three, he noted. An ugly, snarling devil’s head on the chest – the оскал. [ the grin. ] And the most offensive, standing out like badges of honour, a star on each shoulder. They were crooked and wrongly placed. Unearned. The one on the left was intact. The right, however, had been systematically peeled with a knife. In its place, torn, angry red flesh oozing blood down the man’s arm. 

Raum stared at the wound for what felt like a long time, letting it centre him. It was easier to focus on the disrespect and the punishment - on the man’s stupidity. Raum was better than him. He had no reason to feel afraid. Seconds turned to minutes that passed while he waited for Cyrus to return. He could do this, he thought. Raum’s shoulders slowly relaxed from the tense position he hadn’t realised they’d bunched into.  It was nothing at all.

The man’s body jerked suddenly on a gasp, and Raum went utterly rigid, his pulse spiking. He was awake.

Panicked breaths shook the captive’s frame, and he began to struggle on the chair, writhing like a trapped animal. Metal scraped along the ground and Raum winced at the sound, taking a step back. The man froze, like he’d realised someone was there with him, and began to call out, babbling, pleas, apologies, practically nonsense. Raum glanced at the locked door. His uncle was surely still on the phone, and he didn’t want to hear the man any longer. He knew what to do.

Raum took a step forward, then stomped his foot down on the chair in the gap between the man’s legs. He gasped, knees jerking, obviously not expecting it.

“Shut up,” Raum hissed, eyes on the door again. His uncle should have been back at any moment. Five minutes, he had said.

A mistake.

There was a sickening, bony crack, and a strangled cry from the man. Then he was surging out of the chair and barrelling front-first into Raum with the full weight of his body. The teen had already hit his growth spurt, but there was no match in terms of their physique. The sheer, surprising mass of the other man was enough to overwhelm and knock him off his feet, and they crashed to the ground in a heap of limbs. He grunted wildly, still unable to see, grabbing blindly at Raum’s face with his thick sweaty hands. One of his thumbs was broken – how he’d managed to escape his binds. His hands closed firmly around Raum’s throat. 

Panic gripped Raum like a vice and he writhed frantically under its influence. In a fight or flight scenario, Raum had already learned his reaction was always to fight. He clawed at the man’s wrists. The dark bag loomed over him like the face of death, the stench of sweat and the man’s breath seeping through it towards him. His air was being cut off and his thoughts screamed, until his brain finally caught up with his body and he drove a hard knee up into the captive’s gut. The man made a choked sound with the wind knocked out of him, releasing his grip momentarily. It was enough. With all his strength, the teen shoved upward with both hands and crawled out from under him as fast as possible. 

There was a metal table bolted to the wall where they kept the tools. Raum zeroed in on it with tunnel vision – getting there was survival. On his hands and knees, he grasped the edge of it just as he felt one of the man’s hands wrap around his ankle. Frenzied, Raum grabbed the closest sharp-looking thing he could before he was abruptly yanked backwards. His temple struck the edge of the table and he cried out, while his vision swam darkly and pain bloomed behind his eyelids. He went limp against the metal, his weapon, a pair of scissors, clattered on the ground as the man stood over him and grabbed his neck again from behind. He was panting, and his muffled voice was like wet gravel through the damp cloth over his head.

“Вот видишь что случается, Сайрус... Никогда не отправляй мальчика делать мужскую работу.” [ You see what happens, Cyrus... Never send a boy to do a man's job. ]

His grip was like a vice, fingers digging deep into the skin under Raum’s jaw. Raum’s heart thundered and blood rushed in his ears. Blurry, he could see the locked door in front of them, practically taunting him with the promise of salvation. He gasped on nothing, tears welling in his eyes while he struggled. Help! Uncle, help me – I’m going to die…!

The door stared back at him, cold and unyielding. No one was coming.

Raum’s hands scrambled around at anything they could. He had to keep fighting, he had to stay alive until his uncle returned. Although something deep down in him knew that wouldn’t happen. Raum had to fight, even if he was going to die that way. He clawed at the man’s arms, swung at him, even pulled the bag off his head – but there was little to no effect with the other person behind him. He blindly reached down, fumbling on the floor for the dropped pair of scissors. His vision was quickly becoming dark around the edges.  Finally, his fingertips touched the cold metal.

Raum closed his eyes. He jerked his arm violently and jabbed the blade of the scissors deep into the man’s thigh.

The captive shouted and instantly let go, hands shooting down to grasp at his own leg. Raum gulped air hoarsely, coughing, oxygen rushing back to his head and making him feel dazed. He acted quickly, instinctively, pulling out the scissors and twisting his body in one movement. An animal-like noise, somewhere between terror and rage, tore out of him while he launched himself against the man’s knees.Taking advantage of his unbalance, they were on the ground again in a tangle, struggling like beasts. Only this time Raum was the one on top, vision blurred with tears, and he wildly plunged the scissors into the man’s body, the first place he could reach. The man went rigid, staring up at him in shock while blood pooled. Everything became silent, distant, numb when Raum saw his face. And then, it was like a frenzy, an out of body experience that he couldn’t control. He did it again. And again. His hands almost fumbled the scissors, dark and slippery with blood. Each of Raum’s breaths escaped with a savage noise of desperation. He couldn’t stop. Not even when the body below him ceased struggling, when it could only convulse and gurgle, and then finally, stop moving altogether. 

Raum came back to himself at the heavy sound of the door unlocking. He had no idea how long it had been. He had stopped moving, kneeling over the mess below him with the scissors in his hand. He felt a familiar pair of hands on his face. Cold. Slowly, the visage of his uncle came into view, crouched beside him. Achingly composed.

“It’s alright, Левка,” He said quietly, like you would to calm a stray animal. “Look at me. He’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.” 

Only then did Raum realise he was trembling violently. He shook his head jerkily, and didn't dare to look down again. “Y-you said– five minutes,” was all he could croak out, barely a whisper. His throat felt like he had swallowed knives.

“I know. I know I did. I’m so sorry,” his uncle replied, stroking the sweaty hair away from his forehead. He took Raum’s bloodied hand and had to gently force his fingers to let go of the scissors. “Come on.” Cyrus took Raum by the shoulders and pulled him up. The teen’s knees almost gave out once he stood, and Cyrus quickly supported him. Raum hesitated, as though to look back, and Cyrus quickly pulled him along towards the open door. “Don’t look at him. We’ll take care of him later. Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Much later, after Raum’s injuries had been looked at ( just some bruising, likely a concussion, you’re lucky, they said ), after he had cried himself hoarse in the shower and passed out for a few hours, Cyrus showed him how to dispose of the body. He talked Raum through removing his fingers, pulling out his teeth, and destroying his belongings. He made Raum sit in the passenger seat of the car while his men found a place to hide him. Raum stared numbly at the lights on the dashboard and tried not to throw up. When his uncle returned to the car some time after, Raum turned to him.

“Did I fail?” He asked, a tremble in his voice, a note of fear. Cyrus turned to Raum with an almost sad smile. He shook his head.

“No. Not at all. It was me who failed.” Cyrus looked away, like it was hard to admit. He started the car. “I’m proud of you, Левка.”

Horrifyingly, Raum felt that same familiar rush in his chest, just like whenever his uncle praised him. He’d been thrown into the ocean, but he didn’t drown.

Raum smiled faintly as they began to drive home. He ignored the stinging sensation in his fingers, cut imprints from the scissor blade.

He didn’t fail. He survived. He won.

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

adams

request: Hi! I have a request, could you do one where the reader is a part of the BAU team, and she’s dating Spence, and she’s watching him interrogate Cat Adams, and she has to hear her say that she’s pregnant with Spence’s baby? Thanks!

for: @mggbler​

word count: 2,965                                                                                                reading time aprox: 11 mins 

a/n: so i’m back? also another thing, if you are requesting an imagine, id really appreciate it if you had your username listed as it will be much easier to tag you, but it is whatever you’re comfortable with <3

masterlist

My fingertips drummed against the cool concrete frame that lined the two-way window. My feet were firmly planted on the hard floors of the prison as I gazed intensely at the scene before me. An ember lit aflame inside of me as Cat Adams tantalizingly edged closer towards Spencer, diminishing the proximity between their faces. Every tedious inch she took, I dissociated farther and farther away into my headspace; although I could still hear her pretentious tone through my earpiece as she brushed her fingers against Spencer’s eyelids. 

“Close your eyes”  

This is bullshit. 

“Good, now keep them shut. Sit back and relax” 

I turned my head aside to look away, pinching the inner crevice of my elbow to regain my sense of reality. My composure was noticeably calm on the exterior, something I’ve picked up in the years of working at the BAU, but the expanding coil of indignation continued to wind as time passed. 

My patience had always been one of my greatest virtues, yet Cat Adams was able to deteriorate that virtue with her nonchalant fingers softly grazing the skin of Spencer’s hands, the licking of her lips as she whispered suggestive words on his neck, and that flame in her eyes that convinced her she was all-powerful. 

“Now when you open your eyes...I want you to look at me like I’m the first woman you’ve seen after being in prison for three months” 

I breathed through my lips, reassuring myself of Spencer’s affections. Yet an insurmountable amount of insecurity peaked into the bottom of my stomach, clawing its way up to my throat. I felt restrained within my own skin, combating the urge to pick and pry at the flesh. 

“If she touches…” I muttered to myself, biting the inside of my cheek as my words trailed off into uncomfortable anticipation. 

“You’re here! You’re really here” Cat celebrated, welcoming Spencer in her chaotic delusion. A mischievous grin appeared on her lips, Spencer fabricating a benevolent facade as he let himself grow comfortable in her scheme. 

 “There is nowhere else I would rather be” Spencer replied with many endeavors, sending a chilling shot through my chest. 

 It’s fake...it’s all fake 

“You’re good at this...you’re so good at this” Cat shook her head, gazing at Spencer with much admiration and recognition. “I almost believe you don’t want to kill me” She teased. 

 “I don’t want to kill you” Spencer hastily admitted, replicating Cat’s gaze of fervor. As ironic as it seemed, it became a game of cat and mouse. Who would concede first? 

 “What if I let your mother die?” Cat blurted out, gauging at Spencer’s reaction to her explicit words. But to no avail, Spencer expressed no tells or twitches that would give away his robust collectedness. “Then would you kill me?” She continued. 

 Spencer stared at her with an unimpressed look, unfazed by the mention of his mother. A small smirk resided on the corners of his supple lips, raising his eyebrows in a lack of interest as if the lifeless walls of the room seemed blasé. 

 “Oh...my mistake” She paused, chuckling to herself as a devious Cheshire grin appeared on her lips. “What about Y/N?” She spat. 

 How did she…

 The once present smirk on Spencer’s face faltered, yet he remained his fortitude. He closed in on her, peering at her in suspicion. “What about Y/N?” Spencer reiterated, using reverse psychology to throw her off. 

 Cat pushed herself off the edge of the table, leaning back into her chair with an impervious attitude. “Cut the crap Spencie, I know about your little romance” She taunted humorously, rolling her eyes as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I know about the little pet you keep around” She badgered, causing a chink off of Spencer’s armor to be revealed. 

 My fists clenched beside me, absorbing the evident frustration coursing through my veins. I cringed as I bit down on the muscle of my cheeks, the taste of metal coating my tongue momentarily. I kept myself grounded for the sake of the interrogation, but if the life of Diana and Spencer wasn’t on the line, I would be the one interviewing the psychotic bitch myself. 

 “I thought we were supposed to be talking about my mother” Spencer breathed out, leaning back in his chair to cover up for his slip in character. 

 “You know what’s the best part, Spencie?” Cat leaned over the table, ignoring the words Spencer had previously spoken and hovered a few inches away from his ear. For a moment she deviated her focus from Spencer and directed it towards the two-way glass. Even in the split second, she broke away from her main target, you could see the mischief and ego festering in the pit of her eyes. “I know she’s watching us...I know how much it’s killing her just watching us” Cat seduced, trailing her fingertips suggestively up Spencer’s arm. 

Spencer tore his shoulder away from her roughly, pulling up the cuffs of his sleeves in a sensible manner. “You said you wanted to play a game earlier,” Spencer reminded her, battling the urge to prove Cat wrong and reassure the woman on the other side of the glass. “Is it the same as last time?” 

 “Oh Spencie…” Cat sighed, retracting herself back to her seat. Suddenly her stare drifted back to the two-way glass, and with as much authority she can harbor, she peered through the mirror with much affliction. “I can’t wait till she finds out about Mexico” She blurted out in faux innocence. 

 This pricked at Spencer’s ears, leading him to profile the words that spilled out her mouth. “What happened in Mexico?” He inquired, pressing her on the missing fragments of his whereabouts that lead to his arrest. She simply tiptoed around his request, taunting him as she refused to take her blazing eyes off the glass. 

A loud bang reverberated off the walls. This caused Cat’s attention to halt as it shifted towards the source of the ringing sound, only to find out that it was Spencer’s hand harshly slamming against the table. “What happened in Mexico?” Spencer reiterated once again, but this time his tone barely held back the chagrin clouding his rationality. The booming volume of his usually gentle voice complimented the aftershock of the wood beneath his palm as it still rattled underneath his force. 

“Are you getting a little aggressive Spencie? I didn’t even know you were capable of that” She mocked, tucking her arms to her side while her hands roamed the circumference of her stomach. Spencer glared at her incredulously, deciding that he had enough of her drudging ploys. He pushed his chair back, making the motion to get up and leave the room, but before he had the opportunity to stand up, two words were revealed into the already perturbed air.  

“I’m pregnant,” 

Spencer froze in his spot, taking a moment to breathe before shaking his head and proceeding towards the door. I scoffed in disgust, waiting for Spencer on the other side of the door. Even for Cat this was low. 

 I can’t imagine anyone using pregnancy for their own gai-

 “...actually we’re pregnant, Spencie” 

Everything stilled. Oxygen refused to fill my lungs and my blood ran cold. The same seemed to occur with Spencer as his feet were motionless like he was stuck in a fragment of time. The words kept passing through me like waves echoing from a cymbal, only this time it was endless. No matter what I did, the words never resonated in my head. I became deaf, some may say that I was in denial. But I heard it. I heard it slip past as a whisper on her lips. 

 I felt numb for what seemed like an eternity. But it was that same numbness that I wished never went away, so I wouldn’t have felt the overwhelming sickness that came after. My stomach boiled with an uncomfortable sensation. The ringing descended into the quiet of my mind as clarity began to flood my consciousness. 

That’s not...that’s not possible

Cat did it. She found a way--a loophole. 

Can it be possible?

I suppressed the paralyzing thoughts into a small compartment of my mind, letting a small murmur of reason dictate my actions. With naive hope, I rushed to a guard to request a Cat’s health records with much haste. After the small interaction, all I could do was wait.  

Wait for answers. Wait for the truth. 

Yet again my virtues were being tested. I thought the first time I would harbor an immense uneasiness over pregnancy, it would be my own. I was imprisoned in my own doubts and speculation, but I can’t even begin to comprehend the thoughts that are permeating the dark place of Spencer’s mind. 

What does this mean for me and...

No, I can’t think like that. She’s probably lying. 

But what if…

I shook the thoughts out of my head, focusing on the grey-tinted walls that surrounded me. I forced myself to fixate on how the overhead light reflected on the shiny tiles beneath my feet, while I let the background noises of an operating prison engulf my sense of hearing. 

But nothing could ever prevent my buried thoughts from climbing out from the back of my subconscious. Nothing could stop the anticipation that coursed through my veins, threatening to stop my heart altogether.  

Nothing could’ve stopped me from knowing. 

-

The cold zing of the walls was the only thing that tethered me to reality. I felt the way my hip bones would shift under my weight as I sat motionless in the hallway. I felt the pressure and ache that began to build under my knees as they were pressed against my chest. A heavy film cast over my eyelids, making it exhausting for me to keep them open. There was an agonizing shackle tugging at my chest, restraining me from taking a fresh breath. I was battered and beaten, not physically, but mentally. 

With two words, Cat Adams had managed to send me spiraling down a sinkhole that I didn’t know how to get out of. I was stuck, encased in my own headspace. I didn't know what was worse: being in prison or being imprisoned by the person you detested the most. 

I thought the worst was over when she confessed to her pregnancy. I thought the anguish that I experienced hit its climax. But little did I know that the growing hole in my chest only consumed me further when I found out she was telling the truth. 

In bold letters, ‘pregnant’ was displayed on the front of her health records. Now they were measly tossed to the floor in a flurry of confusion and anger. 

A choked breath emerged from my esophagus, finally feeling the full impact of the circumstances that I was in the middle of. I was furious, dazed, and somber simultaneously, and I didn’t know if it was for me or Spencer. 

Spencer…

Does he know it's true? Would he know?

He wouldn’t have chea…? No, he wouldn’t 

As if it was the answer to my inquiries, the clatter of footsteps resounded from the head of the hallway, the clacks against the floor growing in volume as they approached me. Stunned by my own senses, I didn’t even notice the sight of grey fabric coming in from my peripheral view. 

It was only until I heard the rhythmic beat of the footsteps faltering in a slower pace till they stopped completely. Suddenly, a tender hand apprehensively reached out from beside me. Warmth instantly radiated off its palm as it battled with the chilled temperature of my skin. Then, a voice, belonging to Spencer, followed the small gesture in a quaint and reserved tone. 

“I…” He paused, intertwining his fingers with mine. “I know I haven’t talked about Mexico--or prison for the matter. I know that sometimes I close myself up in a box and hideaway, and you tell me it's okay if I’m not comfortable,” He swallowed his words for a moment, staring at his sprawled-out legs in front of him as he struggled to find the right words. “But I also know how much it hurts you when I do…” He uttered out. “I know that it hurts you when JJ’s the only person I can talk to about what happened” He turned his head to gauge my reception, but all I could bring my attention to was the soreness in my chest at his mentions. 

“Did you know?” I meekly whispered. 

“I don’t...I don’t know” Spencer answered unsurely. His voice seemed depleted of any assurance he carried with him when it came to his knowledge. I guess that was a common denominator between us in the present circumstance. “I don’t...I don’t know what she did” He sucked in a sharp breath, careful to let his words teeter around the break in his voice. 

“She’s really pregnant Spence…” I muttered, squeezing the clutch he had on my hand. “It’s gonna be okay Spence. I know you would never…” My voice trailed off into the uncertainty of my words, yet the hope that was latched onto me prevailed. “There’s more to this, I know it” I stated with much determination. 

“What if it’s...it’s mine?” He gasped, a melancholy air following his statement. 

“Well, you didn’t, you know-” 

“No, I--I would never” He finished the sentence, racking his head for clues. 

“Then there has to be someone el-”  

“She did something,” Spencer cut me off. “When I was in there, she told me that Lindsey--she got me to…”. By the wavering of his voice, I knew where this was headed. “A-and she told Lindsey to pretend that she was you…” He scoffed, shaking his head in self-reproach.  

“Spence…” I tried to stop him from his own demise, but I knew the second he started sputtering words, there would be no mercy to it. 

“She started mocking you and my mom, and that’s when...I don’t--I” He paused, licking his lips. “I felt so angry--more than I’ve ever had in my life--and I just,” He retracted his hand from mine in an instant, brushing the stray hairs away from his face. “I pushed her Y/N. I pushed her against the wall and I started--gosh--I started choking her Y/N”. The structure of his tone fizzled out into a meek mumble, an indication that he was battling his internal demons. 

The guilt and agony on his face were enough to devastate an entire colony. So much weight and history hung on the surface of his shoulders that it was starting to deteriorate. “I’m...I’m scared that this is who I am now” He lamented, picking at the small pebbles that littered the floor. 

“No, don’t say that” I protested. 

“Y/-Y/N, you don’t know…” He sighed. 

“I do know” I affirmed, reaching out to clasp his hand in mine once again. “I know you had to do things in prison, things you aren’t proud of, but anyone in your position would have done the same-”  

“You wouldn’t have”  

“Yes. Yes, I would have Spence” I remarked. “If someone threatened my life, if...if someone threatened my chance of seeing you again...”. I placed a gentle hand under his chin, making our eyes meet. “You bet your ass I would. It doesn’t make you a bad person” I finished my spiel, looking into his dull eyes in the hopes he would recognize that I meant every word.

“Then why do I feel like this? I’ve let down the team, my mom, and you…” 

I cupped his face in my hands, although he refused to look at me in the eyes. “Spence,” I breathed. “You have not done a single thing to disappoint anybody” I shook my head as my voice trembled under the weight of the conversation. “If you disappointed anyone, then why is the entire team working to get this psychotic bitch on death row? Why are they trying to save your mom? Why do I love you?” I professed, every endearing word flowing out of my lips with ease.  

Silence encompassed both of us, but the dense atmosphere still created an evident divide. Suddenly, he met my eyes with his solemn ones, but something was different. A minuscule glint of prospect flashed in the pool of his irises. The color and life began to emerge from the dreariness of his countenance and the warmth of his skin began to crimson his cheeks. A relieved gasp escaped my lips as he peered at me with much endearment. 

“Do you really think that?” He whispered. I nodded in response, taking my bottom lip into my teeth as I took in the beauty of his rejuvenating presence. From there I knew Spencer would slowly fill up again. I knew it was going to be hard, but I also knew that I wouldn’t hesitate to take every step with him. 

 “I know that everything isn’t clear right now Spence. But I think--I know--that you’re the only person here that can solve this” 

 “You’re wrong” He breathed. 

 I stared at him with a baffled expression, encouraging him to continue his position. 

“I can’t...I wouldn’t be able to do all of this,” He rested his hand on the apple of my cheek, caressing the supple skin with his thumb. “...not without you” 

-

taglist: @rexorangecouny​ @howdycharlie​ @linthebinbag​ @honeymilk-4​ @andreasworlsboring101​

[kintatsujo]

LoZ AU- The Courage of Running Away Part ELEVEN

(oh my fuckin gawd)

Slightly lighter on the art tonight and heavier on the prose bc last post I did like six or so whole pages and needed to let my arm rest today

This is also gonna LOOK like a supplementary post until we get to the end but this is probably how I’d be presenting it in the prose version too tbh

#AU August

#LoZ AU: The Courage of Running Away

So in Courage of Running Away (and there's some evidence this might be true in canon tbh), all of the women of the Zelda line do in fact have a magical power, separate from though connected to the Triforce. They call it the Light of Hylia, and it's attributed to the Goddess's blood still running through their veins. Even the Lorulean royal line still carries it, despite having broken off countless millenia ago over theological dispute.

But the Triforce of Wisdom also surfaces from time to time, and years ago, when she was only a child herself, it awakened in Queen Zelda.

Her parents, wise rulers themselves, saw the glow of the mark on their little girl's hand, and decided..... To do nothing. To keep it secret and hidden, until one of the other Triforce bearers arose. Surely, they reasoned, one piece of the Old Goddesses' power was manageable on its own, as long as nobody else knew.

And then... Nothing happened. For sixteen years nothing happened. Maybe, Zelda thought, the other Triforce bearers had had the same idea. Maybe, she thought, this had even happened before. Maybe, she thought, nothing was going to come of this after all. She was crowned queen. She selected a husband, a fine man who would make a suitable peacetime king. She waited, but she chose to live her life in the meantime.

[Image description: A large and heavily built man in a winged crown and blue clothing.  He has long, dark blonde hair, thick eyebrows and thick mustache and a well trimmed beard.  He is labeled “King Aldway Philominas (Queen Zelda’s husbando.)” End ID.]

(Note on Aldway: Credit for the name goes to @iced-blood​ who is half my sounding board team for this AU, the other half being Invid.  Ice has probably named about half the characters at this point lmao)

And then Chief Eltani of the Gerudo, newly a mother, came to her for advice.

And Queen Zelda looked at the faded, inactive birthmark of the Triforce of Power on the hand of Eltani's infant son, and she said, "Keep this a secret. Raise him to be a good man. It's all we can do."

(and Eltani said, "well good because if you'd told me to throw him in a ditch I'd have to declare war" and Zelda laughed because how else do you respond to that, and now they were friends)

When Link is born three years after that, she doesn't hear about the faded mark of Courage on his hand, but she DOES hear two years later about when Astramorus's wife dies, because she was a well known swordswoman from a long line of Hyrulean knights, and it was apparently spectacular.

[Image Description: A round-faced woman with a mischievous grin.  She has orange-strawberry blonde hair and green eyes, as well as thick eyebrows and a solid build.  She is wearing a blue hat similar to Link’s classic hat, green earrings, armor over a blue shirt, and a red cape over the armor.  She is labeled “Catena (Link’s Mother).”  End ID.] 

(And yes while this is insight into Astramorus's motives don't worry that I'll act like it excuses him, because obviously it doesn't.  It’s also some very funny insight into Astramorus because I tend to think Catena (once again named by Ice) is basically ALttP Link as a woman, which means that young Astramorus, man of the cloth, looked at this little gremlin tank of a lady who could snap him in half, drink him under a table, and who loved helping people, fighting, money and music in THAT order, and went “that one.  That’s the one.”  Which is very relatable and humanizes him a lot more than I expected.)  

In fact, Queen Zelda doesn't hear about the mark of Courage on Link's hand until a few months before he turns seventeen, when Astramorus sends word that he's been training him, and that he wants to present him to the Royal Family when he comes of age.

Queen Zelda is, truth be told, furious at the gods. "The Goddesses are cruel!" she tells her husband. "how can I, a grown woman and mother of fourteen years, ask a seventeen year old boy to carry a weight like that? And the worst part is that if I'd been our daughter's age, or his, I'd not have thought twice! No wonder our history is so bloody and battered, no wonder we've risen and fallen so many times!"

And then Link vanishes. Astramorus seems worried, yes, but just as much about what she and her husband will SAY as about what might happen to his son. He promises to find him and he talks about setting him back on the right path.

And when she finally sees Link for the first time, it's when he's pushed Astramorus away, and Astramorus grabs him by the hair and chin mere moments later, hissing in his face. Her daughter runs faster, starts yelling at him first, and then Astramorus goes and grabs the girl by the arms.

Well, no wonder Queen Zelda blasts him through the castle wall, yes?

[Image Description: King Aldway stands on a walkway on the outside of Hyrule Castle.  Behind him is an enormous explosion, which is blowing his hair and clothing forward.  He looks rather shocked.  End ID.]