#its just .. a lot. i also shot him and he stalked me. of course we havent spoken about it are you crazy. jesus christ

[zer0point5ive]

post saw 2004 bathroom trap situationship

[rileyslibrary]

Lift and learn.

Synopsis: You discover Ghost’s unique skill; estimating the weight of items just by lifting them. You decide to challenge his ability by giving him little tests and he (for once in his life) loves to show off.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,381 (approx. 5-6 minutes reading time.)

Notes:

Mindless, platonic fluff with minimal plot.

Want more?

———————————————————————

The storage room is vast and poorly lit, with rows of metal shelves stretching into the distance. The air conditioning blows cool air throughout the facility, with only the gentle hum of the units and refrigerators breaking the silence. You and Ghost stand at the entrance, surveying the endless supply of crates and boxes ahead of you.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” you remark, kicking a nearby stack of boxes.

Ghost nods. “Come on,” he says as he walks between the shelves, “the faster we start, the faster we’ll be done with it.”

You follow him, walking down the first row of shelves, scanning the labels on the boxes and crates to see what they contain.

He checks the list you made with the food you’ll need for the mission, and he points toward the direction of the canned goods.

“Go look for the soup,” he advises, “and don’t lift the crate yourself.”

You turn to face him. “Why not, sir?”

“That thing weighs about 20 kgs,” he says, “you won’t be able to lift it alone.”

“Is that so?” you raise your brows. Ghost lets out a long sigh.

“I don’t doubt your abilities, soldier—I just know the box is too heavy to be lifted from up high,” he says. “I don’t want you to get hurt, and you don’t want to clean tomato soup off the floors now, do you?”

You roll your eyes and walk over to the box in question. You turn to glance at Ghost out of the corner of your eye—he’s ticking things off the list. You decide to give it a shot. You take a deep breath and grasp the box by its handles, attempting to pull it off the shelf. Your arms strain as you put all your weight into it, but the crate doesn’t budge. You try again, but it’s in vain.

Just as you’re about to give up, Ghost appears at your side.

“Told ya; it’s a heavy box,” he says, amused.

You step back, allowing him to take your place. He grips the box and lifts it off the shelf.

“That’s over 20 kgs.” He comments as he curls the box. “Around 24 kgs, I’d say.”

You stare at the box as it moves up and down, then at him. He approaches the large food scale and places the box on it. As he predicted, the box weights precisely the amount he estimated.

“Do you do this a lot?” you ask.

“No,” he says, chuckling, “I normally curl barbells.”

“Estimating the weight of something just by lifting it?” you clarify, “I saw you do it before when we were packing stuff from the armoury.”

“Ah,” he says, flicking his wrist, “it’s nothing.”

He surely doesn’t act like “it’s nothing.” He’s trying to portray himself as humble. But he looks far too cocky about it. He puffs out his chest and places his hands on his waist. His head tilts a little higher, and he squints his eyes, resulting in narrow creases at their corners. There’s also a slight stiffness in his upper body muscles. Is he flexing? Yes. Yes, he’s desperate to show off his skill once more. And, of course, you don’t waste the opportunity.

You gesture to a massive stalk of bananas. “How much does that weigh?” You ask.

He walks towards the bananas, his hands still on his hips. “Ah,” he says as he lifts the stalk, “this should weigh around 1.3 kgs.” He states and places the bananas on the scale. He waits for the scale to flash and then turns to face you when it indicates just a little over the amount he predicted.

“Wow, Lieutenant!” You yell and clap your hands together. “Do it again!”

He takes a sharp breath from his nose and gestures with his hands. “Give me something more difficult this time.” he says with pride.

You look around the storage room and spot a pile of sandbags in the corner.

“Okay, how much does one of those weigh?” you ask.

He redirects his gaze to the sandbags. He shrugs. “30 kgs.” He says.

“That doesn’t count, Lt.,” you frown, “you didn’t even lift them.”

“I don’t have to lift them, Y/N; we fill sandbags to exactly 30 kgs each.” He explains and turns to look at you with a you-should-have-knew-that expression.

You decide to step up your game.

“Okay, Lt., what about me?” you ask, pointing to yourself.

He raises his index finger at you. “I’m not lifting you.” He states.

“Why not?” You ask, and he goes on to explain how it put him in trouble on a deployment about a decade ago. “Bananas, don’t get offended when you estimate them to be a few grams heavier.” He explains. You promise him you won’t be insulted, and he brings his right hand to your face, squeezing your cheeks to stop you.

“O’ay,” you mutter through your pinched lips, and he lets you go. “See this cardboard box over there?” You ask, and he turns to look in the direction of a big, beige-coloured box on the ground. It’s taped shut and sealed with no hint or label of what it might contain.

“Can you estimate its weight without looking what’s inside the box?” you ask.

He gives a short chuckle and mutters something like “if I can, she asks” under his breath before walking to the box. He tilts his head, trying to estimate its weight by looking at it. He stretches his arms and cracks his knuckles, readying himself for what he’s about to do. He gathers his cargo pants from his thighs, and lowers himself to the ground in a deadlift position, grabbing the box by the handles. He takes a deep breath and pulls the box up with all his might.

But the box turns out to be lighter than you both anticipated, making Ghost lose his balance. He stumbles backwards, his arms flapping as he tries to regain control of his body. In his panic, he forgets to let go of the box which seems to defy gravity, and it flies through the air, driven by the momentum of his fall.

“Lt.!” you yell as you hurry to him, kneeling on the floor, “are you okay, sir?”

He stares at the floor, then at you, then back at the ground. You grab his arm to pull him up, but his ego is too bruised to allow you to do that to him. He gets up on his own and dusts his trousers.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you apologise, “I had no idea.”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest—he looks defensive. “Neither of us knew, soldier,” he says, trying to reassure you, and walks towards the box.

“Huh,” he says as he lifts its flaps. “I fell backwards by a rocket explosion before,” he recalls, “but never by a cardboard box filled with sanitary pads.”

You giggle, and he shakes his head. He picks one of the packages and shows it to you. “Will you need a couple of these during our mission?” He asks.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, lowering your eyes to the ground.

He picks up two packs and puts one of them under his arm. “No shame in that, soldier,” he comforts you and shakes the other pack, “these babies almost broke my hip about a minute ago.”

You smile in response—at least he can make a joke out of this uncomfortable situation.

“You’re impressive, Lt.,” you comment, “a walking and breathing human scale.”

“Eh,” he shrugs as he crosses the final items off the list, “it helps with missions and loading up the trucks.”

“Now,” you continue, looking at the boxes you’ve collected for the mission, “how about we fill up the truck before one of us gets hurt in this warzone of a storage unit?”

He lets out a laugh. “Yes, let’s get outta here,” he agrees, “I don’t want to get jumped by a bunch of Kleenex.”

———————————————————————

[alfiely-art]

Welcome to my Big Mikoto Kayano Analysis

Basically, I fully believe that Mikoto is the murderer. Not John, not an alter. Mikoto himself. I'll be presenting evidence and such below the cut, but I would like to preface this all with a disclaimer: I'm pretty sure I don't have DID, and while I've researched it quite a bit, sometimes research is wrong or the research isn't enough. If I get something wrong about it, please let me know! I will try my best not to be, but I'm only human. However, this analysis won't focus a whole lot on his DID? If that makes sense. Now, onto the post.

After examining Undercover, Mikoto's trial 1 & 2 voice dramas, MeMe, and Double, I'm fairly confident that Mikoto is the one who killed.

First off, in Undercover:

In Mikoto's main section of the song, the shots that linger have Mikoto looking unsure of himself, and deep in thought as he sings about how he's done nothing wrong. In the beginning of his first Voice Drama, too, he's quietly questioning why he's been brought here- if Es hadn't interrupted, I think he would've been trying to convince himself that he didn't do anything. Sort of like a few lines in MeMe.

Probably. Probably. Probably.

Mikoto isn't sure. The chorus asks Es, and us viewers, to really look at him- to look at him, fully, and to try to see that he's a good person, that he doesn't belong in Milgram. He asks Es to do this in his first Voice Drama, as well.

Mikoto wants confirmation that he didn't do anything wrong. Es mentions that it's possible Mikoto forgot the memory of him killing someone as a way to cope with the stress of it. As someone who suffers quite a bit from that, it can feel as though there's something just under the surface that you can't see. You know that something happened, but you can't figure out what. You can't remember. Maybe you don't want to remember.

I think Mikoto is suffering from that, as well.

Now, in the Trial 2 Voice Drama, John has stated that he's the murderer, not Mikoto. Quite a few times. He also asks us to look at Mikoto fairly, just like Mikoto himself did back in Trial 1.

But John doesn't remember the details of the murder, either. He says it's fuzzy. He can't even tell us how many, or their identities. Of course, he also adds that he had just split from Mikoto, but... why? What caused it? Neither Mikoto nor John have been able to point to what caused the split- John says he was born to protect Mikoto, but from what?

Well, you may have seen the theory going around that Mikoto was being stalked. And honestly? I agree.

From all of the tv-recording imagery in MeMe, the countless eyes in Double (there was so many I don't even think it's necessary to screenshot), how his first assumption was that Milgram was a TV show and he was being monitored... being watched without consent is definitely something Mikoto is worried about. Being stalked is extremely stressful. Plus, Mikoto most likely works at a company that overworks him.

This is from Undercover. And, in Double, there's a person called "Chief" texting generally dismissive and rude things to Mikoto before he calls. So, I think it's safe to say that the stalking theory and the bad workplace theory are correct- or, if it isn't stalking, it could also be symbolic of how society is always watching, and how you have to act properly or you'll get in trouble. Which, of course, is stressful too. However, I think it's moreso supposed to hint at stalking. Now, I have to wonder if both of these things are further connected. Maybe a coworker/superior was stalking him. That could make sense, though I won't claim its definite- we don't really have any evidence.

Despite John saying that Mikoto would have reached his limit if he hadn't been born, I think Mikoto DID reach his limit, and THATS why John was born. Mikoto killed, and John was born to help him get through it. Honestly, I don't think John killed anyone at all. Yes, John is aggressive in plenty of cases, but I think he simply feels it's the best way to protect Mikoto.

Now, I have run out of space for more images, so I will continue this post in a reblog in just a moment. I'd like to go more into proof that Mikoto is the culprit, John's characterization, and also how this all is affecting my voting.

[discar]

HZD Terraforming Base-001 Text Communications Network

Chapter 47 | Prev chapter | Next chapter Chapter Index

ADMIN [Zo]: GAIA, I have some questions about the machines down in the Burning Shores.

GAIA: Of course. How may I help?

ADMIN [Zo]: Aloy discovered a new machine called the waterwing. It appears to be similar to the sunwing, but with added functionality to allow it to swim underwater in addition to fly.

β: i think its literally a modded sunwing the code is near identical

β: i was able to get aloy an override for it with just a few parts

HIMBO: SPEAKING OF, HOW'D THAT GO?

FlameHairSavior: Dodging anti-air fire, talk later.

ADMIN [Zo]: My question was, what is the point of this machine? I assume it is more difficult to produce than a simple sunwing.

GAIA: The model designated "waterwing" is a dual-mode Acquisition-type machine, designed primarily for collecting and processing destroyed machines and other resources. The sunwing was designed to use solar energy to power its own processors, increasing the amount of time the machine could spend between recharge cycles. The waterwing improves on this base design by adding the functionality to scavenge underwater.

DIVINER: Then why not just make all sunwings waterwings??

Icarus: I assume it as Zo said. It is more difficult to produce. Specialized tools are always easier to design and build than general-purpose ones.

HIMBO: WELL, NO, A HAMMER IS EASIER TO BUILD THAN A CORKSCREW.

HIMBO: BUT A CORKSCREW IS EASIER TO BUILD THAN A CORKSCREW/FIRELIGHTER/SPARKWELDER.

HIMBO: THIS WATERWING ISN'T A GENERAL-PURPOSE TOOL, IT'S A TOOL WITH MULTIPLE SPECIALIZATIONS.

Icarus: I suppose.

GAIA: Correct. There are a variety of air-based Acquisition machines, and a variety of water-based Acquisition machines. Putting both into a single machine would undoubtedly be more expensive than simply building more of each individual machine.

β: we really need to recapture hephaestus

FlameHairSavior: Yeah, and if we had any real leads, I could be doing that instead of dealing with yet another crazy Zenith.

HIMBO: SO YOU LANDED?

FlameHairSavior: Shot down, a little, but we're fine.

β: what do you mean we

FlameHairSavior: I took Seyka with me. She has a stake in this. It's important to her.

FlameHairSavior: Her sister is involved.

FlameHairSavior: And her tribe.

FlameHairSavior: And she's very helpful.

DIVINER: ...huh.

Icarus: This makes me glad I never watched any of those ridiculous teenage dramas.

FlameHairSavior: Whatever. The point is, we're at the park. There's a fake volcano and a bunch of hologram dinosaurs. Lots of Quen guards everywhere.

Icarus: Why in the world would anyone build a fake volcano?

HIMBO: HEY, VOLCANOS ARE COOL!

Icarus: Putting your vernacular aside and accepting the comment in the spirit it was intended, I suspect that volcanoes lose some of their "cool" factor if they lack the ability to actually explode.

FlameHairSavior: I don't think it can explode.

FlameHairSavior: This whole park is some sort of... massive advertisement, or shopping mall, or both, for Londra's wife's most popular holovid series.

DIVINER: WAIT. WAITWAITWAIT.

FlameHairSavior: ...waiting.

FlameHairSavior: Actually stalking a Quen guard.

DIVINER: Are you talking about Pangea???????

FlameHairSavior: I think so, yeah.

DIVINER: [Squee.gif]

DIVINER: We've been looking for that series for forever! We only have the first movie, everything past that is in a format our focuses can't view!

DIVINER: Oh! Oh! If it's a park, there might be a gift shop!

FlameHairSavior: I'm a little busy right now, Alva.

β: also im sure any plush dinosaurs or whatever have long since rotted away to nothing

DIVINER: At least grab me copies of the holovids!

FlameHairSavior: I'll keep an eye out.

----

FlameHairSavior: Huh. Found an old data point about Londra.

DIVINER: Oh? Anything interesting?

FlameHairSavior: Interesting? Yes. Probably not useful, though.

FlameHairSavior: Apparently he thought his wife was cheating on him, so he sent his best friend the bodyguard to investigate her.

DIVINER: And??

FlameHairSavior: And she slept with him.

HIMBO: HA!

ADMIN [Zo]: Erend, be nice.

HIMBO: I'LL BET YOU A BIG BAG OF SHARDS THAT THIS GUY DESERVED WORSE.

----

FlameHairSavior: All right, have a better idea of where we need to go now.

FlameHairSavior: There's a place called the armory which should unlock the volcano, but we needed the key from a guy named Fedder, who was in the big dome.

β: why do you always have to do twenty things to do one thing

FlameHairSavior: I don't know. I really, really don't.

HIMBO: ARMORY? SO THERE WILL BE ZENITH WEAPONS?

FlameHairSavior: Not sure. I got the sense that name might have been from when the park was open. I doubt they had actual weapons inside. And if there are, they're probably all rust by now.

FlameHairSavior: Anyway, we spotted Kina in the dome with Fedder. She's definitely with Londra willingly, but she's... practicing for a play? It's weird.

FlameHairSavior: They were just doing a couple lines over and over. "How could I not come back?"

ADMIN [Zo]: Kina is Seyka's sister?

FlameHairSavior: Yeah.

DIVINER: Um, not sure if this is relevant, buuut that was Jane's most famous line from the first Pangea film!

FlameHairSavior: Jane?

DIVINER: Walter Londra's wife! Well, that was her character's name.

HIMBO: SO HE'S... MAKING THE QUEN ACT OUT HIS MOVIE?

DIVINER: We have experience with that sort of thing, so maybe it was their idea?

FlameHairSavior: I don't even know.

FlameHairSavior: Anyway, we waited for her to leave so she wouldn't be caught in the crossfire, killed Fedder, got the key. Almost to the armory now.

DIVINER: Don't let us distract you!

----

FlameHairSavior: Shit. ShitshitSHIT.

Icarus: Everything is going well, I take it?

ADMIN [Zo]: Perhaps the armory was just the fertilizer depository.

FlameHairSavior: Londra has brainwashing tech. That's what MSP is. "Mutiny Suppression Protocol." It got trashed in the Old World because it made the subjects more violent, even if they were also more loyal.

FlameHairSavior: That's why he has so many Quen guards ready to murder.

DIVINER: ...shit!

FlameHairSavior: But he was able to perfect it on the guards. He's planning to use it to brainwash a select retinue of Quen to be his new inner circle, copies of the friends he had in the 21st century.

FlameHairSavior: That's all he wants. Adoring friends who can't quite think for themselves.

β: and what hell just be on a barren planet with his harem

HIMBO: THAT'S NOT WHAT A HAREM IS.

MARSHAL Kotallo: Usually.

HIMBO: UH. I SENSE A STORY, BUT I'M NOT SURE I WANT TO ASK.

MARSHAL Kotallo: Not every Chief of the Tenakth has been as selfless and forward-thinking as Hekarro.

HIMBO: YEP, ALREADY REGRET IT.

FlameHairSavior: He's also getting DNA samples from all the Quen. He's going to have a colony of brainwashed clones to rule over with a pantheon of gods. But of course he'd be the only one with REAL power.

Icarus: How do you know all this? I doubt he left out a datapad detailing his full plans.

FlameHairSavior: We met his personal AI, Nova. He's basically been brainwashing her for a thousand years, "tweaking" her personality hour by hour.

FlameHairSavior: She begged us to kill her.

Icarus: Ah. That is unfortunate on multiple levels.

Icarus: I don't suppose you kept a copy of her core programming?

FlameHairSavior: No.

Icarus: That is likely for the best.

DIVINER: Waitwait! Does that mean Kina is going to be part of his retinue? Since she was doing lines his wife used to do?

FlameHairSavior: Yeah.

DIVINER: ...how old is Kina?

FlameHairSavior: Old enough to understand, young enough that it's still creepy. She hasn't been brainwashed yet, though. He's a perfectionist, so he's putting off the final selection.

ADMIN [Zo]: Small mercies.

FlameHairSavior: I'm going to the volcano. Hopefully I can find a way to kill him through his shield. Maybe this Zenith weapon will do the trick?

Icarus: I haven't seen the specs on it, but I wouldn't hold my breath. I highly doubt Londra would have given a minion something that could hurt him.

----

FlameHairSavior: So, there was a slaughterspine.

β: was it londras

FlameHairSavior: Yeah, and it was a big one.

FlameHairSavior: On the plus side, Kina finally realized what a bastard Londra is.

FlameHairSavior: On the down side, I think Londra has something else waiting in the wings. The slaughterspine felt more like a distraction.

Icarus: How did he control the slaughterspine? You said he was using a HORUS printer, but surely he wouldn't be foolish enough to print out SCARABs.

HIMBO: WHAT ARE THOSE?

Icarus: The Corruptors. They could easily run out of his control, especially if they're fresh from the printer.

FlameHairSavior: He officially doesn't care what happens to this planet, so I don't think he's losing any sleep over that.

DIVINER: What about the Quen!

FlameHairSavior: Oh, right.

FlameHairSavior: Well, after we took down the slaughterspine, Seyka took Kina and the other surviving Quen back to the settlement. I think most of the brainwashed guards are already dead, so they should be able to reintegrate.

DIVINER: That's good to hear!

FlameHairSavior: Londra went back to the bunker. He's up to something big.

HIMBO: KEEP US POSTED!

Chapter 47 | Prev chapter | Next chapter Chapter Index

[transhawks]

I've been wondering about this for some time now, but how did Dabi figure out who Hawks' mother was? I'll admit i don't remember the details of the manga very well, but when i watched the new season that came out, it seemed to me the plan Re-Destro came up with to plant spies into the Comission failed after the HPSC lured him out and he killed its president. Is that explained in the manga at all? Or perhaps i misunderstood it?🤔🤔🤔

Please take this with a grain of salt. I have a feeling we'll be actually told why eventually, because Hawks remarks on it manga-wise.

For now, here's my best guess:

Dabi was obsessed with his own father. I have no doubt that he was incredibly obsessed with watching his father's fights and likely did so after his death, though this would have been when he was still young, likely when Natsuo was a very young baby.

It seems that the Thief Takami fight was like...memorable somehow. And given he was a murderer, not just a thief, it's clear that Keigo's dad had notoriety.

I think Dabi might have recognized the red feathers as similar to the feathers on Takami's arms and just decided to go on a hunch because Hawks's lack of biographical info is weird, actually. The thing about investigation and any avenue of trying to gather info about a person's motives, it's important to leave no unturned stones.

Anyway, so, when you have a hunch, you look into it, right?

Let's be a bit clear on some stuff:

Thief Takami was a two-man team. Tomie was clearly helping him in certain ways. It's implied that he relies on her for finding jobs and this might be linked to her quirk. There's other strange wording around that whole chapter that make me suspect she had absolutely fascinating propensity for tracking people.

We're also not sure what he did prior to having to hide with her. Perhaps he had a team, etc. Dude wasn't like a one off criminal, clearly, and that means he had connections.

So, uh, what does this mean? Well, let's think about it this way: Dabi has a lot of reach now. Giran, the many PLF members, etc. Imagine he starts asking about Thief Takami, seeing if Giran has any contacts who knew the man prior to his arrest and maybe even after, in jail. Maybe Takami mentioned in trial documents or something that he had help though never elaborated, etc.

There's just a lot of possibilities and areas where someone might have found out he had a criminal partner and possibly a first name.

The thing is, and the HPSC were kind of dumb for this, it doesn't seem like they changed her first name. There are quirk databases. I doubt the tech skills of the PLF wouldn't able to get into one of these. Then you look for anyone who matches - eye quirk, surveilence, age range, etc. Of course if you have a name, you put it in even if it seems it's a long shot that she'd still be using it.

(she was)

My view is the HPSC simply didn't cover their tracks well-enough when it came to Keigo's background. Likely it was just a bit less important than the other shit they do cover up. Tomie's quirk was in a quirk database, her first name likely the same, if you knew what you were looking for, cross enough names in your list to check them out. It's possible she wasn't the only woman approached by Dabi and Dabi's people, by the way, but he eventually found her.

Until we get confirmation otherwise, that's been what I think might be the most understandable explanation. When you are able to have a wide reference point of info and willing to dig deeper, you can find out a lot. I'm fairly good at social media stalking stuff myself through this sort of method myself.

[sockgate]

What did you think about the doc? I thought it could've been a bit better and it's not even because of the bg stuff, just idk something felt lacking but I guess that makes sense with Louis' situation

this might be long but at least its not the 12 minute video review i recorded in my car on the way home. let me try and organize it by ~theme~ at least

fans: latam fans... incredible showstopping props to them. their insane energy alone made those concert sequences so sick on camera. the americans and italians following him on the other hand were fucking embarassing and it was hard to watch ngl. lthq encouraging camping and stalking is nothing new but it's just getting annoying at this point. also. if you still need to ask your parents for permission to sleep on the street, you probably shouldn't be sleeping on the street.

narrative: i don't really get what charlie was trying to do tbh. like the time skips and forgetting a bunch of shit that happened (that we KNOW happened) is just weird and lowkey feels like lthq trying to rewrite history and gaslight us into forgetting things happened. like don't worry about 2018!! nothing absolutely nothing happened here!! let's just fast forward to walls promo and tour!!

footage: i felt like there was so much missing. the broken arm?? him going to the hospital? like the fucking drama they could've got out of that situation alone would have been insane to see. think about it. you're on the second leg of your multi leg world tour and your arm breaks from running into a fucking wall. we deserved greys anatomy and got ... whatever this is. charlie filmed so many fans over the last couple and got so many perspectives and all of that was underwhelming. and the footage was just? stuff we've already seen? i could tell there were so many "harries pretending to give a shit about louis" at my showing bc they gasped when niall came on the screen. like we knew that was gonna be in there? it was in the igtv from 3 years ago?? and so much stuff was already in the afhf doc that i was literally saying out loud "i've seen this before." bc it just kept coming. so my theory that he used afhf to pitch this concept was true i guess, he just added some more stuff. it felt jumbled and rushed in a lot of places with little flow from place to place

interviews: the only one that was genuine to me was oli, because of course it was. especially the f scenes, you can tell louis was unconvincing on camera and had to adr some lines over all the totally definitely not set-up beach footage. though i did like hearing from his extended family and having them featured, the scene with them at the donny house sitting in circle was kinda off... not in a "they're lying way", just that the shots were not at all creative or genuine. i honestly wished charlie shot their perspective and commentary differently. the more traditional interview style with the sisters were better imo

the band: they're incredible. i'm so happy louis has found such a great group to travel and make music with. you can tell they all care so deeply for one another and i'm really happy for him. sidenote: their chemistry and vibes are INSANE. i just know their gonna love touring together again this year. from the words of oli, "it were better than a one direction gig"

tldr; if promotion for his upcoming tour and establishing some sort of bg narrative to get things moving was the point of this, i can understand where this doc came from. i still find it very interesting there is a lot of louis footage charlie didn't film that fits the "poor louis not knowing what to do next" narrative. stuff is definitely missing from the film. but if you like the band and oli, and overall just like people talking ABOUT louis, the film is definitely worth checking out

[llycaons]

ep18 (1/2): in which wwx manipulates and lies to his friends and family (lovingly)

forgot this. he can just fly around catching birds. no wonder it's so easy to camp

I feel like birthdays really only crop up in american tv in the context of little kids. it's something children do.

xy twirling his hair as he walks away 😭 can your believe ppl still ship them after he murdered SL's entire family

this was such a good change for the show to make bc 1. this introduces the idea of bssr really naturally and 2. it gives wwx another interaction with SL, which is emotionally significant later for both us and the characters

also they need to slip in his backstory and all of its parallels to wx somehow and waiting until yi city is way too late

oh cool I love a t/n

wwx making it a mystical quest bound in ceremony and ritual to prevent jc from suspecting or asking too many questions, and to control his actions. ugh

that post abt jc hero-worshipping wwx continues to baffle me. in fact this is the only time we ever see jc so eager to follow wwx's directions and do what he says

'let her do anything' she is a grown woman she can gather herbs if she wants and what authority do you have to stop her 😭

this smile after he convinces jc about his plan is so haunting. you can see he's sxcited and then the smile fades and he just looks...resigned? fucking misery

yanqing warriors! when wwx mentions jyl leaving soon, wen qing freezes and doesn't say anything for a few seconds. what can it mean hmm?

I don't think jc would have accepted the core if he knew what wwx planned, which is why wwx kept it secret. one of the reasons

this is kind of manipulative no? not in a way to hurt her just to get her to agree with his plan. and maybe he means it too. maybe he would have done with without the debt of the jiangs held over his head. we'll never know

drugging you sister. sir!

I think it's really funny when wwx insults jc sorry I always will. he deserves to at least a little

first shot of wwx looking like a little mousie with his threabare pillow and jc a raging little brat. very similar to the first shot of the show! wwx bleeding and suicidal, and jc stalking over to finish the job. but in that scene and this one, we see there's more to the story

im going to fucking isekai myself into cql universe for the sole purpose of cuddling this child

you know I was so excited for jfm to say that. like go jfm! the haters were wrong about you! you love and protect at least one child under your care!

and then it IMMEDIATELY cuts to wwx hours later freezing because jfm told him 'jc is a good kid' and then he LEFT HIM THERE AND WENT TO BED

FUCK HIM FUCK HIM FUCK HIM. USELESS BASTARD. YOU ARE THE PROBLEM HERE

ugh it's not cool to hate on a 9 year old esp since he's lonely and neglected by his dad but he's such a brat

her parents and sect are so useless this preteen girl has to go out into the woods at like 1 am to find her new brother

wwx's first instinct was to find a tree to climb. dogs can't climb trees, but how many trees were in yiling for him to learn to climb? hmm

wwx falling is such a theme and jyl being the only one besides lwj to ever try to catch him....ough. his two lights indeed

jyl also actually explains why jc is upset rather than just telling him he'll be fine

HALF A DAY??!! hasn't he suffered enough. mein gott

and of course now she has to parent her two baby brothers one of whom is very traumatized and newly adopted and the other is very socially inept and clumsy so he came out to help and now he's BLEEDING. if I was her I would have carried so much resentment as an adult oops her parents are dead so I guess she can't even if she wanted to

YOU WILL SAY IT CRYING SOMEDAY

it's significant that (iirc) jc never says he's sorry in the main timeline. only twice in the story - here and at the very end. a lot of people consider the finale the end of their relationship, but I prefer to see it as a reset. a renewal. they're starting again. jc is crying and he's sorry for hurting wwx, and wwx forgives him because he's a nice kid and because he does care about him. and they can start from there, even if things will be different

they don't have jyl anymore, but everything's come out between them. they can coexist on equal footing. wwx has someone who protects him. jc doesn't resent him so much. all his anger is spent. he feels bad. they won't be what they were before, but I like to think they'll at least have some of the brotherhood they once did

jc also crying in his sleep with this flashback. lot of sleep crying these days

[imagineaworld]

jealous | b.b

pairing : bucky barnes x reader, steve rogers x reader (platonic)

summary : bucky gets jealous of steve

word count : 1.5k

warnings : angst n fluff

Bucky watched from across the gym as Steve was training Y/N. He watched the way Steve put his hands on her body, guiding her movements. He watched the way they laughed together, each laugh felt like it was directed at him.

Not able to bear the sight of them together any longer, he abruptly got up and made a swift exit from the gym.

Bucky hated feeling this way. But he and Y/N were close, and perhaps his feelings had gone beyond just friendly. Clearly, though, Y/N and Steve liked each other. Bucky thought he was no competition for Captain America, as much as it pained him to see Y/N with Steve, at least she seemed happy.

After a shower and a change of clothes, Bucky was feeling better and headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Y/N was sat at the island, munching on some toast as she scrolled through her phone.

“Hiya, Buck,” she beamed, happy to see him.

“Hey, doll,” he said back, glad to have some time alone with her.

He poured himself a cup of hot coffee, offering to pour Y/N one.

“Ooh, yes please.”

He poured her a cup, using her favourite mug with a photo of a boyband along the side. He slid the cup across the island to her before taking a seat next to her.

“Oh, the One Direction mug!” She laughed. “You’re the best, thank you.”

His heart fluttered as her soft laugh rang through him.

For a while, he had thought about telling her about his feelings. But he worried that she wouldn’t feel the same and that he would ruin their friendship by making things awkward. He was reminded of the main reason he wouldn’t tell Y/N about his feelings when Steve walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, Bucky, Y/N,” Steve greeted. “Great session today Y/N.”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “I’m getting better, no?”

Steve laughed. “You’re doing great.”

Bucky’s mood had changed. He shot glares at the back of Steve’s head as he poured a glass of orange juice.��Please leave, don’t sit down, Bucky willed.

Y/N nudged Bucky with her arm. He stopped shooting daggers at Steve’s head, looking down at the phone screen Y/N had tilted towards him. On the screen was a picture of a cat, all black apart from its left arm, which was white.

“It’s you as a cat,” Y/N grinned.

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh, forgetting all about Steve’s presence across from them.

“Let’s see,” Steve piped up. Y/N held her phone up to show him. “It looks just like you, Buck,” he laughed.

Suddenly the cat wasn’t funny anymore. Bucky drained his coffee and got up. Dumping his mug in the sink, he stalked out of the kitchen. His and Y/N’s inside joke had been imposed on by Steve, again. He did it before when Y/N had tried to play Bucky a song by that boyband she likes, and Steve had come in and started talking over the song about how he knew the words.

Bucky just wanted to punch something (well, someone, but that would get him in trouble). He wasn’t entirely sure why he was so angry. Perhaps he was angry that Steve had interrupted them. Or maybe he was angry that Y/N was close with Steve. Deep down, he was angry at himself for thinking anyone would choose him over Steve.

-

Things only got worse. In an attempt to cast out his jealous feelings, he distanced himself from Y/N and Steve. The only problem was, the more he pushed Y/N away, the closer he pushed her to Steve. 

"Hey, you," Y/N sauntered into the lounge one afternoon, where Bucky was sat reading. "Wanna go for a walk?"

The sun beamed down outside, hot and bright. Even the open windows Bucky sat beside couldn't cool him down. A walk sounded perfect, but he couldn't bear to be around her for that long.

Instead, he waved his book in the air, not even looking up at her. "Wanna finish this today, sorry." 

"That's alright, I'll ask Steve then," Y/N said, seeming a little disappointed. "When you finish it, I can lend you one of my favourites, if you're interested."

"Maybe," Bucky said through gritted teeth. Of course, she would ask Steve. And of course, Bucky was interested in her favourite book, but he couldn't put himself through that.

He finally looked up to see Y/N heading off to find Steve, desperately wishing he'd said yes but too stubborn to change his mind.

That evening, Bucky avoided everyone at dinner, opting to stay in his room in peace. A knock on his door disturbed that peace, but he answered the door nonetheless.

"Hey, Buck," Steve said, hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Can we talk?"

Bucky shrugged, stepping aside to let Steve in, who sat down on the bed. Bucky sat beside him. "What's up?"

"That's what I was gonna ask you," Steve said. "You've been acting...different. And not just with me, Y/N mentioned you've been different to her too."

His attempts to distance himself truly had driven Y/N closer to Steve. If she was confiding in him, talking to him about her problems instead of Bucky... He really had dug his own grave.

"Didn't know you and Y/N were so close," Bucky said impassively.

"We're friends, Buck. And you're my best friend. She just wanted to know if she'd done anything to upset you."

Bucky shook his head. "Nope."

"What about me?" Steve asked.

"Not a thing."

Steve sighed, as though he could tell Bucky was lying. "Okay, buddy, I'll leave you be. Just... talk to Y/N, alright? She thinks you're upset with her."

-

Bucky took a deep breath as he knocked on Y/N's door. 

Her eyes lit up when she answered the door to Bucky. "Hey," she smiled.

"I finished my book, and thought I'd take you up on your offer," he said.

Y/N raised her eyebrows. "You didn't seem keen earlier. It's fine, I won't be offended if you're not interested."

"I am," Bucky blurted. "Very interested."

"Come in," Y/N stepped aside, closing the door behind Bucky.

Her room was tidy, scattered with house plants and photos. On her little coffee table by her sofa, next to a pile of books that obviously couldn't fit on her full shelves, was a picture frame. Bucky picked it up, observing the photo of him and Y/N, smiling at the camera on the beach. It had been taken a few months ago when everyone went on a day trip.

"I didn't know you had this," Bucky said, smiling to himself as Y/N searched her bookshelves for the novel.

"Oh," she said. "Yeah, I really like that picture. Never seen you so happy."

It was true that Bucky had never been as happy and carefree as he was that day at the beach. He and Y/N had played frisbee and built sandcastles. Y/N had even convinced him to go in the sea, though he only went to his waist. Y/N however had gone all the way, swimming under waves and splashing Bucky when he wouldn't go any further.

Bucky put the picture down as Y/N handed him a book he had heard of before, but never read.

"It's one of my favourites, plus it's not too long so," Y/N said. "I'm sorry if I upset you, by the way."

Bucky shook his head. "You didn't, I've just... not been doing well lately."

"I get it, I just wanted to apologise in case. I'm always here for you, you know? If you wanna talk."

Hearing Y/N say that made Bucky feel exhilarated. It also made him realise, no matter how hard to tries to repress his feelings for her, they wouldn't go away.

"Thank you," Bucky said softly. "I'm here for you too."

Y/N looked deep in thought for a moment, as if debating saying something. "These past few weeks made me realise how much I enjoy spending time with you. And thinking I had upset you made me feel... horrible. You really mean a lot to me."

Without thinking too much, Bucky pulled Y/N into his arms, wrapping them around her body. She wrapped hers around his neck, pushing up onto her toes so she could reach. The scent of her shampoo filled his nose as he took a deep breath.

"It's my fault," Bucky said, still hugging Y/N. "I pushed you away because I'm jealous and I don't think I'm good enough."

"Good enough for what?" She asked gently.

"You."

Y/N pulled away, holding Bucky's shoulders as his hands rested on her waist. "Are you kidding?" She demanded. "Don't ever say that. Why would you even think that?"

"I'm not Steve," Bucky said, eyes cast downward, unable to look her in the eye.

"You're jealous of Steve? I don't want Steve," she said. "I want you, Bucky. Just the way you are. All the good and all the bad. That's what it means to love someone: knowing they aren't perfect, but loving them anyway."

"You want me?" He asked, bewildered. 

Y/N nodded. She pushed up on her toes again, this time to connect their lips. She kissed softly and gently, and Bucky couldn't help but smile as she pulled away.

"Now, go read my book," Y/N laughed.

[gayacademicwriter]

a snippet | and you call me the villain | hero & villain

trigger warnings: abuse, guns, knives, death, blood

The villain crept around the edge of the hero's house, gloved fingertips gripping practically nothing as he edged around the narrow cover over the garage. Finally reaching the porch, he leapt silently over the railing, snickered soundlessly at the patio furniture (who paired gold-thread pillows with a beaten, battered sofa?) and paused at the open sliding doors, a sliver of an opening in the curtains allowing him to peer inside.

Damnit. The lights were on. That meant the hero was still inside, and the documents he had been planning all week to grab would have to wait a little longer.

Obviously he was looking into a study of sorts, with a large wooden desk and white bookshelves and an obscene amount of just blank space. The space seemed empty. But then if the villain listened, there was yelling. And there was the crack of something, something swishing through the air and snapping at its end.

His grip tightened on the doorframe.

"How many times have I told you?" The hero's voice roared. The swish-crack came again. "It's not that hard to be the top of the class!"

"I tried—" another, younger voice gritted out. The only response was the swish-crack. This time, the breeze lifted the curtains just enough for the villain to confirm what they were already sure of.

Someone—a kid, the villain thought, because they couldn't be older than sixteen—was clutching the end of the desk, white-knuckled hands tensing as the swish-crack came again, the source of which was a whip, commandeered by the hero. No bottles of alcohol were in sight, merely a single piece of paper on the desk that the villain would bet his entire stash of ill-gotten gains was a report card.

Rage tore through him and he threw all his meticulous plans to the wind as he stepped through the curtains, gun raised.

"Put the whip down."

The hero looked up and snarled. "Get out of my house."

"And leave the kid here with you?" The villain's eyes flashed. "Not on your life."

"I said, get out of my house."

"I came here for some bloody documents, and here I find you whipping your kid over a report card. And you call me the villain?"

The hero snarled again, and in a single fluid movement threw a knife at the villain—evidently the shelves weren't as bare as he thought they had been—which he narrowly dodged.

Eh, I tried to be civil.

He fired the gun and the hero yowled, his dominant arm wounded as he dropped the second knife and attempted to staunch the bleeding in his forearm. The villain stalked over, and stood over the hero.

"This is for every time you ever laid a hand on a kid."

He shot the hero through the hand, relished in the hero's scream for a split second, and then slammed the butt of the gun into the hero's temple, knocking him out without any more of a fuss.

The villain turned to the kid, whose shirt was nothing more than bloody ribbons. "Grab whatever you want and let me know when you're ready."

"W-what?"

"You're leaving with me. Unless you want to be here when he wakes up," the villain jerked his head to the unconscious hero, slumped against the bookshelves, "which I doubt would be a pleasant experience. You got siblings?"

"...Yeah, three. Two sisters and a brother."

"Your mom in the house?"

"Probably passed out drunk," the kid admitted.

"Look, kid. What's your name?"

"Finley."

"Alright, Finley. Get your siblings too. Tell them to take their favourite things with them, anything else we can buy tomorrow."

"We've got school tomorrow—"

"You're not going anywhere until you get those wounds looked over, and your siblings aren't going anywhere where that piece-of-shit bastard can pick them up again. Do they have a lot of friends there? I assume you're in high school. Correct me if I'm wrong."

"I am in high school. My brother is too. The twins are in elementary. They have a couple of friends there, I guess. I could ask them later."

"Sounds good. Here," the villain shrugged off his jacket. "Don't want them to see you like that."

Finley took the jacket—it was a little too large for him—and left the room. The villain slipped his phone out of his pocket and dialled a number.

"Pierre."

"Yes?"

"I need you to come pick me up at 5834 Riverside Crescent. I also need you to have the medic ready when we get back."

"We?"

"I'm bringing four kids with me."

There was a beat of silence.

"I'll have it all ready."

"Thank you. Come as soon as possible, will you?"

"Of course, sir."

The line cut and the villain stuck the phone back into his pocket. Unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, he rifled through the drawers for the papers he'd been looking for. May as well take advantage of the hero being unconscious. The asshole was lucky that the villain didn't shoot him dead on the spot.

A few minutes later, the papers were tucked away in the inside pocket of his waistcoat. The villain stepped outside of the study and shut the door. Finley had returned with his siblings—a similarly-aged boy, and two identical girls, each clutching a backpack. The rev of an engine pulling up outside alerted the villain to Pierre's presence.

"Where are we going?" One of the girls looked at them with big eyes.

"What's your name?"

"Jessie."

"Okay, Jessie. Well, your daddy is not very good at being a dad, so I'm going to take care of you now."

Jessie looked at her sister in relief. "Okay."

The boy blinked. "Really? Our dad always said you were evil. No offence," he added hastily.

"If anything I do can be considered evil, my greatest sin would be to walk past this house and ignore what was going on inside. But I'm standing here, instead."

The boy nodded.

"Are all of you ready to go?"

Nods and quiet mutters of 'yes' rang around the dead-silent house. The villain tilted their head to the front door.

"Let's go then, kids."

—

if you enjoy my writing, please consider buying me a coffee!

[helliontherapscallion]

Shenanigans and Love (Adrenaline Junkie Part 13)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: the Warden, mentions of death, phantom pain syndrome, extreme fluff

Word count: 3,226

The light glow of the redstone lamp illuminated your work space. Currently, it was about two hours before everybody was due to wake up and you were hovering over your journal containing your notes on the Warden. Not much was known about the cave-dwelling creature, but you found a couple of books about it at the library. So far, you found out that it indeed didn’t have eyes; it navigated via a mixture of hearing and a vibration network found in the blocks that had the glowing tentacles on them (you now knew that they were called ‘sculk blocks’). The sculk blocks would pick up on movement or touch, it would send vibration waves through the air, where it would reach the Warden’s own sculk stalks. Without the sculk stalks on the Warden’s head, the Warden was defenseless.

You also read about the anatomy of the creature. Known juvenile specimens ranged from seven to eleven feet tall while adults spanned from twelve to a whopping twenty feet tall. While their average lifespan is unknown due to the parasitic nature of the beast, it is known that they are out of their juvenile stage once they are approximately twenty years old. Thinking back on the one in the cave, it was about twice as tall as you were. That was a juvenile mob and it’s probably grown rapidly since then. The thing that killed you so viciously was a juvenile. You shuddered thinking about what an adult could do.

Juveniles are charted to be more erratic in their decisions while adults were known to be calculating and alert. Known weaknesses were known to be the sculk stalks and the heart. It was going to be incredibly difficult to take it down by yourself, but if worse comes to worse, you’d gladly take the beast down with you. Just in case, you left behind a small will with things you were planning on giving to your family. You were going to leave your workshop and your blueprints to Arthur, your collection of diamonds to Tommy and Wilbur, your stock of netherite and gold to Technoblade, and your wealth and life savings to Philza. You requested that Philza take care of Arthur, you couldn’t ask for a better father figure to have than Philza. Only the best for Arthur. In addition, you had a letter prepared for every member of your family. They were still in their first drafts, but they were coming along fast. In them, you detailed how grateful you were for every single one of them and reminisced on your favorite memory you shared with them. You still had about a week and a half left before you planned on attacking the cave, but you always liked to have extra time to complete things.

Your alarm clock sounded with harsh, lazer like beeps before you quickly silenced it. You didn’t need Arthur or Philza waking up so early. Sighing, you hid your journal and letters under a false bottom drawer and gently closed it. You trudged up the stairs quietly and made your way to the bathroom to shower for the day. When you took off your prosthetic, you could feel the phantom pains shoot up your nonexistent wing. In addition to that, the feathered stump and the areas around it felt stiff. The warmth of the shower did nothing to alleviate the pain.

After your shower, you started to make breakfast. Soon after, the other members of the household filed into the kitchen with differing energies. Arthur, the hyper, knowledge craving kid he was, walked into the kitchen with a bounce in his step and his head held high while Philza followed him with disheveled hair and tired blue eyes. With breakfast situated at the table, everyone started eating. You continuously shifting uncomfortably in your seat didn’t go unnoticed by the two as they eyed you after they woke up a little more.

Finally having enough of your constant movement, Philza finally spoke up, “(y/n)?” You hummed, turning to look at him, “yeah?”

“Is everything okay?”

You suddenly become hyper aware of your movements as you force your body to sit still. “Everything’s fine, why you ask?”

“You look a little uncomfortable. Are you sure everything’s alright?”

You sighed, “I’ll tell you later. Arthur did you have anything specific you wanted to learn today?”

His eyes shone with the brightness of all of the stars in the universe as he made quick work to swallow his mouthful of toast, jumping in his seat slightly as he chewed. “Yes! I was wondering if you could teach me how to work with comparators!”

“That takes a lot of time and patience to learn, we probably won’t get it all done by the end of the day today. Is that alright?” He enthusiastically nodded, shoving the last bit of toast in his mouth and running off with a mouthful of unchewed bread.

You could feel a slight worry stab your gut, “Arthur, swallow your food before you run! You could choke!”

You watched as he stopped at the bottom of the stairs, vigorously chewed, swallowed, and resumed his sprint upstairs. You dragged a tired hand through your hair and sipped at your coffee.

“Ender, now I know how you felt with us when we were kids. Kid’s gonna be the death of me.”

Your dad chuckled, sipping at his own coffee. “He’s a lot more tame than you four were. Techno and Wilbur weren’t that bad, you were just a tad bit more chaotic, and well, you remember how Tommy was. You’re just way too worried about him. Kids will be kids, they do crazy things and sometimes you can’t stop them. After the couple months of adopting Tommy, I just let him learn from his mistakes. You gotta let them learn from their mistakes or else they’re never gonna learn. It’s just something all parents have to do if they want their kid to grow as a person.”

“That’s tr- wait, parent? Arthur’s my protégé, not my kid.”

He smirked over his mug and raised an eyebrow at you, “really? Cuz you seem awfully worried about him.”

“Dad. I’m just worried that he’s gonna accidentally kill himself. What, can I not be worried about my protégé?”

“No need to get defensive, just trying to point out the obvious-”

“The obvious? Dad, I'm only twenty. I’m not adopting anyone anytime soon.”

“I adopted Techno when I was twenty three,” he pointed out with raised eyebrows, “besides, I think you’d be a great parent. You’re already a parental figure for Arthur anyways, so nothing would change too much.”

You were silent for a moment as you stared at him blankly. You never viewed yourself as a parental figure type before. Your current lifestyle of never leaving your workshop would never be able to accommodate having someone that depended on you. You could hardly take care of a goldfish (you still had Bubbles’ grave in the backyard at your house in L’manberg), let alone an entire human child. Sure, you babysat Fundy when Niki was too busy to, but that was your nephew and it was only for a day at a time. You planned on taking Arthur with you back to L’manberg (only if he wanted to of course), but you didn’t think that far ahead. He was probably going to have to stay at your house. You weren’t cut out to be a parent, you wouldn’t be good enough for Arthur.

Philza, noticing your slightly panicked zoned out state, quickly reassured you, “you don’t have to make a definitive decision right now, you have time. Just- just consider it. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to come to me. I think I’ve raised enough kids to know what I’m doing,” he chuckled to himself.

Your feathered wing dropped in relief as you gave him your best smile over your coffee mug. “Thanks Dad, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you, you’re a lifesaver.” Right after that, a particularly large burst of pain shot along the length of your nonexistent right wing and loitered in the area around the base of your wing. You bit your tongue at the sudden pain as you felt the muscles twitch.

“It’s no problem, I’ll always be here to help ya.” He smiled at you before his eyes snapped to something behind you. His smile dropped as he eyed you concerningly, pointing behind you. “Is- is it supposed to do that?”

You followed his eyes behind you to your prosthetic wing. The metal was twitching in sporadic bursts with varying intensity. You could hear the slight scratching of the metal clashing lightly against the wooden chair. Though it was very inconvenient, you supposed you should be glad that it was moving with the muscle impulses of the muscles you used in flight. Suddenly, you could feel a muscle directly on the base of your wing twitch as the metal moved in tandem with the impulse. The entire wing extended to it’s full length and knocked over the chair next to you. It stood erect for a bit before another twitch caused another spasm that worked its way throughout the length of your metal wing. This time, the wing reared back to your body and almost smacked you in the face. If you didn’t move, your eye would’ve probably been plucked out by one of the metal feathers.

Your flesh wing puffed up slightly in embarrassment as you turned to look back at the blond man in front of you, “technically? I mean, it’s just the sensors picking up on the twitching. I-I’ll get the chair.”

As you stood up, you grunted in pain as another spasm hit you. This time, your wing extended fully perpendicularly to your back causing the muscles in the base of your nubby wing to be pulled unexpectedly. Hissing, your hand shot to rub at the base of your wing. “Fuck that was a bad one.”

You heard the screech of wood on wood as Philza stood up and hurried over to you, dodging a couple of swings from your wing. His hands were hovering indecisively in front of him. “Tell me what I need to do.”

“Take it off. Just- hhh, just take the sensors off. There should be seven of them, all on my back and shoulders.” You bent over with your hands gripping the table with each spasm of your muscles. You could feel the fabric of your shirt being pulled slightly from your body and the warmth of your dad’s hand brushing against your twitching skin as he hurriedly ripped the sensors off your skin.

Once they were all off, the metal wing drooped limply downwards, occasionally being moved slightly when what’s left of the flesh stiffened. “Good, can you unfasten the belts? There’s three of them, they’re a little- ah, a little tricky. After that, carefully pull the metal out through the slit in my shirt. Make sur- sure the sensors don’t rip.”

You sighed when you felt the wing being taken off from you and pulled through the slit in your shirt. Slumping back down into your chair, you reached a hand around to nead the skin on your back. You could feel the twitching slowly decrease in intensity, leaving a sore feeling in its wake. Your wing was placed gently onto the table in front of you, some parts hanging off the side. “Goddamn, I haven’t had an episode that bad since I grinded out making weapons for the War.”

You could hear water running before a glass was placed in front of you and Philza picked up the chair you knocked over and pulled it up next to you. He started to rub circles around the muscles around your wing. You sighed in content, feeling the knots in your back being relieved, “thanks. That feels good.”

“(y/n)?” A small voice said from the doorway of the kitchen. You shot up and bit back a groan when your sore muscles were moved. The young boy was leaning into the doorway with his hands on the sides and his mop of brilliant copper hair hung downwards. He looked worried and slightly scared.

“Hey Arthur, we can start your lesson soon, I just need a sec.”

“Are you okay?” His wavering tone and small voice combined with the tears slowly filling his eyes broke your heart. Eyes softening, you stood up and walked over to him, pulling him into a soft hug. “Of course I’m okay, you don’t need to worry buddy,” you deepened your voice and spoke dramatically, ‘(Y/n) Minecraft the Great, Conqueror of the Unknown’ will never be taken down!”

He gave a watery chuckle against your shirt and burrowed his head deeper into your shoulder, gripping you tighter. You reached up to stroke his hair and wrapped your left wing around him loosely, shielding him from the world with a protective feathery barrier. You could hear Philza picking up dishes from the table and quietly start to do the dishes. Despite the occasional twitch in your back and the phantom pain shooting down your wing, you directed all of your attention to Arthur. Eventually, he pulled away and wiped at his blotchy face. “Are you still up for the lesson?”

Just as Arthur opened his mouth, Philza interrupted him from behind you, “you’re not doing anything until you feel better (y/n).”

“Dad, honestly it isn’t that-”

“Don’t say it honestly isn’t that bad, we both know that’s not true. You’re on bedrest for today.”

You grumbled to yourself as you stood up and handed your glass of water to Arthur, who sipped at the contents giving you a small “thank you.” Nodding, you were escorted out of the kitchen by Philza and ushered to the couch. Once you were laying down on your stomach, he handed you a book and placed a hot water bottle on your back. Before you could stop it, a pleased hum left your lips as your body relaxed on the couch. “You’re staying here. I better not find you anywhere else when Arthur and I come home.”

You lifted your head up and stared at him with an eyebrow raised, “where’re you taking him?”

The corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes lit up slightly before he put on his stern facade once more. “Just to the village. I need to pick up a few things.”

“And you need him why…?”

“Well, I can’t go without someone helping me! I’m an old man after all.” He started to nudge Arthur towards the door and slipped his shoes on.

“You’re only thirty six, but whatever. Arthur, be good for my dad.”

“Alright (y/n), feel better soon!” He gave you a bright smile before he was pulled out of the house by Philza.

You tried to read, but the nagging worry for Arthur in the back of your mind never allowed for you to be immersed in your book. You knew Philza would never let anything happen to him, but you couldn’t help but worry whenever Arthur wasn’t in your line of sight. You supposed that it was a part of being an avian hybrid; you needed to constantly know if the child was alright. You tried to force yourself to go to sleep, but the pain prevented you from doing so, so you ended up mindlessly watching the seconds tick by on the clock. Before you knew it, your eyes closed and you were put in a light slumber.

You were awoken by the front door opening and laughter filling the house. You cracked open your crusty eyes and groaned as you sat up. You looked at the two with bleary eyes. Arthur was laughing at something Philza said as the blond looked over at you. “Hey hun, you feelin better?”

“Yeah a bit. What’d you get at the village?”

“Just some things for dinner. Arthur, wanna help me cook?”

Arthur, being the walking ball of sunshine that he was, nodded vigorously and started to drag the older man to the kitchen. Furrowing your brow, you called out to them, “do you want me to help?”

“No, stay there. Don’t come in!” Arthur’s excited voice shouted back to you, making you raise a brow at his words. You couldn’t lie, you felt nervous at his words. Just what did he have in store for you? Occasionally, you could hear yelps and bangs, which made you want to go into the kitchen even more. But you held off, trusting Philza.

About an hour and a half passed before you were summoned to the kitchen by an overly excited Arthur. Once in the kitchen, you were in slight awe. Spread out on the table was your favorite meal with the addition of fresh cookies left to cool on the stovetop. “All this for me?”

They smiled at you as Arthur ushered you to your spot at the table. “I… don’t know what to say. I- thank you guys.”

“Don’t thank me, it was all Arthur’s idea. I just helped.” Philza looked over at the blushing boy with a smile.

You reached over to ruffle his hair, “well, thank you Arthur. You know me too well, these are all my favorites!”

The boy bashfully smiled at you, “there’s something else too, but that’s for after dinner.”

You put a hand against your heart, touched, “Two surprises in one day? Ender, you’re spoiling me!” Arthur laughed at you.

Dinner went by fast with light-hearted laughter bouncing throughout the kitchen. The dinner and cookies tasted amazing, your taste buds felt like they were in heaven. After dinner, Arthur drug you to your room with an excited Philza following you two. On your bed sat your wing, but it had colorful things attached to the surface. Furrowing your brow, you looked closer to find various magnets sticking to the iron surface.

They ranged from the nonbinary flag to small mobs to little puns (your favorite ones were ‘olive you’ and ‘bird puns fly right over my head’). You could feel your smile widening at every magnet you saw, your wing fluttering in happiness. One of the magnets made you stop completely though as you stared at it with wide eyes. It was simple, but oh did it make your heart sing in joy and your eyes fill with tears. On the magnet, in big, bold letters were the words ‘world’s best parent’.

“Arthur…” You looked at him through blurred vision. He looked nervous, looking anywhere but at you and shifting on the balls of his feet. You lunged forward and pulled him into a tight hug and wrapped your wing around him, making sure he was as close to you as possible.

Philza watched the exchange with a soft smile before he decided to let you two have some privacy. His heart was full of happiness as he walked downstairs to clean up the kitchen with a bounce in his step and his wings fluttering uncontrollably. He was ecstatic to officially welcome Arthur to his family. Sure, he had a small hand in leading Arthur over to the ‘world’s best parent’ magnet, but it was Arthur that picked out the magnet for you. He knew you were going to make a fantastic parent.

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[mergeman]

My New Ride

Five more months, that’s all I have left as Jack.  He’s been such a delicious host; his spectral energy has sated me for the last four years. Now what was once a spectrum has diluted into muted primary colors that no longer satisfy my hunger.  Don’t get me wrong I also give something back, not all the energy I consume is used; the shit leftover can be used to physically influence the host.  

Take Jacky boy here, when I first met him, he was a senior in college.  Just another average evangelical, toss a penny anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon line and it will hit one.  To the outsider Jacky presented as a timid, underweight, nerd, but I saw the kaleidoscope of energies that infused his being.  So, I took him, fed on those scrumptious auroras, then used the waste to build his body.  The consumption of his empathy, patience and humility causes massive changes to the psyche. Now Jack is a narcissistic but charming asshole willing to screw anyone over just to advance his lot.

I couldn’t be any prouder of the man I created, but all good things must end.  If I corrupt his essence any further, it will intertwine with mine causing us to become one.  So, to keep living I started to scope out my options.  Unfortunately, not much is available in the business world, the humans here are naturally corrupt themselves without any undue influence. As a passenger searching was difficult, Jack only hung out with petty sycophants who boosted his already enormous ego.  I was getting despondent with each passing day, every person Jack encountered was woefully inept and would not be able to sustain me for long.  I was so depressed that I almost missed the new neighbor that bought a condo in the same building as my penthouse.  He was perfect!  A full prism of colors radiated off this specimen, and to top it off he was easy on the mortal eyes as well.  

 Starvation was overwhelming me; I hadn’t fed in seven weeks and I knew that this new subject would be my next host.  My hunger even affected Jack; he had become infatuated with this new tenant to the point of stalking him.  Jack used his influence to dig up information on the new tenant, soon he had his name (Xylon), age (32), career (Charity Organizer), and even which gym he frequented. With this material he started to integrate himself into Xylon’s life, first ‘casually’ meeting him at the gym and becoming buddies, then later he got Xylon a contract to work with the charity division of his firm.  My time with Jack was soon to expire, to make the jump both subjects should be naked and ideally in physical contact.  The one big hurdle was that Xylon came with a long-term boyfriend, Jack though was not deterred by this, he wanted Xylon, and Jack always gets his way.  After pulling a few strings, Xylon showed up at our penthouse bemoaning that he had found evidence of his boyfriends’ infidelity. I could feel Jack’s malicious glee that the anonymous texts had worked.  Seizing the unexpected opportunity, he invited Xylon inside and offered him a drink, then another, then another.  Jack was taken aback when Xylon looked into his eyes and started to kiss him deeply without any prompting.  

Sexual energy infused Jack as Xlyon’s hand unbuckled his pants, slipped past his underwear to grab Jack’s hardening cock.  Clothing became a burden to both men as they stumbled to the master suit.  Xylon took dominance of Jack as he flipped the smaller man on his back, I could feel the steel like appendage enter through my hosts ass.  I began the unpleasant process of unlinking my essence and prepping the transference.  Slowly I send a tendril of myself to Xylon reaching for his nourishing spectrum. The tendril developed tiny barbs so I could hook into my newest host.  My anticipation had so overwhelmed me that I didn’t notice the other presence.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Both I and Them quickly tried to retreat into our original hosts.   Only it was to late, our energies had already stared to intermingle.  Memories from my counterpart were bombarding me, I could feel myself loose definition as They and I were becoming one entity.  I didn’t want to cease, I wanted to live, I wanted to feed, I wanted my new host.  A rush of power came upon me and I channeled it into separating us. I could feel them also trying to retreat, our molecules started to unbind one by one as they and I went back to the safety of our original hosts.  I was almost completely free when a new horror presented itself, in my panic I had consumed more of Jack’s corrupted soul, but I had taken to much. I was out of time with nowhere to go, Jack’s spectrum was now consuming me, and in my lapsed attention the linking to my counterpart regained strength.  

Xylon was still pounding Jack’s ass, both were consumed with orgasmic bliss that they didn’t notice the physical ramifications of the internal struggle.  It started at the feet where each man’s ankles were touching, the skin liquefied and started to swirl together.  Sinew and cartilage detached as bones broke apart two masses of distorted flesh now supported the unaware men.  The tissue started to twist and bloat as broken pieces of bone fused together to create a new more powerful appendage.  The process crept up their legs, the fibers of the calves weaving together into a more robust muscle.  

As the knee joint disintegrated and the nerves laid bare, They and I were using the last of our conscious effort to take our host’s excruciating pain and turn it towards pleasure.  Neither man had yet to notice that from the thigh down they were one.  More flesh melted as their pelvises were pulverized, Xylon’s cock pushed through the molten tissue and into Jack’s cock, stretching the sensitive gland like an overused condom.  With each thrust of their fused hips the cock grew longer and girthier until the swollen, purple, mushroom head burst forth from the newly created foreskin.

A line of angry pink skin arose on Xylon, starting just above his merged cock and traveled upwards to the base of his neck.  The flesh started to part opening wider as his abs and pectorals were bisected.  Knowing the panic that the sight would cause We/They/I increased Xylon’s pleasure centers while simultaneously turning off his ocular nerve.  The chest split through the sternum and the rib bones could be seen, as the cavity opened up like a giant maw.  Jack’s arms were supporting him on the bed as the jaw like flesh wrapped around his torso enclosing them together.  The internal organs made sickening squelching noises as each one found its companion.  Jack’s spine detached itself wormed its way around the confusion of biofluids until it found its other half.  Vertebrae unlinked with the sound of breaking branches as the two exposed nervous clusters found each other and became one.  A singular spine reforged stronger and longer than what came before.  

Where the shoulders met a bubbling mass of epidermis, muscle tissue and bone were coalescing into broad boulders that could support any weight.  Four hands found the newly created cock and started to tug in tandem as the biceps and triceps lacerated and rejoined their strength.  Fingers and thumbs melted into one another, the liquid state not lasting as new sturdier digits replaced them.  Lastly their heads became like viscous slime becoming featureless as they flowed into one another.  I could feel the moment that their minds touched, Jack and Xylon were suddenly thrust back into the reality of the situation.  Awareness of I/They/We flooded them as they realized that these were the last few moments.  I could feel Jack’s Anger/Regret/Sadness as recognition of what I had done invaded his mind.  I also felt Xylon’s innate Hostility/Sorrow/Grief as what They had taken dawned on him.  In their last precious moments both men were having identity crises as the WE pulled us all into ONE.

 My first sensation was that of my hands gently stroking the giant shaft between my legs.  Opening my eyes, I surveyed the damage, unused blood, bone, and strips of flesh covered the bedroom. Not perturbed at the grizzly sight I kept pleasuring myself with one hand while the other inspected my new nipples by giving each a slight pinch.  A deep moan escaped my lips, sexual energy coursed through my new body.  Abs tensed and my cock shuddered before releasing a torrent of cum that merged with the other fluids staining the room.

Satiated for the moment I became aware of a chime that indicated someone was at the door.  I grabbed a towel to clean myself off then headed down the hall.  Looking through the peephole I saw Xylon’s boyfriend Fitz standing there with a worried expression. Slightly annoyed I decided to open the door before Fitz could ring again.  The poor twink of man started to say something but stopped as he took in the sight of my naked visage.  I was shocked as well, for without the glass impediment I was able to see Fitz’s spectrum.  A deep need filled me, not the hunger of the entities but something just as primal.  Acting on instinct I grabbed the slack jawed younger man and pulled him into my lair.  He started to protest but my mouth sealed him shut, picking him up I shoved him face first against the wall with one hand while the other pulled down his pants and underwear.  My cock was hard and leaking pre as I began to spread his cheeks.  With one swift movement I lifted the slight man up and impaled him on my throbbing member.  I grunted as my cock took on most of his weight thrusting him up and down.  I could hear him whimper as his face scraped against the wall, anything Xylon had felt had died with him, now all I wanted was fulfill this gnawing need.  My balls churned and tensed, and I let out an animalistic roar as my seed shot out of me and flooded his intestines.  

Lowering the hapless simpering man to the ground I could see a dark spot of corruption sprout within his spectrum.  The darkness branched out touching each color while the living semen inside of Fritz entered his blood stream and spread throughout his body.  The metaphysical and physical corruption reached his head at the same time, it was like a new room opened inside my mind.  Suddenly I was connected to Fitz and he to me, he became an extension of myself. I looked into his eyes and found myself staring back in wonder.  He/me slowly got to his feet only for another surprise to become apparent.  My seed had not only connected us but had upgraded his body type from “twink” to twunk.  The newly minted man approached me as He/I started to worship my body, Fitz/me asked only one question.

“What should I call you?”

“In public call me Jaxon. In private call me Master”

[jayvoir]

rehearsal — lee minho

word count: 1.9k

warnings: smut, dom!minho, sub!reader, slight exhibitionism, teasing, minho’s a soft dom, but also a hard dom if that makes any sense, minho might have a sir kink, unprotected sex, praising, fingering, orgasm denial, spanking, reader has a hair pulling kink, good girl used a lot, creampie, aftercare

summary: you always loved going to the boys dance practices. especially when your boyfriend looked like... that.

author’s note: don’t forget that i take requests!! <33 also, when i mention the grinding choreo, please try to imagine that one part in valkyrie by oneus, i didn’t know how else to describe it 😭😭

tagging: @soobiclub

“hey baby let’s go, we’re gonna be late,” he called from downstairs. you rushed to grab your things, hurrying down the stairs to meet minho. he was taking you to his dance rehearsal with the boys and you were super excited. you loved watching them be in their element. they all looked so happy, which in turn, made you very happy as well.

“i’m here, sorry,” you apologized, making your way over to him. he smiled at the sight of you, putting his phone in his pocket.

“it’s alright, love, let’s just go. i want to beat the rest of them there.” you nodded and followed him out to the car, hopping in and buckling your seatbelt. he did the same, beginning to drive to the company, his hand on your thigh the whole time. you arrived fairly quickly, considering the apartment you shared with minho was not that far away.

the both of you hurried inside, saying a quick greeting to the people you passed by. you walked into their practice room, chan already there as expected. he greeted the both of you, a sweet smile on his face. him and minho began talking about idol things, stuff you had no clue about, so you made your way to the couch that was off to the side. you sat your stuff down, and got comfy on the couch, knowing that you were going to be there for a while.

slowly but surely, the rest of the boys began to show up, the room gradually becoming more crowded. they said their hellos to each other, including you, before beginning to warm up. their choreographer was unable to attend the practice, so he sent them a video of the choreography. minho was off to the side doing his best to learn it so he could help the boys learn.

a little bit later, they had all gathered up, minho beginning to teach the choreography. as you watched him help out the boys, you couldnt help the thoughts that slowly began to flood your brain. you knew it was not the best time to have these thoughts, but you simply couldn’t help it. how could you when he looked like that? he was wearing black sweatpants and a white sleeveless tank, his hair beginning to stick to his forehead from the sweat.

and then they got to the chorus of the choreography. this songs vibe was a lot more sensual than songs they’ve released before. this meant that the choreography was no exception. there were multiple body rolls, hips thrusts. there was even one part where hyunjin was standing in the center and the other boys did that grinding move in a circle around him. minho’s spot happened to be in front of you. you had to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together, knowing minho would see, or worse one of the other boys.

they continued on like this for a little while, before breaking up for a little break. minho made his way over to you, taking a swig of water as he walked. you almost gasped when he tilted his head back, his adam’s apple moving up and down as he swallowed. he plopped himself down next to you, leaning a head on your shoulder, and placing a hand on your thigh. you sat straighter at the contact, making him look up at you. “you okay, love?”

“uh y-yeah, i-i’m okay.” your voice was quiet, doing your best to act like everything was alright. now, minho could read you like a magazine. he knew when you were sad, scared, happy. he also knew when you were needy. he knew he must have been getting to you, so he took this opportunity to mess with you a little. he took the hand that was resting on your thigh and began moving it up a little higher. he was going agonizingly slow, making you whimper slightly. the boys whipped their head over, minho pinching your thigh to get you to be quiet. he perked his head up and told the boys you just weren’t feeling well. they seemed to believe him, cause they went back to what they were doing prior.

“be a good girl for me, and you’ll get what you want when we get home, okay,” he said quietly, smiling when you nodded. he got up again and gathered the boys up once more, to continue teaching them the choreo. the more you watched, the more wound up you became. it didn’t help that minho kept looking back at you, throwing smirks your way. it got to the point where you had to walk out of the room. you left, and started making your way to the bathroom.

but, minho caught up pretty quickly, basically dragging you to an empty practice room. he shut the door and locked it, turning to you and crossing his arms over his chest. you just stood there, not knowing what he was going to do. he did the same, keeping his eyes on you. it was like an animal stalking its prey. he slowly walked up to you, a cocky smirk on his face. “i knew you were needy, but not this needy. i told you to be good and you would get what you wanted but of course you didn’t. so i’ll tell you this. i’m gonna take you back in there, and you’re gonna sit there and be quiet. if you’re good, i’ll take you home and take care of you, okay? and if you don’t, you won’t get to cum for a week. do you understand, princess?”

you simply nodded, a slight pout present on your face. “yes sir.” he visibly tensed at the name, his eyes darkening as he stared you down. he just shook it off, and led you back to his practice room, helping you to the couch, making the boys think you still weren’t feeling well. they shot you sympathetic smiles, going back to what they were doing. you did as he said, and sat there quietly, not so patiently waiting for him to finish. you were literally counting down the minutes until you could go home, desperately wanting to be relieved of the ache between your thighs.

about an hour and a half later, they finally wrapped up the rehearsal, gathering all their stuff and leaving. minho grabbed his bag, and his water bottle, walking over to you. “you ready, love?” you nodded and shot out of the seat, rushing to his side, and began to walk to the car with him. you both climbed in and headed back to your shared apartment, the tension increasing the closer you got. as soon as he parked you were out of the car, rushing to the door. you couldn’t walk in yet because minho had the house key. he walked up to you and before he unlocked the door, he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “i’m gonna go set all my stuff down, okay? by the time i’m done, i want you on the bed, naked for me, understood?”

“yes sir,” you said, quickly rushing up the stairs as soon as he opened the door. you stripped all your clothes off, and hopped on the bed waiting for minho to arrive. within seconds, he was walking into the room, a shit eating grin on his face.

“good girl.” he stalked over to you and sat on the bed, patting his thighs, signaling for you to straddle him. you did as he said and threw one leg over his, mere inches separating you. his hands found home on your hips, looking at you, a smirk still present on his face. “look at you. always so pretty for me.” he began running his hands up and down your sides, pressing a light kiss to your lips. you quickly deepened it, kissing him with much more fervor. not even a second later, he flipped you over onto your back so he was hovering over you.

he peppered your skin in kisses, leaving a trail of love bites all the way down to your waist. he continued the teasing, brushing his hands over where you needed him most. “m-minho please.” he smirked at the tone of your voice and looked up at you, mischief in his eyes.

“please what? i cant give you what you want unless you tell me,” he teased, rubbing a hand up and down your thigh. you whined, but took a deep breath, knowing he wasn’t bluffing.

“t-touch me...” your voice was quiet, minho barely being able to hear it. he didn’t move an inch, he simply kept smirking up at you.

“touch you where?” he placed a hand on your side, clearly not giving up on his relentless teasing. “here?” you whimpered once more, gathering up all the courage you had and grabbed his hand and placed in on top of your heat.

“here.” he smirked once again, and ran a finger up and down your folds. you wrapped your hand in the sheets, leaning your head back, a light moan coming off of your lips. he slowly slid two digits into your sex, gripping onto the sheets tighter. “that’s my girl,” he spoke lowly, slowly inserting another digit, prepping you for later.

before you knew it, you felt your climax get close, and grabbed minho’s free wrist. “i-i’m so close-” and just as the words rolled off your tongue, his had pulled his fingers out, leaving you whimpering and feeling empty. he shushed you, lifting you up so you were on his lap. he gripped onto your ass and slowly lowered you down onto his cock, letting out a hiss.

you moaned at the feeling, beginning to bounce up and down, gradually picking up the pace, but stopped when minho slapped your ass. “you may be on top, but i’m still in charge.” you immediately nodded, mumbling a soft ‘yes sir,’ making him clench his jaw. he started to slowly thrust up into you, ignoring your pleas for him to speed up. he continued the slow pace, knowing it would only rile you up more.

but soon enough, he needed more too, so he began picking up the pace, rutting his hips into yours faster. he reached up and wrapped his hand around the base of your hair and roughly pulled it back, eliciting another loud moan to come out of your mouth. he took the opportunity to attack your neck in more opened mouth kisses, speeding up his thrusts further. he could tell by the way you were clenching around him that you were close. he took his free hand and began rubbing your clit, making you squeal. you began shaking from the pleasure, asking minho if you can cum.

“yes baby, be a good girl and cum for me.” you were cumming as soon as he finished speaking, gripping tightly onto his shoulder, digging your nails into his skin. a few thrusts later, minho was cumming as well, coating your walls with his release. he slowly pulled out, as you collapsed against his chest.

“you okay, princess,” he asked, any remnants of his hard exterior way out the door. you nodded, earning a smile and a light kiss on the forehead as he carried you to the bathroom. he set you on the counter as he cleaned you up, mumbling praises into your ear.

“you did so good for me, baby, so proud of you.” once he was finished, he carried you back to the bedroom, laying you down on your side of the bed.

“get some sleep, babygirl.”

[joontier]

Subliminal in Scrubs | V1;  report ix

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: doctors! au; humor, romance 

warnings: swearing

word count: 1.8k

g/n: ((unedited skfslkdf)) also,,, i will be releasing Parallel Palpitations very soon [which features this Jimin hehehehe stay tuned for that] PLUS, im very excited to release the report x AHHHHHH send me your thoughts pleaseee 

[taglist]:  @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07​ @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle​ @btsmakesmehappy​

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) |  navi. | m.list

You open your new group chat first thing in the morning, wanting to check on Soomin and Jimin. Just yesterday, the two had informed you of their concerns separately, both worried over the same thing. Soomin’s mother wanted to hold a small congratulatory celebration for her daughter’s KMLE results, and her subsequent acceptance at Woocheon, so there was going to be a party exclusively for all tenants of the building at the restaurant just next to the cafe. 

The two hadn’t worked out their budding acquaintance, as you had practically forced them to greet each other the last time you were at the cafe, so you thought this might be a great way to have them start over their tricky relationship. 

As you’ve expected, both of them had even tried to convince you to come, in the hopes that a mutual friend could help diminish the awkward air around them. You’ve declined each of them politely, not wanting to intrude on their little get-together. Besides, (just like you hadn’t forgotten to mention to them), this was the perfect opportunity to get rid of this wall hindering their friendship (to which, both of them had also quite strongly disagreed upon). 

A mere three hours after their outpour of sentiments, as you’re rewatching episodes of Dr. Romantic with Chohee, the pair drunkenly call you, requesting a video chat. You’re pretty sure not one of them is aware of what’s happening, especially with Jimin refilling his shot glass every thirty seconds; Soomin speaking gibberish, and Chohee literally teasing them through the screen of your laptop and yet none of them seem to mind a damn thing about it. 

So, with hopes that each of them arrived home safely last night, you type in your text message. 

‘What is this place, really?’ you mutter to yourself, slightly regretting your decision to take the subway instead of a cab. You only ride taxis for places you’re not familiar with (such is the case with today) but you didn’t want to spend twice as much solely for transportation so you took the train to the building. 

Now you feel lost. You’ve just gone to the main entrance of the building, but there was scaffolding barring the entrance, and now you’re struggling to look for Entrance B with the singular tarpaulin saying “Please use Entrance B” and a faded arrow below pointing to the left. After a grueling ten minutes of asking people for directions and walking all over the place, you finally find Entrance B and hurry on your way inside. 

There’s already a small crowd forming where the directions for the processing of your license is posted, and you can’t seemingly read the directions all the way down with people clearly taller than you blocking the way. 

“What’s the matter? Can’t see the directions, smally?” 

Your instant recognition of his voice makes you hang your head low. You figure there’s no way you can get rid of this guy anytime soon. 

“Hello, Jungkook.” 

Why is it that he’s always there wherever you are? He couldn’t be stalking me, could he? 

Jungkook almost spits his water on the girl in front of him. Oh, so he heard your thoughts then. “Yeah, you wish, woman. I wouldn’t do that even if you had one million strapped to your neck.” You roll your eyes at him. 

“Wasn’t asking for any conditions for you to do that, but thanks for letting me know your thoughts.” 

“Awh, you mad, babe?” Shaking your head at him, you try to continue peering over everyone’s shoulder to check the post. “If it makes you feel any better, I would for two million though.” 

You were just about to retaliate with a smart comment, but you see a girl walking towards Jungkook while twirling her hair with her newly manicured fingers. “Jungkook-oppa, you’re here!” she says, hooking her arm on his elbow. 

Ah yes, it’s the same brat that kept defending Jungkook’s ass during the KMLE exam. “Why don’t you come with us? My mom works here,” her voice gets down to a whisper, but loud enough for you to hear. “If you come with us, you wouldn’t have to fall in line, then maybe we could have lunch together. 

Jungkook removes her hand from his, “No thank you, I’ll just wait here.” 

“With her?”

The audacity of this bitch. 

“Yes, with her.” Jungkook says, not skipping a beat. “She’s...better company.” Oof, that’s gotta hurt. 

You try not to show much of your currently soaring pride on your face, but you can’t help but clear your throat as a terrible disguise for a snort. The girl becomes silent after that, with most of her friends trying to control their facial expressions after Jungkook’s reply. 

“Fine then, your loss,” she says with a flip of her hair, then makes her exit. 

You're unsure what to do now as the girl has already left, and you’re also not sure if you’re entirely happy about being left with Jungkook now. “Why didn’t you go with her? Could’ve saved you a lot of time considering the people here.” 

Jungkook clenches his jaw, as if in thought. “I don’t like cheating. I believe that there’s a different value in the reward that comes with something you worked hard for.” 

You’re surprised. You really hadn’t expected this kind of quote, coming out of Jungkook out of all people, but you find yourself nodding as he speaks, quite impressed that you share the same principles. 

As the crowd starts to disperse, you and Jungkook finally get your turns to take a look at the poster. “Is it often?” 

“What is?” 

You point a thumb backwards towards where the girl had gone to, “Having girls throw themselves at you all the time?” 

“Oh that,” Jungkook chuckles, then gives you a lopsided smirk, “Yeah, that. Hadn’t realized being this hot was so tiring.” Squinting your eyes at him, it then again dawns on you that you shouldn’t even have asked him that sort of question at all. 

“You know,” he says, nudging your shoulder with his, “I’m quite jealous of you really,” your brows crease together. This can’t be good. “At least you don’t experience all of that, cause you know…” he says, gesticulating his hands over his face. 

He did not just insinuate that you were not...attractive at all. Huh. This bastard can wait for his license alone then. 

“Goodbye, Jungkook.” 

“Hang on! ________, wait! I was just messing with you,” Jungkook laughs, running after you.

The cashier is already scanning the last items on your grocery list by the time Jimin and Soomin had texted you that they were done with their licenses, and you three had agreed on meeting up by the mall’s concierge. It doesn’t take long before you all decide on having Italian for dinner, after seeing the restaurant nearest to where the concierge was. 

“Wait, it took you guys only half an hour?” you exclaim, recalling how you had to endure at least more than an hour with Jungkook as you waited for your licenses to finish. Thankfully though, the latter had other errands to run so you two parted ways as soon as you got your IDs. 

Jimin, always the gentleman, offers to get your group the utensils as well as a few condiments and spices you might need with your meals. “Soomin-ssi, do you know anybody else who’s going to Woocheon too?” he says, setting the silverware atop the napkins. 

Soomin thanks Jimin for the thoughtful gesture, sending a small smile his way. You squeal inwardly, wanting to know what happened last night for them to interact like this. “Um, also, I’m not so sure about the others who will be attending Woocheon too...I only got a glimpse of the list, sorry.” 

“Ah, no worries about that. So, how was the dinner party last night?” 

The two glance at each other, seemingly communicating with their eyes. Oookay, what’s going on between these two? What exactly happened last night? If they wanted to be alone, they could’ve just said so… 

“It was fun,” Jimin initiates, plastering  what seems to be a painfully wide grin on his face. Soomin nods along with him as she adds more, “Honestly, I don’t remember much about last night, but I do recall Jimin calling me ‘sajangnim’ the whole night. And I told him to not call me that, but Jimin here is a stubborn man.” 

“Yeah, you complained about that too last night,” you laugh, cutting your garlic bread into pieces. “Wait, what?” Jimin squints his eyes at you, “Were you there last night? How did you....” 

“I’m guessing you both don’t remember calling me last night too, didn’t you?” 

“We did?!” they say in unison, making your eyes go wide. “Did I do something stupid?” “Please tell me I didn’t say something I shouldn’t have?” 

“Hmm, well, it was quite the conversation last night,” you tease them, wanting to see how far this can go, “plus Chohee was there too so I have another key witness.” 

“What?” Jimin squeaks, lips pressing into a thin line, “what’s the key witness for?” 

“That, my friend, is up to you to remember and figure out.” You give each of them a wink, before turning your attention back to your pasta.  

Transferring all your groceries to one hand, you fish your keys from your purse, shaking it lightly to hear its jingle as you blindly course your fingers through your bag. As the elevator doors open, you see your neighbor down the end of the hall, trailing after a man. 

Ayoung hears the elevator bell ding and turns to your direction. She excitedly points her thumb to her back, mouthing ‘new tenant’ to you. She keys in her code and lets the guy in first. The moment he’s inside, she leans by the doorframe and whispers how hot the guy actually was and how much of a lucky neighbor you were going to be. 

You shake your head at her, leaving Ayoung to entertain her guest. Of course, not forgetting to pray that she manages to score you a hot man next door.

© joontier 2021

[lavendersb]

Our Ultimatum

Chapter 1: Charity 

Boba Fett x Reader

Summary: Finding yourself stuck between a rock and a hard place, you take a gamble and seek the mercy of the new ruler of Tatooine.

Warnings: Spoilers for S2 Ep8 (It’s set some time after the end credit scene), implied age gap, Boba flirting the entire time, mentions of slavery, gratuitous use of the phrase ‘little one’

This is just an excuse for me to be h*rny over king boba i’m so sorry, the smut will probably be in the next chapter! 

Things couldn’t get much worse.

Life had never been easy on Tatooine. With the harsh weather, the hellish wildlife, and the abundance of seedy criminals there wasn’t too much to celebrate on the planet that you had grown up on. You’d always been conscious of the risk of poverty, on this desert world it seemed almost everyone was working off their last credits and thankfully you’d always managed to make yours stretch.

That was until a few cycles, ago when things had taken a turn for the worst.

You see, though the rebellion had brought with it many prosperous outcomes, like the end of the Empire and a half-decent attempt at eradicating slavery, it had also caused a few problems. Tatooine, being the hub of criminal activity that it was had faced a rather thorough clean-up, and the New Republic had pretty much scared away the local bounty hunters guild, taking with it most of the planets custom. Since then raiders seemed to pillage every town on a near weekly basis, leaving you and many others penniless and desperate.

You’d just managed to scrape by, but since losing your job and being evicted from your sorry excuse for a home you’d been faced with a tough decision. One that had lead you on this perilous trek through the desert.

With just the clothes on your back and a small satchel of your few personal belongings, you were headed to Jabba’s Palace, or at least the palace that had once belonged to Jabba the Hutt. Since the death of the Huttese criminal overlord, the Palace had changed hands many times, most recently into the possession of a notorious bounty hunter with a growing monopoly on the criminal underworld. You didn’t know much about this new leader, other than the fact he ran a tight ship, but sadly he might be your only hope.

You’d heard stories of destitute citizens like yourself travelling the Dune Sea to offer their services to the Hutts, a life of slavery in exchange for a roof overhead and a meal every-day. Much more than what most could expect living free. You could only hope that this new leader would be open to the same sort of offers. You’d never thought you’d end up in this situation, but the universe works in mysterious ways.

The palace was a great, monstrous thing towering high above the rocks and dunes surrounding it. You’d once heard it had as many floors underground as it did above, even containing its own exotic animal menagerie. Perhaps you’d soon find out for yourself if that were true.

“What business do you have here?” an armoured guard called out as you approached the doorway to the palace’s main tower.

Adjusting your grip on your satchel, you try to regulate your breathing.

“I’ve come to see Boba Fett,” you announce in what you hope is a determined tone.

The guard seems unconvinced, turning to his partner and laughing beneath his leather helmet. Suddenly you feel very small, and painfully aware of how pitiful you must look right now.

“He’s a busy man,” The guard says, turning back to you “He doesn’t have time to talk to kids like you”

“If I had any other choice, I wouldn’t be here. I’ve come here to offer my services” You snap back, angered by his patronising tone.

The guard bristles, incensed by your little outburst. He shifts his weight and raises his blaster slightly, just enough for you to feel the threat there, but before he can respond his partner interjects.

“Look, sweetheart, this isn’t the place for you. Go back to town and don’t worry yourself with what goes on in here. It’s grizzly business.”

He’s right. You can feel how out of place you are, but right now that just isn’t an option for you. The only thing waiting for you back in Mos Eisley is an empty stomach, your only shot at a future is behind those big metal doors.

Slowly you reach for your pocket, bringing out your last fistful of credits and holding them out in front of you. It’s laughable really, barely enough to buy a bottle of Spotchka and yet it’s all you’ve got to bribe your way in.

“This is all I have left. You can have it if you let me inside”

The guards stare at the pile of credits for a moment, before the first one reaches forward and takes the whole lot.

“Fine. If you’re so sure it’s what you want” he snaps, motioning for his other (and arguably nicer) partner to let you in.  

The guard opens a small door behind him, ushering you through ahead of him. You try to ignore the look of pity he gives you as you step past him.

You emerge into a large, cavernous hall dimly lit with warm lights that hang suspended from wires of various lengths from the ceiling. Distantly you can hear the sound of many people talking and laughing, perhaps some music too. In the centre of the room, a wide descending staircase leads to the lower levels, curving off to the left and into the darkness. It sounds like that’s where all the noise is coming from.

The guard nudges your shoulder softly, gesturing towards the stairs.

You descend into what might be the busiest, loudest room you’ve ever been in. Filled with all sorts of species conversing loudly in groups all over the room, underscored by music that emanates from somewhere you can’t see. It’s dimly lit with a low ceiling that makes it feel like the room is about to collapse in on you, and the gravity of your situation slowly starts to dawn on you.

The guards were right, this Boba Fett really is busy, and you know you don’t belong here.

“He’s up there. Say what you need to say and try not to get me into trouble” the guard says, before stepping back against the wall and out of sight.

You look to where he had pointed, and instantly your blood runs cold. At the back of the room, sat on a raised dais and surrounded by the fiercest looking soldiers you’ve ever seen is the man you’ve come here for. He sits sprawled across a large stone chair- no, throne in his green Mandalorian armour that seems almost black in the low light. He has his face turned towards a woman beside him, her dark hair plaited tightly on her head as she nods along to what he says.

As though she has felt your stare she looks up. Saying something you can’t quite make out, she refocuses the armoured mans attention to you, and now, even from the other side of the room you burn something fierce under their combined gaze.

Boba Fett readjusts himself on the throne, spreading his legs just a fraction wider in a way that is both devastatingly inviting and frighteningly dangerous. He tilts his head, and you take this as your cue to step forward, weaving through the crowd until you reach the space before the dais.

“Are you lost, little one?”

Oh dear.

His voice rings out clear despite the noise around you. His pitch is low and measured, and pierces right into you. For a moment he’s rendered you useless, until you remember he asked you a question.

“No,” you respond in a voice you hope is as clear as his.

He huffs out an amused laugh and tilts his helmet. A few of the soldiers that surround him have turned their attention to your conversation as well.

“Forgive me. It’s not very often I get to see pretty things like you down here. As you can see I move in very specific circles” He gestures with his fingers, and you follow where he points.

Not that you needed to. You’ve been well aware from the minute you set foot down here that you don’t blend in with the numerous bounty hunters and criminals that fill the palace.

“But it seems you’ve come here with a purpose. What can I help you with?” Boba says, leaning forward slightly.

Right, you’ve practiced this. You had plenty of time whilst walking the desert to plan what you were going to say, and now as you face Boba Fett in all his imposing majesty, you’re infinitely glad you did. You probably couldn’t voice an original thought right now even if you tried, not with the nerves coursing through you under Boba’s unwavering gaze. You take a slight breath, ready to begin your well-rehearsed spiel.

“I have nothing. No money, no food. I’ve heard the stories about the people who came here looking to work in exchange for shelter- “

“You mean the slaves?” The dark-haired woman interrupts, throwing you off your rhythm and forcing the words to die on your tongue.

“Well… yes” you say, barely above a whisper.

“How dare you?” Hisses a zabrak bounty hunter that’s been lurking beside the throne “comparing our actions to that of the Hutts?”

The zabrak jumps down from the raised stone plinth, stalking towards you and causing you to shrink away. You’ve barely opened your mouth and already you’ve managed to ruin things. Honestly, you wish the ground would swallow you up.

“That’s enough, I’ve taken no offence” Boba warns, and the zabrak eases off slightly “but you should know we don’t do that here. Strangely enough there is some semblance of morality among us”

“I’m sorry” you offer lamely, hoping to repair some of the damage done in this conversation.

Boba studies you from beneath his visor for a moment, before offering out his hand to you.

“Come here” he asks, and not wanting to cause any more offence, you comply

Tentatively you step forward, eyeing the leering zabrak cautiously before taking Boba’s hand. Your hand fits neatly into the leather of his gloved palm, and he easily helps you up onto the dais to stand directly before him. Boba inspects your face again.

“You look tired, little one. Did you walk across the Dune Sea?” You faintly notice he hasn’t released your hand yet, still clasping it gently in his. You nod, not trusting your words just yet. Boba makes a quiet sound of sympathy that makes your heart flutter, much to your horror.

“And where did you walk from? Where’s home to you?”

His voice has dropped so it’s barely a whisper, a conversation just for the two of you alone.

“I don’t have a home.”

Boba doesn’t respond right away, instead reaching up to thumb the threadbare and sandy material of your tunic. He does so for a moment, seemingly lost in his thoughts before snapping his head up to face you.

“You must be tired. Follow my friend here, she’ll take you somewhere you can rest,” Boba points to the dark-haired woman beside him “Her name is Fennec.”

Shocked by his response, you can only babble out a strangled little “thank you” before Fennec promptly takes you by the arm and starts leading you away. As she ushers you into the crowd again, you turn one last time to meet Boba’s visor. He gives you a nod before you disappear into a hallway.

“I’ll admit you’ve got courage coming all the way here” Fennec says as she leads you along “most people choose come by speeder, the Dune Sea is a dangerous place”

“Well, I didn’t have many other options” you say, taking in the hallways you pass through, trying to commit them to memory.

“So it seems,” she responds, before turning to face you.

“You know if you really want to work for us we could probably sort something out. We can try and find you a job that’s safe and out of the way”

You’ve stopped outside a door, and the woman quickly presses a few buttons on the keypad to open it. Inside you catch a glimpse of a room, its fairly plain but still much nicer than anything you’ve ever had before. The bed looks divine, and you can’t wait to burrow under the covers and rest.

“I’d like that” you respond with a grateful smile; glad your little insult earlier hadn’t ruined all your chances here.

“I’ll see what I can do. There’s a refresher in there. You should wash, and I’ll find you something clean to wear. Rest as long as you need.”

Thanking Fennec you head inside, dropping your bag at the foot of the bed and reaching out to feel the sheets. They’re soft to the touch, but the sand that coats your body in a fine layer falls onto it, ruining the silky texture. Stepping back you begin to strip from your clothes, unwinding the binding that seals the cuffs of your sleeves and trousers. They’re supposed to keep the sand from getting under your clothes and irritating your skin, but in their threadbare condition the bindings haven’t done their job. When you shake out your trousers, half of the Dune Sea seems to fall out of them.

The shower amazes you. It’s a decent size with strong water pressure and it takes you a few moments to figure out how to change the temperature. You take your time under the water, enjoying how relaxing it is compared to the sonic showers you had used your whole life. When you’re sure you’ve washed away all the sand on your body, you wrap yourself in one of the soft towels and pad back to the main bedroom.

Someone had left a set of new clothes for you on the bed, a simple grey tunic and loose-fitting trousers, socks, underwear, and over by the door a soft looking pair of shoes. As you change you vaguely register your growing hunger but thinking of the soft sheets and just how tired you are, you decide that’s something you’ll fix after your nap.

As you lie under the covers in silence, you can just about make out the distant sound of chatter from the throne room. If you concentrate hard enough, you think you can hear Boba, his voice cutting through the noise as he calls out words you can’t make out.

It’s plaguing your thoughts. The kindness he showed you and the feel of his hand holding yours. The way his gaze pierced you even from behind his dark visor. This bounty hunter king was not at all what you expected him to be, but funnily enough you weren’t too mad about that.

  You wake to a series of short knocks to the door.

“Hello?” you call out blearily, trying to regain your senses as you switch on the bedside lamp.

The door slides open to reveal Fennec. She steps inside, leaving the guard she brought with her in the hall and smiles at your groggy state.

“Seems you slept well” she quips.

“Yes, thank you,” you say, reaching up self-consciously to fix your hair.

“Boba wants to talk. Get yourself ready and follow the guard, he’ll take you to him” Fennec says.

The prospect of speaking to Boba again sent your mind into a frenzy. Your brief conversation earlier had left you dumbstruck, his measured tone and focused interest in you effecting your brain in an almost embarrassing way. How were you supposed to pull yourself through an entire discussion with him?

Fennec leaves you to get ready. You do your best to calm your hair, splash some water on your face, and slip on your new shoes, and as the guard leads you through the palace hallways, you work on trying to steady your nerves.

The room you’re led to is empty. It has the same stone walls and floors as the rest of the palace, and windows in the ceiling illuminate the sizeable stone table that sits at its centre. The table is set for one, with a decent amount of food and a large bottle of spotchka. You’re quickly reminded of your hunger but don’t dare take even the smallest piece of food without permission.

“You gonna eat that food or just stare at it little one?”

Boba’s voice makes you jump. Spinning around you see him standing in the doorway, hands resting on his belt as he watches you. You can’t quite manage to make your mouth work, and in the absence of a response Boba steps forward, walking past you to take a seat at the table.

“Come on then.” He points to the chair in front of the plate of food.

He doesn’t need to offer again. Even if Boba has rendered your brain useless, your stomach is still fully aware of its need for food, and you waste no time getting stuck into the meal offered to you. Boba chuckles softly at the speed at which you eat.

“Spotchka?” He lifts the bottle of glowing blue liquid.

With your mouth full, you shake your head. Boba nods and pours himself a glass instead.

You’re so preoccupied with your food that you nearly miss when the bounty hunter lowers his head and removes his helmet to drink. Suddenly your food is a lot less interesting, now your undivided attention belongs to the face of the man opposite you.

He’s older than you, that was no surprise, and handsome too in a hardened, grizzly way. The scars, however, that wrap around his handsome face have certainly piqued your interest. Of course it makes sense for a bounty hunter to have a few scars, but scars of that severity must have a particular story behind them.

“I’m not the nicest to look at, am I?” Boba quips without looking up at you. His tone is light, thankfully not offended by your staring.

“No!” You say, before you can stop yourself “Wait no…I mean… I think you’re very nice to look at”

Wow, how eloquent.

Boba seems to find your flustered state very amusing, laughing lowly as he looks at you over the rim of his glass.

“Well thank you, and I’ll be sure to thank the sarlacc for not maiming all of my face”

A sarlacc? Well that certainly explains the scarring, but how could anyone survive a sarlacc pit? It seems that the more you learn about this bounty hunter king, the more questions you’re faced with. Your face must give away your thoughts, as just when you open your mouth to question him he pipes up again.

“You’re an open book little one, I’ll tell you about it some other time. Now though, I want to talk about you” He says, placing down his spotchka.

You tell him nearly all of your life story, from your name to your rather precarious financial situation and Boba listens diligently despite your babbling. By the time you’ve finished explaining to him the decision you had made to come to the palace, Boba has sat back in his chair, studying you.

“I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality so far, its far more than I deserve after the way I spoke to you earlier,” You conclude, but Boba wave his hand in dismissal.

“It’s hardly an issue, your courage and honesty endeared me to you” he says, “but I want to do one thing more for you,”

“Yes?” you prompt softly.

“I’m going to take you up on your offer. I’ll give you work, and you can stay here at the palace, but I will be paying you a salary.” He lets the offer hang in the air. You’re too shocked to respond, this is much more than you thought you’d be given.

“You’d be free to leave our employment at any time, and you can stay in the palace for as little or as long as you want. I want you to understand you won’t be a slave here, you’ll always have your own autonomy,” He elaborates.

This is certainly not what you expected from such a hardened figure. It seemed almost comical for the leader of the criminal underworld to be offering you, a nobody, this level of charity. It baffled you.

“I- thank you,” you respond, mouth numb with shock and unable to fully articulate yourself.

Boba downs the last of his spotchka before fixing his helmet and rising.

“You’re very welcome. Finish your food, little one. We’ll find you some work in the morning.” Boba turns to exit, leaving you alone at the table with your mind running a mile a minute to process your new situation. Jumping up from your chair, you go to stop him before he leaves.

“Wait,” you say, reaching out to grab his arm. He turns back to face you quickly, and for a moment you worry that you’ve overstepped a boundary by laying hands on him. When the scolding you’re anticipating doesn’t come, you continue.

“I don’t understand, why help me like this?”

Boba cocks his head.

“Why would I not?” He says simply.

“You could have just accepted my original proposition or sent me away.”

“Do you want me to send you away?” Boba quips. Leaning towards you, you can almost hear his teasing grin behind his visor.

“No,” you respond.

“Must a man always have a reason for his ways?” He reaches out to smooth the collar of your tunic, letting his fingers skim across your collar bone.

For some reason you’re not entirely convinced by his answer, but the feeling of his touch does a remarkable job at diverting your attention. His fingers follow the tunic’s neckline, stopping when he reaches the lowest point of the shallow v neck. He lingers there for a second before raising his hand to tap your chin with the back of his curled forefinger and let out an amused little huff at your dumbstruck expression.

“I’ll see you soon, little one.”

[ironwoodprotectionsquad]

About your last post on the wiki article I have a lot of thoughts for some reason because that whole situation with that scene is just honestly a case study on how warped the view RWBY fans have of the show and it was pretty hilarious (in a laughing through the pain sort of way).

1. Of course you had fans who from the get go justified Weiss threatening her bother with a weapon as completely justified as if threatening unarmed person with a loaded weapon especially a minor isn't a whole ass crime in real life.

2. And then you had fans who justified it by saying that Weiss is an abuse victim and under stress it makes sense she would regress to acting like her abuser so it's realistic! Which would be a good point if Weiss ever so much as acknowledged her bad actions and tried to make up for it (which she didn't). Or just generally justifying it as Weiss being stressed out, so at least acknowledging she did something wrong.

3. And then you have RWBY fans who elect to pretend that it never happened at all and subtly like posts calling out the scene as shitty but never actually saying it themselves.

4. And then you have a few fans who actually came out and were like "yeah I usually defend everything about this show but that scene was pretty shitty what the hell MKEK".

And then the commentary for that scene came out and * gestures wildly at Kerry saying "yeah well Weiss threatened him with a weapon but she also hugged him" among other things * the writers really shot themselves in the foot like they always do and suddenly nobody in the fndm wants to acknowledge it anymore except for a few in group 1 & 4.

It's honestly pretty facinating because you've had rwby critics saying since v5 that the writers treatment of serious topics (such as male abuse victims) is sorely lacking (the treatment of ozpin being the longest running one I can remember), which were always justified by the fandom using technicalities like "ozpin is morally grey and lied to them!" "Ironwood has always been a bad person!" and even "sun deserved to be slapped he was stalking Blake!". But watching even the simp-iest fans hit a solid brick wall in real time trying to find any technicality that could even somewhat justify physically threatening a neglected/abused/nonthreatening 14 year old with a dangerous weapon without sounding like a horrible person in the process has honestly been the highlight of v8 for me. It's like watching a train wreck.

Hey anon! I am glad you can find something out of all of this mess but for me....it's just painful. I can't even laugh at the chaos because it just is so damn harmful as you said. The show is happy to perpetrate extremely and horrifically toxic ideals to its audience who then eats it up and treats it like it is morally correct to believe in those ideals.

People are genuinely hurt by the harmful morals the show is putting out their and their are people comparing Weiss shoving a weapon into her abused brothers face with harmless playing around with sticks. Abuse is not something we should ever trivialize, but the show does so thoughtlessly and the fans just eat it all up. 

CRWBY has proven time and time again that they cannot handle such heavy topics like abuse and systemic racism yet they try to write these things and when they inevitably fail they blame everything but their own unwillingness to do basic research into these heavy topics. 

The hypocrisy of the show has been painfully obvious since Qrow punched Oscar out in his anger towards Ozpin and treated that as morally correct and okay to do while also telling us Jacques slapping Weiss was horrible and wrong but then going back to insisting it was fine when Blake slapped Sun. Or how we’re supposed to view trust and keeping secrets. The issue isn’t the act of lying its weather the protagonists are doing the lying or being lied to that duels weather we should be angry about it or justifying it. Regardless of the fact that Ozpin did the exact same thing to RWBY as RWBY did to James, but one was punched for it, and the other was reassured that she’s doing the right thing. It’s not the action that’s happening that’s wrong but the character doing the action that is how we are supposed to judge weather something was good or bad and uh that is not how that works. The what was done is all that matters not the who did it. With this protagonist morality the show has however it has created a moral that says doing a bad thing to someone you don’t like is okay because they’re probably secretly bad anyways so its fine and that....a really dangerous mindset.

Personally I think these major issues started popping up all the way back in volume 4 with Blake slapping around Sun being brushed off as nothing and totally and completely fine. Back then though people where far more forgiving and willing to accept the flaws because of things like Monty passing and them switching to a new engine. And people still held onto the good faith the show had built up in previous volumes and where willing to give them another chance. Their is also the issue of at first, RT was a small company and thus they where able to get closer to their fans then in larger companies which made fans feel like CRWBY was their friends you know? 

The issue fans cannot accept is that CRWBY isn’t their friends. They don’t even know most of the fans and don’t want to. It’s okay to criticize the show, you’re not insulting a friend or something, you’re critiquing a tv show and the poor and harmful morals being portrayed. If no one tells you something is a problem, you’ll never learn. It’s okay to make mistakes we just want CRWBY to own up to their mistakes and to improve and do better but the FNDM just continues to dig their heels in and pretend everything is fine and perfect and attack anyone who dares to question their perfect show. 

[beccarooni]

The End - Chapter 2

(Tag list: @ageofgeek, @elreyciervo, @woahthisguy, @generationblip - ask to be added!)

Loki hadn’t been permitted to show his face at Frigga’s funeral, but he’d had a good enough second-hand description to imagine it as if he had. Golden towers, draped with black cloth. His mothers boat, adorned with flowers, her sword placed in her hands and a golden veil over her face. A flaming arrow shot by their finest archers - and even that too was gold. Frigga would sail to the ends of their horizon; dissolving into flame and sparks, her spirit scattered amongst the stars, marking her journey to Valhalla. Where the brave shall live forever.

He knew the feelings well enough; even if the visual had not been his. He knew that aching feeling inside - like a creature, tiny and desperate, trapped beneath his ribcage and clawing to escape. Loss was something he was well acquainted with by now; and the splendour that Asgard attached to it seemed almost intrinsic to the process. Asgard’s warriors died the deaths of heroes; it was only right that their passages would be heralded by something as glorious as they had in life.

Cramped in the Quinjet bathroom, with barely enough room to get on his knees, Loki muttered out the parting prayer - quiet enough so that Banner couldn’t hear from the other side of the door. A piece of his armour caught against the sink, and all of a sudden he was struck by how wrong this felt.

Sadness, he expected. Fury, and rage; those were emotions he knew came with death. But this sense of wrongness, of shame - it was new. It was new, and uncomfortable, and he wanted it to stop.

There was no body to bury. Nothing to cast to the stars, no boat to lay his brother to rest in, no hammer to place gently against his chest. This was the best he could do, and it burned his face with shame. Loki didn’t know the fate of the others. They may have survived, but they also may have died. And that would make Thor the last one. Possibly the last true Asgardian, and this was how his parting from this world would be marked. No fanfare, no lanterns, no stars.

An airplane bathroom, smaller than a closet, and a few words whispered from cracked and bleeding lips. The harsh smell of cleaning agents, and the harsher glare of the flickering light above him. A body, his brother, left in the cold grip of space - maybe forever. The best he could hope for was that a passing garbage collector would take pity on the condemned, and at least allow them the decency of a disposal.

This was what Loki of Asgard had to offer the God of Thunder, and it sickened him to think of it.

Loki swallowed, pressed his forehead against the plastic walls, and muttered the last of the prayers.

“Thor, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla, where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn but rejoice, for those that have died the glorious death.”

Glorious death.

He sniffed, slumping from his knees further to the floor, and shutting his eyes against the world.

There was nothing glorious about this.

His throat hurt, and he allowed himself a few tears as the neon light flickered above him. The prayer was the only tribute he had to give. Well, that and revenge, of course.

Revenge was a talent Loki had yet to perfect. His schemes had a nasty habit of going awry at the last second - but, he supposed, the one person who was always there to thwart said schemes wasn’t here anymore. Now, there was a stretch of open road between him and his dagger piercing Thanos’s heart. Wherever that monster landed, whatever cursed ground marked the final battle, he knew he would be there. His soul wouldn’t let him rest if he wasn’t.

That would be the final gesture he could make for his brother, then. Thanos would die at his hand, he would pay for all he had taken from them. The gentle ending that they were robbed of; where they sailed to earth through the stars, as their ancestors once had. Where they landed, safe and sound, and rebuilt their departed homeworld. If the Mad Titan was so fond of balance, then he could experience it for himself. The scales would tip even with his death; and then, perhaps Loki could rest. Leave for somewhere new, and condemn this blood soaked tapestry to the dirt.

The tale of the house of Odin; beginning in blood, and ending as it began. Crimson, it seemed, was destined to stain the pages of their storybook. And Loki had seen more than enough of it for one lifetime.

“Hey, Loki?”

Banner knocked on the door, gentle enough that Loki almost didn’t hear it over the sound of the engines.

“Are you alright in there? It’s just, uh, it’s been a while. I don’t know if you’re sick, or...yeah.”

Loki cleared his throat, moving to his feet. A quick glance in the mirror, an adjustment of illusions, and he was himself again. There was a certain image he wanted to uphold with the Avengers; even if Banner had certainly seen worse of him (tied to a chair in Valkyrie’s apartment and having a bottle lobbed at his head, for one). They still thought of him as a threat - and there was comfort in that perception. An evil being, a god mad with power - they wouldn’t feel sorrow. Evil wouldn’t cry for its kin. Evil was unstoppable, unstable; an ever shifting force. He didn’t want to disabuse any of them of that notion quite just yet.

“I’m fine. Just washing my hands.” He opened the door, coming face to face with the worrisome scientist standing in front of him.

“I would think that with all the riches in his possession, Stark would grace you with more than one bathroom.” Loki moved past Banner, stalking back to his seat with as much dignity as one could muster when exiting from an airplane bathroom.

“Yeah. It does make missions kinda awkward, sometimes.” Banner rubbed the back of his head, hovering by the door for a moment before shuffling back to the bench where he was sat.

“Six super-people and only one bathroom. It can get intense.”

“I can only imagine.” Loki grimaced as he sat down, folding his hands in his lap.

There was a silence, then. But one with a touch of anticipation. Banner kept looking at him, and after a few minutes it began to grate on his nerves. It was the face of a scientist, after all. The one brimming with questions but holding back purely on social decorum. Banner tapped his feet, bounced his leg, cast him a sideways look. Loki stared ahead impassively, keeping his eyes trained on the window in front of him. He could guess what question it was that Banner wanted answering; and, frankly, it wasn’t something Loki wanted to discuss right now.

Banner wanted to know why Loki had chosen to help them. Why his loyalties had so quickly changed. And of course it was a complex answer; one wrought with chaos and really it would require a play with at least twelve acts to get through, and -

“Why’d you say that earlier?”

The scientist spoke softly, and Loki turned to him, arching an eyebrow in confusion.

“About Thor being dead.”

Loki groaned, leaning until the back of his head touched the cold metal wall behind him.

“Why do you care?”

He wanted to muster some venom into his voice; to spit out the words with vitriol and hatred. But he was so tired, and it came out with more numbness than he intended.

Banner looked at him a little more intensely then, and he could’ve sworn a hint of green crept into the scientist’s eyes.

“Why do I care?” He shook his head, frowning deeply. “You keep telling me about how your brother - one of my closest friends - is dead, and then wonder why that might possibly piss me off?”

Loki scoffed, and Banner folded his arms, shifting his gaze into a dark corner of the quinjet.

“I care because you’re not even giving him a chance. It’s like you have no faith in him - when he’s had nothing but faith in you. You’ve died a lot, and he’s always expected you to come back sooner or later.”

“This is different.”

“How? How is it different? If you’ve come back enough times, then he can too. I know you don’t think he’s smart enough for that but he is. He’s smart, and strong, and kind, and I just-” Banner cut himself off as his face illuminated with green, and his voice shot a few octaves deeper than normal.

Loki scooted back, watching the scientist's face with a degree of caution. He didn’t expect the beast to appear - when one of the sorcerers had hurried Banner back into the building, looking thoroughly un-green, he assumed something had happened. Which was understandable, he supposed. Travelling through the bifrost was bad enough for the inexperienced - let alone the unfortunate circumstances surrounding their travel.

He and Hulk had an uneasy truce on the Statesman. They stayed out of eachothers way, mostly. Hulk was wary of him; and vice versa - even if Thor had tried his best to ease tensions between them with group meetings and ‘dinner nights’. But that wasn’t enough to make him jump for joy at the prospect of seeing Hulk again; especially on a cramped jet, and without his usual strength to defend himself.

Although, it might be nice to see the beast again. It would be a familiar face at the very least; and while he wasn’t concerned about the giant’s safety, he couldn’t deny that his strength had brought a certain comfort with it. When you had the hulk by your side, you felt unstoppable. And it would be rather nice to have that confidence for the battle ahead.

When the scientist seemed to catch himself, Loki was almost disappointed. Banner breathed heavily, the green veins on his face dying down and retreating below the surface.

“He can’t be dead, Loki. He just...He can’t be.”

Loki paused, leaning forward a little. Studying the man in front of him; the twitches, the clasped hands wringing together, the never ending tapping of the foot. The strained expression; the eyes that held hope, but something else underneath that. Something desperate.

Banner didn’t just want Thor back. He needed him.

And all at once, those accidental touches on the Statesman made sense. Every guiding hand on the small of Banner’s back, every meal that the two had shared together, each word of comfort and gentle smile; it wasn’t just comradery.

Loki’s eyes widened, and he laughed; a hollow, bitter sound.

“You liked him.”

“What?” Banner looked away from him then, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “Of course I like him. I’ve known the guy for 6 years.”

“No, this is much more than a - Oh, what did he call it - a friend from work. You fancied him.”

He caught the sight of Bruce’s fists clenching at his sides, and for some reason that sparked something inside of him. A memory from long ago; of being trapped in that glass prison, with a sudden desire to set the beast loose.

“Well, maybe your paramour being dead will be enough to draw the beast back from the shadows. Does it make you angry, Bruce? Does the thought of someone you love dying for nothing fill you with rage?”

“Stop.” Bruce dropped to a whisper, screwing his eyes shut as if that could drown out the sound.

Some part of him told him to take pity on the man. A word of wisdom from his mother; that grief shared was grief halved. And maybe this wasn’t very nice of him, and maybe it wasn’t at all in line with honouring his brother’s memory, but at this moment he couldn’t find it within him to care. He wanted glory again - wanted the feeling of control that he’d had back on the helicarrier.

“I wonder if you ever confessed it to one another - or did he die without ever knowing it? You know, I always assumed that when his heart stopped he thought of Asgard, but maybe he thought of you. Maybe the last thing he ever felt was heartbreak, because he never knew if you loved him back-”

“Stop it!” Bruce’s voice deepened as he leapt to his feet, the veins along his neck deepening to a dark green; but it went further than that. Green blotches spread across his arms, and there was a momentary wildness in his eyes that Loki recognised.

The beast was here. Loki bared his teeth in a fierce grin, hands waiting for his daggers and his body itching for a fight.

But none came.

Banner’s fists stayed clenched, he shook with anger, but that was apparently all the good doctor could muster. The remnants in his eyes died out, like the last few sparks of a campfire, and he remained firmly Bruce Banner-sized. Loki sank back into his chair after the moment of apprehension, sighing.

“I was hoping that would work.” He shook his head dejectedly, a scowl creeping into his face and voice. “I get the sense that we might need him, eventually.”

“Jesus, Loki. So, what - your plan was to get me mad enough for a hulkout? And you thought now was the perfect moment? Here?” Banner gestured around their surroundings - to the low ceiling of the quin jet, the fragile equipment piloting their journey.

Loki’s head thunked against the wall as he melted back into the seat, shrugging listlessly. “I suppose I didn’t think that one through very well.”

“No, you didn’t.” Banner paced about the ship, wringing his hands together before he turned back to Loki, a hint of that previous anger emanating into his tone.

“Look, I know you miss him. And just because I don’t think he’s dead doesn’t mean I’m not worried about him - I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying about him,” He paused, looking up to the ceiling - his face contorting as if he was having to force these words out.

“But don’t you dare take this out on me. Mourn, if you want. Get angry, get sad - but don’t you take this out on me just because I still have hope.”

“Hope.” Loki chuckled mirthlessly. “Hope is a fool's gamble, Banner.”

“Maybe.” Bruce swallowed, his features smoothing out as his eyes turned to the viewing window beside them. “But it’s a gamble I’m willing to take.”