#make an even more bullet hell pattern

[premamelody]

thinking of how older flowey would combine plant and fire magic into his bullet attacks without setting his plant magic on fire every milisecond.

wait but he'd do that in purpose tho too

imagine

vine attack, but on fire

pellets that are mini meteors or large ones if clustered

wait

the flamethrower is back

for his neutral he pulls out a flamethrower-

[sugarwarachan]

driving you crazy

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader andy's notes: yall wanted a part 2 and here is probably the dirtiest thing i've written in a hot minute. here's part 1 if you're new. summary: being in the same phd program as tsukishima kei was already the worst, and that was before you and the snarky bastard were tasked to teach the same class together. after a late-night run-in at the library leaves you breathless, what will happen when you attend the same conference together? content warnings: SMUT, degradation, name kink, impact play, orgasm denial, brat reader, dom!tsukki word count: 2.5k art credit: @Freaka_LoonyZ on x

Neither of you mention the library. 

In fact, two entire months pass by without a word uttered about the incident, and a part of you wonders if you imagined it all along.

The only difference is that Tsukishima is now disarmingly polite; curt in his civility, even, where before he would tease, annoy, and complain to you. Now you have no one in the program to really talk to at all.

Which makes attending this stupid fucking conference with him nightmarish beyond belief. 

You hate being forced to attend events just to network; neither of you are even presenting papers. It's so infuriating that all you can think to do is excuse yourself early for the evening and return to your room.

Because the other thing that sucks about attending this conference with him? 

You’re so horny you can barely think straight. 

An hour later, you're punching pillows in frustration and throwing your vibrator across the bed.

“Fucking seriously?!?” you shriek into the pillow, kicking your feet up and down like a toddler. You feel entitled to it, honestly; not even porn helped this time, and you’re laying in the dark, unable to cum, because of one fucking make-out session in the library.

Sighing, you swing out of bed and pad into the hallway. Cleaning a sex toy is a better use of your time than lamenting the loss of your orgasm.

The bathroom door creaks open. 

Tsukishima, clad in low-slung pajama bottoms and a thin cotton shirt, steps out.

“Oh. Y/n.” His gaze drops to the rose. 

And just - stays there. 

Mortification creeps up your neck. This is hell, you decide. No one could have designed a more appropriate way to torture you.

“Are you just gonna fucking stare at me?" You inject as much casual bravado as you can into your voice. "I masturbate. Big deal.”

“Did it work?”

“Excuse me?”

He takes a step forward. It’s so reminiscent of the library that you nearly fall into the same pattern of stepping away. This time, you stand your ground.

“Did you cum?”

Oh.

You weren’t expecting that.

Heat skitters over your skin. You look up at him,  the gold of his eyes overwhelmed by the black of his pupils.

“No.”

Tsukishima smiles. “Good.”

And then his mouth slants over yours.

You moan into the kiss, fingers tangling into his hair and scraping his scalp. He cups your cheek and trails a hand down your back to press you closer. 

“Go back to your room,” he says into your mouth before pulling away completely. “I’ll be there soon.”

You wobble back to your room on shaky legs and immediately sink onto the bed. 

You’re not quite sure what to make of the fact that it’s been weeks since he’s even talked to you like he used to, and now he’s kissing you like a man going off to war. 

The soft snick of the door jamb opening and closing sounds off like a bullet in the silence of your room. 

Tsukishima is always an overwhelming presence, but he takes up so much of the door frame that you can’t quite think of anything else. 

He’s so big, you think, a little stupidly, as if you’ve never noticed—and actively appreciated—how he fills out those stupid sweaters he’s always wearing. 

His eyes rake over your tank top in a way that makes your nipples tighten.

“Hi,” you say. 

“Hi yourself.”

You weren’t expecting him to move so fast, but he’s suddenly on top of you, kissing you with a burning mixture of finesse and care as his hips press you down. The hard outline of his cock bumps against your pussy, and fuck, you’re already wet, just from this. 

Why is it so good?

“I don’t know,” Tsukishima’s saying into your neck, and fuck, you hadn’t meant to say that part out loud. “You drive me fucking crazy, and yet you’re the only person I think about.”

He sucks at your pulse point and rolls his hips. You fist handfuls of his hair, tugging and scratching, anything to get him closer to you. He hisses between his teeth.

“You’re always so impatient, you know that?” He taps the waistband of your sleep shorts. “Let me take these off, y/n.”

He hooks your ankles over his shoulders and lifts up your hips, coaxing your shorts off.

He smirks. “Knew you’d be naked under these.” 

“Did the failed masturbation give it away?”

He yanks you up and settles you into his lap, clothed cock slotting in between your folds. You stifle your whimper just in time.

“Just let me make you feel good, for fuck’s sake.” He grinds you down onto him, and this time the whimper falls from your lips unguarded. “Why do you always have to be so goddamn stubborn?”

Your arms tighten around his neck, breath shuddering into the hollow of his throat. His hands tighten on your waist.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

He spreads your folds with his fingers.

“You don’t know?” Tsukishima lightly traces your clit. The word more is blurry in your head and before you know it, you’re saying it out loud, the ache in your pussy overwhelming, desperate to be filled.

“Please, Tsukki. Stop fucking teasing me.”

He laughs against your hair. “I’m the tease? Not the woman walking down the hallway in the tiniest pajamas I’ve ever seen holding a sex toy and telling me she hasn’t cum?”

The arm at your back tightens around your neck.

“If you don’t know why you’re being stubborn, then maybe you don’t deserve to cum, sweetheart.” He says the pet name all sickly-sweet, like he’s delivering bad news to an enemy. 

You wish it didn’t make your stomach swoop.

You wish it didn’t make you talk back against your better judgment, either.

You grip his shirt in your hands and pull his face close.

“I’m being stubborn because the last person I want to want is you, but here we are. Happy now?”

He grins. “Immensely.”

He pulls his shirt off his head and pushes you down in the same go, positioning himself in between your legs.

“Never thought I’d get you to admit that,” he says, biting the inside of your thigh. “Guess you get your reward after all.”

You’ve always noticed Tsukki’s fingers. Calloused and long, the number of times you thought they would curl into you just right bordered on the criminal. But nothing could have prepared you for how well his fingers actually spread you apart.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he breathes out, sinking two fingers into your core with ease. His other hand holds your hips down, the possessive splay over your lower belly shooting sparks of pleasure up your spine. “Anyone else ever get you like this?”

You grab his wrist, pressing your hips against the heel of his palm. “You really want to talk about my other sexual partners right now?” 

“If I’m better than them, then yes,” he says, fingers moving agonizingly slow. You glance down quickly enough to catch his self-satisfied smile. “I’m competitive.”

He rubs your g spot; you immediately clamp your thighs around his hand.

“Shouldn’t you be all the more desperate to get me off, then?”

The sigh that escapes him is total frustration. “This is what I mean about being stubborn, y/n.”

Before you have time to blink, he flips you over onto your stomach and pulls you flush against his hips.

He bends over you, mouth close to your ear. “How about we strike a little bargain, huh? You say my name, and I’ll make you cum.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

“Tsukishima��“

He grips your face and tilts your head back.

“Not that name, sweetheart.”

Oh the little fucker. 

“You wanna hear it so bad, make me say it.”

He lets out a low chuckle and drops your chin, palming the back of your head so you’re face-down in the mattress.

“Really?” he asks, fingers tracing along your slit. You’re embarrassingly wet, practically dripping down your thighs. His hand cracks across your ass. A moan rips through you; your hands scrabble at the sheets.

“You can never just obey, can you?”

He smacks you again, pain blossoming out from the impact and turning into pleasure.

“A simple direction, and you fight me on it. Do you get off on torturing me?”

“You know I do,” you breathe out. You wish you could see him, watch his eyes as he pulls you apart like this. All you can hear is his breathing, erratic and strained.

“Guess it’s only fair I repay the favor.”

Another slap to your ass. He’s not gentle with it, and the blinding crack of pain makes your chest go hollow. You feel dizzy, out of control.

You feel wonderful.

One more smack resounds in the air. Unbidden, you thrust your hips back at him, each slice of pain he inflicts making your pussy throb. 

“The sounds you’re making, baby. Do you have any fucking idea what you do to me?”

I’m beginning to, you think. 

You reach for his hand, wanting his fingers back inside of you, anything to stop his teasing. He just slaps your hand away and pins it behind your back, leaning down to snatch up your other wrist. He cages your arms behind you and pulls you back up against his chest. 

One hand trails down your hip, a low laugh tickling your ear when your hips push forward. 

“Eager for it, are we?”

“Fuck you.”

“Always so antagonistic,” he says before kissing the side of your neck. He almost sounds fond. 

“Do you need me to beg?”

“I already told you what I want. You just insist on not giving it to me.” He nips your ear before traveling over the nape of your neck. A broad palm holds you in place.

He just holds you there, seconds ticking by. 

If you say his name, this might end. 

And if this ends, you have no fucking clue what you’ll do. 

Your body doesn’t care about your mental struggle. You try to shift your thighs together to relieve the ache; Tsukishima tuts. 

“You are the most stubborn, infuriating—”

“Please, Kei.”

Instantly, two of his fingers slide in, the stretch so full, so good, that you nearly buckle to the bed if not for his support. 

“Was that so hard?” he coos. 

A soft cry falls from your mouth while he strokes the inside of your pussy with his long fingers. 

“That's it, baby. Ride my fingers and keep making those pretty noises for me.”

Grinding your hips against the heel of his hand, he keeps curling his fingers just the way you like, the rhythm sure and slow. You’re panting, hips chasing his fingers every time he draws them back out. 

He bends you back down, pressing his chest to your back, hips flush with your ass. He’s straining against his pajama bottoms, dick jumping against you every single time you grind back on him. “God, you little fucking tease. Greedy pussy of yours needs more than just my fingers to cum this time, doesn’t she? Where’s your rose?”

“It’s in the nightstand drawer,” you manage. 

He fumbles for it in the dark and then hands you the vibrator. 

“Keep it on your clit while I take care of you.”

When you turn it on, you bury your face into the mattress to swallow the near pornographic whine that bursts from your mouth. Tsukishima’s fingers take up the slow, sure rhythm from before as the rose’s vibrations ratchet you higher and higher. 

“Push me down,” you say. He inhales sharply. One hand settles over your shoulder blades. “Push my hips down on the bed and make me take it.”

He makes a sound that is half growl, half frustrated grunt. He complies instantly, pressing you down and kicking your hips apart so your belly is flat against the bed, vibrator driving into your clit with every thrust of his fingers.

Your knees tremble, thighs shaking as the slow curl of your orgasm unfurls in your core. 

“There it is.” His voice is rough, possessive. You’ve never heard him sound like this. “Let me hear you, baby, tell me who’s making you feel this good.”

You’re not sure what he’s hearing apart from a garbled mixture of moaning and sobbing as you drool into the sheets. He fists your hair at the root and wraps it around his wrist, pulling your head back. 

He’s so rough with you it makes your head spin. 

His broad palm collars your throat. “Say my fucking name when you cum.” 

The growl in his voice, the grip on your neck; you’re cumming before you even have time to prepare.

“Kei kei kei kei,” you wail into the sheets, pleasure rocketing over your limbs. Your vision blacks out for a moment, heart pounding in your ears. 

You've never cum like that, not in your entire life.

Tsukishima kisses the back of your neck, softly sweeping the sweaty hair at the nape. The gesture is so unbearably intimate you nearly shy away from him, but the thought blinks bright in your brain: You don’t want a repeat of last time. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, and you just nod, too exhausted for much else. He pads into the bathroom. You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling, plotting what to say. 

The bed dips when he returns. He hands you a washcloth, brow raised. 

“I would help, but you seem to be against that most of the time.”

You suppress your retort. He’s right; you only hate that he’s right. 

“Did you?” You trail off, gesturing limply toward his lap where his cock tents the front of his pajamas. 

Holy fuck, he’s big. 

Tsukishima just looks at you blankly. 

“What happened wasn’t transactional, y/n. I don’t need something in exchange.”

God, why are you always fucking up with him like this?

Your whole body wobbles as you sit up, tank top askew. You forgot you still had it on. 

“But if I wanted to?”

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you’re blown back by what you see. 

Vulnerability. 

He smiles. “Then I might just be honored.”

You press your lips to his, feather-light. Somehow, the enormity of this situation feels too fragile in your hands, like one wrong move will crush the both of you. His arms tighten around you. He lifts you into his lap, hands pressing into your waist, your hips, the undersides of your breasts. 

He tastes vaguely of you. You imagine him licking the cum off his hands as he cleaned up in the bathroom and you groan against him.

“I want to make you feel good, too. Will you let me?”

aaaayyyyooooooo - perhaps some tsukki pov next? 😏 masterlist here. reblogs and comments always appreciated!! <3

bby taglist <3 @tabi-kat, @localfandomjumper

[eriace]

five years late ; chigiri hyoma

oneshot & fluff ↪ in which chigiri hyoma learns he has a five-year-old daughter with his ex-wife, y/n, and decides he wants to be in her life—and maybe win back the woman he never stopped loving. ↷ chigiri hyoma ; blue lock

↳ an order of peppermint mocha from @sailorstar9 in the comeback cafe event !

RAIN PATTERNED SOFTLY against the café window. The world outside was all grey skies and wet sidewalks, but Chigiri Hyoma’s world had been storming long before the clouds rolled in.

He stared down at the untouched cup of coffee in front of him, one hand clenched on the edge of the table, the other curled loosely around the tiny drawing shoved into his palm like a bullet to the chest.

A red crayon. Stick figures. A little girl with pink hair and wide, smiling eyes.

“Mama says my hair is like my dad’s.”

“I drew him today. Even if I haven’t met him yet.”

He hadn’t known. Not for five years and now that he did, he couldn’t un-know.

He had a daughter with you.

The woman he married too young, loved too fast, and let slip through his fingers because he thought love alone could outrun the damage.

But it never did.

The door jingled behind him, and his breath caught.

You walked in like time hadn’t passed. Hair pinned back with one of those clips you used to lose in the couch cushions. The same cautious expression—like you weren’t sure what this meeting was supposed to mean.

Chigiri stood. Awkwardly. Nervously.

“Hey.”

You nodded. “Hey.”

You sat across from him. No hug. No soft smile. Just… space. The kind that had been there for years.

Chigiri opened his mouth. Closed it. Finally said, “I didn’t know.”

You looked down. “I didn’t want to tell you. Back then… you were always running. From pressure, from fame, from everything. I didn’t want her to feel like one more thing you had to outrun.”

That hurt. But it wasn’t wrong.

“Do you really think I would’ve run from her?”

You sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. But I couldn’t risk it.”

Chigiri reached into his jacket and placed the crayon drawing on the table.

“She gave me this.”

Your eyes softened.

“She’s bold.” You smiled a little, like you couldn’t help it. “Like you.”

He chuckled, something fragile flickering behind his voice. “I’d like to meet her. Properly. If you’ll let me.”

You hesitated.

And he leaned forward, voice low and honest.

“I know I hurt you. I know I didn’t fight hard enough to fix us when everything got hard. But I’m not that guy anymore. I’m not perfect, and I sure as hell won’t pretend I didn’t screw up, but I want to make this right. I want to be there—for her. And for you, if you’ll let me try.”

You stared at him. Your expression unreadable. The silence stretched.

Then, slowly, you nodded.

“You can meet her.”

Chigiri let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thank you.”

You reached into your purse and pulled out your phone.

“I pick her up from kindergarten at three. You can come with me.”

He blinked. “Wait—today?”

“You said you wanted to be part of her life, didn’t you?”

His heart leapt. He stood too quickly, nearly knocking over the table.

“I did. I do. I—yeah. Okay.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately.

“Still dramatic.”

“Still beautiful,” he replied before he could stop himself.

You paused.

He held your gaze, voice gentler now. “Let me walk with you. Let me try again. Not just as her father. But as the guy who never stopped loving you.”

You looked away, flustered—and that spark, that soft burn from the past, flickered in your chest.

Five years too late… but maybe not too late forever.

You glanced up at him and muttered, “You’re lucky I’m still a sucker for that hair.”

He grinned, that same boyish grin from years ago.

“And you’re still my favorite ‘what if.’”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s go, Shakespeare.”

And just like that—step by tentative step—something began again.

© eriace ;; don’t repost my works.

[jiminscockr1ng]

✩｡°𝄞🚨D-TOWN BABY 𝄞✨°｡✩

╝ •part one | part two ╔

╰₊𓂂➢ pairing: gang affiliated!yoongi x fem!reader

╰₊𓂂➢ genre: hood au, bother’s best friend au, smut, angst

╰₊𓂂➢ warn!ngs: use of the n-word, aave, [mentions of drugs, drug dealing, death, smoking and drinking], negligence due to use of drugs (reader’s mother), reader is heavily black coded, cat-calling, riding, oral (reader receiving), swallowing semen. (let me know if there’s more please!)

╰₊𓂂➢ summary: yoongi is apart of a gang called d-town, the gang your brother just so happens to be apart of.

╰₊𓂂➢ word count: 5,625 words

╰₊𓂂➢ author’s note: the inspiration came from me shouting “D-TOWN NIGGA!” at my sister while watching the Daechwita music video. lmao, i hope y’all enjoy it.

The headlights of your black honda civic shines on the group of men huddled together on the steps of the project building.

Smoking, drinking, talking and laughing loud as hell, and hitting licks.

You huff while turning your car off. Stepping out, your long, fern green skirt flows with the wind. Cleavage hanging out of your bohemian patterned shirt. As you approach the ran down project building you can hear the men on the stairs whistling at you.

You roll your eyes at the gang members who are shouting and cat-calling loud as hell— the whole block could hear.

“Damn Ma, can I get a 360?!” One of them call out. Before you could even flip him off, two familiar voices chime in.

“Chill, nigga.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

They say at the same time. The two voices could easily be distinguished as Trey (your brother) and Yoongi (your brother’s best friend).

Or their street names: Tre D and Agust D. The ‘D’ standing for D-Town. To which you find corny as hell because you all literally live downtown. All these corny ass niggas’ names end with D.

Once you’re right in front of the group of men your brother nods his head at you. That’s just him acknowledging your existence. The two of you have a complicated relationship. It’s only complicated because you don’t like his lifestyle (respectfully) but he won’t stop gang banging.

Nonetheless, you’d still take a bullet for that man. Vice versa.

“Yo, _______.” Yoongi speaks. From the looks of it, you can already tell he’s about to say some stupid shit. He has that sorry ass smirk on his face and keeps glancing around at his little posse. Leaning your weight on to one leg, you simply arch your brow at him.

“You gon’ let me tuck you in?” Your stoic expression remains the same. A few giggles are heard and your brother shakes his head. Trey is more than used to Yoongi making advances at you— he’s been fiend out for damn there 8 years.

Yoongi looks you up and down, adjusting his duffel bag on his shoulder. You smack your teeth and harshly brush past the men blocking your way up the stairs. Prior to entering the building you yell back at the long haired, pale man.

“Tuck your dick!”

SLAM! You slam the door shut, you can hear the distant instigating behind the door as you walk up the stairs to the shared apartment. Mumbling curse words on your way up.

Yoongi’s smirk never leaves, despite the instigation his crew nagged on about. He likes that shit. He loves it. Your hot temper and all of it. He knows that if he wanted to he could shut you right up. But you being mad at him kind of turns him on… so he’ll let you have it.

You’d prefer a nice and quiet, empty pathway to your home when you get off from work. You go through enough stress as it is. Another headache is exactly not what you needed.

Stepping foot into the dark apartment, you set your purse down and walk to your room, ready to get in the shower after a long day. The apartment is fairly big compared to the other units. More than enough space for you and your brother. Although, for the past year it’s really just been you occupying the space.

Trey is never home. He’s out and about being Tre D. He stopped coming home about a little over a year ago. It’s just gang related activities after the other, selling drugs, hanging out with D-Town and fucking random girls. Repeat.

It’s reasonable that you gave up on trying to stop him. He’s a grown man now and you can’t sit around all day to inspect your little brother’s everyday life to make sure he’s doing ‘the right thing’. He’s only 2 years younger than you but you always acted as a mother figure. Taking over that role after your mother got sprung out on crack and left you both.

Working your ass off everyday, feeding him and yourself, trying to make sure he’s doing well in school— all a waste of time. Now look. He’s outside of your shared apartment, probably not even going to come up stairs and is making way more money than you.

You regret the day he met those guys. And you regret even more when he dragged Yoongi along with him.

The thought of Yoongi makes you sigh. You pick up your towel to get in the shower, blasting Lauryn Hill as you lather your brown skin with smell-good soap. You manage to decompress in the shower. Tracking wet footprints to your bedroom as you approach the window, you look outside to see if they’re still there.

Yes. Yes they are. Your brother seems to be leaving and you can’t help but notice someone is missing from the gang.

And almost on queue— as if the devil himself set it up… you hear the front door opening. Letting out a groan, you go and peak out of your bedroom door.

“No need to hide, babygirl. Come on out.” Yoongi calls.

You roll your eyes before slamming your door. But like you figured, the door opens right back up and in comes Yoongi. He silently stands in front of the door after he closes it behind him, observing your figure that is semi-hidden behind the white towel you have on. Yoongi already has a little stiffy just by looking at you.

“Stop calling me babygirl you freak, I’m older than you.” You say, responding to the comment he made. He chuckles, walking over to sit on your bed while you apply lotion on your legs. He drops his duffel bag on the ground next to him.

“Yeah, by like a few months.” Looking down at him, you noticed that he’s man spreading, leaning on his arms that are propped up behind him on the bed. Refraining from gulping, you look away.

You don’t respond to him. Instead, you continue on with your nightly routine, pretending that the fine man is not sitting on your bed ready to pounce on you the second you say go. You can hear shuffling behind you as you fix your locs, putting them in the ponytail.

“_______, I got you something.” He says and you reluctantly turn around. This man really doesn’t learn or care to catch a hint. In his hand is a book. A book that you’ve been searching for everywhere and is sold out.

“How…” is all you can mutter out. Out of all of Yoongi’s highly prestigious and unusual gifts he attempts to give you, this has got to be the best one yet. Best, because you actually wanted it. Not that that Birkin Bag was easy to donate— that was a struggle.

“Uh— I saw you were looking for this shit everywhere on your spam.” You furrow your eyebrows.

“Why the hell are you on my spam page?!”

“So I had drove damn there 2 fucking hours to get this shit.” He says, ignoring the previous question.

You love it. You want to snatch the book out of his long slender fingers, throw your bonnet on and start reading immediately. But—

“I can’t take that Yoongi.” The sentence isn’t something that he hasn’t heard before. You tell him every single time he comes up to your apartment trying to hand you something he bought for you. You never take shit from him and if you do, it gets donated almost immediately.

He scoffs. Honestly looking a little pissed off— fed up to be exact. “What do you mean you can’t take it? Didn’t you hear me, _______?” He stands up, book still in hand. “I drove 2 hours for a fucking book!” He exclaims.

It’s not like you’re meaning to be a bitch. You’d just rather not take anything that was bought with drug money. Even the book you’ve been dying to read for months.

“Listen Yoongi—”

“Agust D.” He corrects.

“I’m not calling you that shit!” A smile cracks onto his face. Just a small one. Because, as mentioned before, he loves that shit. But he’s still fed up.

“I can’t take that. It’ll be donated just like the other gifts you attempt to bribe me with.” You say and he sets the book on the bed, stepping closer to you. “I’m not bribing you _______. I just wanna spoil you, just let me do that.”

“No! I don’t want anything you or my brother buy with your fucking D-Town money. You can keep all of that shit!” You roar while waving your arms around. He sighs, running his fingers through his long black hair, letting it fall back in place. “Money is money, _______.”

“I’m not doing this with you, Yoongi.” Arguing with him back and forth is like arguing with a wall. You two could go on and on about the lifestyle he and Trey are choosing to live.

Yoongi walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You don’t pull away. Despite how stubborn you are, you’d never deny Yoongi’s touch whenever you feel him. It’s instant stress relief.

“I’m trying, _______.” He calmly says in your ear. The disembodied voice— so husky yet smooth. It sends shivers down your back and all of the hair on your arms stand tall.

“Try harder then.”

“Why are you like this?” You scrunch your face up. “Like what?!” You can feel him shrug his shoulders behind you.

“Like… stubborn and petty.” Offended, you scoff.

“Stubborn and petty like your mama?” It was a quick little insult— a joke! Everyone says it. Plus, you had to think of a come back quick or else you know Yoongi would’ve known that you knew what he said was partially accurate. But when you feel the tight hold Yoongi had around your waist loosen… you knew you fucked up.

“You know my moms’ is dead.” You immediately twist your body around to face him, your towel nearly unraveling. You quickly catch it. “Omg, I did not mean it like that, for real. I was just saying shit!” You ramble on and on about how you don’t think before speaking and how sorry you are.

Then he laughs. Like actually laugh. Not a corny little smirk or the low chuckle he does when he’s around his boys— not even a light smile. He gave you his infamous, gummy smile, shoulder bouncing laugh. He even threw his head back for a second.

You really couldn’t help but smile. You missed that laugh. Having been reunited with it after so long makes you forget everything said and done. Because that’s the Yoongi you know, the Yoongi you grew up with, the Yoongi you loved. You smile at the taller man still looking at you with that cute gummy smile even after the laughter died down.

“Stop apologizing _______, I was just fucking with you.” You scoff but the smile never fades, even when you playfully punch his shoulder. “That’s not funny!” He nods his head in agreement as if he wasn’t just literally laughing his ass off.

“It was just funny seeing you speak like that. First time in mad long you didn’t have that stick that you love so much up your ass.” Looking up at him, you can’t even be mad at what he just said. Not when all the old feelings were suddenly rushing back in. The ones you fought off years ago.

“Yeah,” you switch your focus onto the ground. “It was nice seeing you laugh like that.” His fingers lightly grip your chin to lift your head back up to look him in the eyes. Your heart is doing backflips but in your head there are a million different alarms going off, screaming ‘abort!’.

“You always make me laugh. Whether I’m laughing around you or at home in my bed, laughing about something that you said. You make me…” He trails off making you furrow your eyebrows a bit.

“Make you what?” He sighs, scratching the back of his head, looking out of the window. You shove his shoulder to get his attention again. “Make you what?!” He looks down at his shoes as if the answer was written on them. They weren’t. You checked.

“You make me… hmmph.” He mumbles and you slap your hands on your naked thighs in frustration. You grip his face in your whole hand to get him to stop looking around the room helplessly, like a mother trying to force feed their child.

“What!” You scream.

“Happy!” He reciprocates the volume, eyes going wide when he finally lets the shit flow free. Your hand slowly drops from his face. “Damn— satisfied?” He sassily asks, rolling his eyes. Too in shock to even say anything, you just stand there with your eyebrows high, looking like a dumbass.

“_______,” he starts, earning you attention. So many thoughts sprint through your mind as you stare up into his sharp brown eyes. It’s really hard to believe that after everything, he still found happiness in you. You can’t recall the last time you felt happy in Yoongi’s presence. The man that you once loved. You and Yoongi never dated, never slept together, never really announced any feelings for each other either. The relationship the two of you had was unspoken. You knew the love was there— he did too, and that was enough.

“I need you to know, that I want you.” He says seriously. Your heart drops at the words. No.

No, not now. Why now?

“I want us, _______.” You could melt underneath his gaze. You feel yourself slowly folding. Ready to submit and give into him— give into your heart that’s been begging to be his for 7 years now. “Tell me you want this too.”

Yes, tell him you want this. Want all of him. Because you do… but you can’t. It’s not the same. This is not the same as it was 7 years ago. Yoongi isn’t the same. You can’t do it.

“I can’t— I don’t… want this.” You try to stand strong but you’re weak. Yoongi always did that to you. “You don’t or you can’t— which one is it?” He says, already knowing the answer. He needs to hear it from you though. You sigh, closing your eyes. “Yoongi—”

“No _______ tell me right now why you can’t just let us be happy?” Yoongi’s frustration is valid. But so is yours. You try to walk away from him, to get away, like those alarms that kept going off in your head a few minutes ago told you to do. But Yoongi isn’t having it. He already laid his heart out there, he just wanted you to take it— for it to be yours. So he grabs your arm. “Don’t walk away from me.” You yank your arm back immediately.

“I fucking can’t Yoongi! You want me to stand here, laugh, ‘kee-kee’ in your face. Tell you I want you and that I want this just for you to go back to the streets the next second someone calls you.” You’re out of breath from all of the screaming, no doubt the neighbors were gonna report. But you aren’t done.

“D-Town tells you to jump, you ask how high. I ask you to get your life together, to get off of the streets and I’m left with the same answer. I’m not gonna be one of those bitches that hold you down when you decide to get into some dumb shit and I’m damn sure not gonna be the person people have to get in touch with because their fucking boyfriend died doing some fuck shit.” The undertone of your face is red and your hands are shaking. “It’s bad enough my brother is in to deep. I’m not trying to have to worry about someone else.”

Yoongi’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he takes in everything you said. You’ve never been this vulnerable. With anyone. You’ve never said any of this to anyone but you don’t want to keep having the same interactions over and over with him.

“I understand.” Is all he says. And it’s all he has to say. You know he’s not gonna quit the streets until the streets quit him. After all, that’s how it works. But he really did understand and if that’s how you feel he won’t push it.

“Can I just lay with you?” Before you can even protest he raises his hands to clarify. “Just for tonight. Can you please… just do this for me? Let me lay with you.” You sigh, over analyzing the possibility. In the end you conclude it was fine. So you grab your pajamas and change in the bathroom. When you come back in, Yoongi is already laying in the bed. Shirtless and wearing nothing else but the pair of basketball shorts he had in his bag. The book resting on your nightstand.

Your pajamas includes a sage green tank top and a beige pair of cotton shorts. You lie next to him in your bed after cutting the lights off. His body instantly cuddles into yours.

“Yoongi,” you call out. “Your head is on my boobs.” He chuckles into the pair before raising his head to look at you. “You used to always let me lay on your boobs. They’re comfortable.” He says with a faint pout, poking your plushy boobs with his finger, making you flinch.

“Yoo— will you stop poking me!” You say frustratedly. “It tickles.” Yoongi perks up at that. “It tickles, huh?” He sings, continuing to poke you. His fingers pokes at your chest, your sides, your neck. You try to fight him off but your laughter is making you weak. “Stu— stop!” You cry out and he just giggles at your plea. It’s really over once he hovers his body over yours, locking yours in place underneath him.

Your face hurts from laughing so hard, can’t even manage to fight it anymore. The poking eventually stops but the soft giggles and toothy smile on your face doesn’t falter. Yoongi’s eyes sparkle as they bore into yours. He carefully places his hand on your cheek, thumb caressing your lifted cheekbone.

“You’re so pretty, _______.” He observes your features from above and his heart pounds against his chest. The pace aligned with yours. “Sometimes,” he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck. “I forget just how pretty you are. So I come to bother you— just to see you. But when I have you this close… you make me want to leave everything else behind just so I can be with you.”

That’s all you really wanted. For Yoongi to leave all the bullshit alone. Maybe then you two could work.

But you know that all of this is just pillow talk. Yoongi would never do that. Not for you. Not for anyone. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Yoongi.” You speak mellowly. He lifts his head out of your neck to look at you again. “I can’t tell you how I feel now?” You roll your eyes. “You can but don’t sit here and lead me on to believing in a lie.”

He doesn’t respond. You feel his lips on your cheek. Eyes widening, you look at him in confusion. “What are you—”

“I’m not lying to you, _______.” He kisses your forehead. “Even with everything that happened, no matter what you say to me— I never told you a lie and I don’t plan to.” He leans in to give you another kiss but pauses. His face just an inch away. Your breath hitches at the close proximity, growing nervous when his eyes focus on your lips.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers softly against your lips. Your mind isn’t working. There’s no alarms blaring, no weird gut feeling, just you. Underneath him. Without much thought, you mutter a breathy “yes.”

He leans in, his lips molding perfectly with yours. It’s soft and passionate and you’re worried that you just might have a heart attack the way your heart is pacing. Your fingers travel their way through his long strands of hair as you happily taste the minty flavor of his mouth— covering up the taste of cigarettes. When he pulls away to catch his breath, you immediately pull him back down. Now that you got a taste of him, you don’t want to let it go.

The kiss starts getting heated when Yoongi rolls off of you and pulls you on top of him. His hands roam the surface of your back, letting them slip under your tank top. You bite on his bottom lip once you pull away, letting your soft brown hands travel up his abdomen to his solid chest. Your back arches as you leave open mouth kisses against his chest. He takes the opportunity to cup your ass into his hands, occasionally squeezing the fleshy rump.

You slightly shift your hips up against him to lift up. “Fuck,” Yoongi lets out a shaky breath. “Don’t move like that.” You furrow your brows in confusion but you quickly understand when you feel something poking your thigh. In shock, you shift again. A low groan leaves Yoongi’s mouth and he places his hands on both sides of your waist.

You watch as his eyes squeeze shut, the action and the sound he let slip gave you that tingling feeling in your stomach, that familiar sensation fluttering in between your legs. You do it again. Wanting to hear that sound from him again.

“Seriously, you don’t want this to go further than it already has.” True. You don’t, but you’re a little too lust filled to think straight. And the fact that Yoongi is hard as a rock underneath you has you wet. Grinding your clothed sex onto his bulge.

“Yo, I—”

“Shut up.” You say, placing your hands on his chest to support yourself as you grind against him. The lewd sounds that escape from both of your mouths flood the room. Yoongi’s basketball shorts get bunched up in the process, the repeated action dragging the band down, exposing his boxer briefs underneath.

You lift your hips up to pull the shorts down but Yoongi stops you. He sends you a warning look that reads, ‘don’t do this.’

Regardless, you enthusiastically yank them and his boxer briefs down his thighs, letting his dick stand tall against his lower stomach. “_______, you’re confusing me.” He says while you’re busy scrapping to get the clothing from around his ankles, satisfied when they hit the floor. You turn around, looking down at him once again.

“You’re confused? Hm, I thought you were hard.” Speaking sarcastically, you turn your focus onto Yoongi’s member. You grip his length in your hand, brushing your thumb over his sensitive tip making Yoongi twitch.

“A little bit of both honestly. I mean, mostly hard but— woah woah woah, stop!” Yoongi panics once you put your mouth on his dick. He immediately sits up, his back resting against the head board. “I’m not doing this with you.” He says, to which one of your eyebrows flick up.

“Why not?” You scoff. “You don’t seem to have any problem fucking all these other bitches.” Yoongi lets out an unamused laugh, wiping his hands over his face. “You’re not other bitches. You don’t throw yourself on my dick.”

“I just did!” Technically, you did.

Yoongi scoffs, mumbling something under his breath. “It’s not the same thing. You’re invested in this _______ and you know it.” You turn your head away from him, not wanting to hear the truth. “I don’t need you to have another reason to hate me.” Rolling your eyes—

“I don’t hate you.”

“You’re just saying that.” You shake your head, scooting closer to him. “I’m not. I don’t hate you, Yoongi.” You repeat, your fingers go to his hair and you focus on the way his dark hair fall on your skin before looking at him again. “And right now… I’m horny, so.” You sit in front of him, anticipating his response.

“Okay.” He shrugs.

“Okay, what?” He grabs your waist gently, pulling you closer to him. Your lips lock onto his again and this time, the pace quickens. Yoongi’s hands reach for your tank top to pull it over your chest, you lift your arms as he pulls it off, slinging it across the room. Like clockwork, you drag your shorts down as well, tossing them in the corner without a care in the world.

Yoongi’s hands roam all over your body. Taking in the feel of your body being close to his. He retracts from the kiss to drool over your body. His pale hands over your brown skin, the only source of light coming from the window. “What do you want me to do, _______?” He asks, palming your breast in both hands. You bite your lip as you look down at him touching you.

“Can I ride you?” You ask in a whisper and you could’ve swore you felt Yoongi’s dick twitch on your thigh right after the words fell off your tongue. He felt like doing a backflip. An ability he doesn’t have but that’s how you make him feel. It’s just like you to want to ride him— it being your first time even having sex with each other.

“Fuck yes.” You let out a giggle at Yoongi’s expression before leaning over to open the top drawer of your nightstand. His eyes travel with your every movement. “What are you doing?”

“Grabbing a condom.” You popped out. He purses his lips at that. “Guess I’m not the only one you’ve been wrestling in the sheets with.” Looking back at the man with the condom in your hand, the jealous look on his face makes you want to run over to your phone to take a picture. Instead you laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You say, ripping open the packet. “I bought them because they’re a necessity. I’m not fucking anyone— but i’m glad I did buy them.” Yoongi raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “I’d rather not have the neighborhood’s dick in me raw.”

It’s almost comedic the way his jaw drop. “Neighborhood’s dick is cuh-razy!” Slipping the condom on his length, you let out a giggle. Once you’ve got it on all the way you grip his shoulders, lifting your cunt over it. “It’s okay,” you jokingly reassure. “I’ll make sure to give you a good rating.”

“Oh, you got jokes— oh shit.” His demeanor changes once you rub his tip against your wet slit. “Are you—,” He reaches out to drag a finger through your folds. “You’re mad wet.” He states the obvious and when he pulls his finger away, your arousal drags with it. Without a second thought, he lifts his finger to his mouth, sucking on it to taste you. A low moan leaves his mouth. His eyes never leaving yours.

“You ready or did you change your mind?” You shake your head slowly, feeling more aroused than ever. “I’m ready.”

Once again, you maneuver his length through your folds before aligning it at your entrance. You take a deep breath and Yoongi’s hands rub your back. You slowly lower yourself down his length, feeling the pressure of him stretching you out. Your mouth falls agape when his full length is inside of your cunt.

After a few more rounds you get used to it. Yoongi stares at the action of your pussy swallowing his length. Your pussy is so tight around him, he’s afraid he might cum too fast.

He curse in your ear as you begin to ride him faster. “Fuck— you’ve been holding back on me for all these years.” Yoongi moves his hips, helping thrust into you. Your tits jump along with you as you bounce on his cock. So deep, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass echoes throughout the quiet apartment.

“Ah, Yoongi!” You moan out and Yoongi feels himself growing light headed. “You’re making me go crazy, _______.” He slams into your pussy faster— harder. At this point you weren’t even moving. Yoongi was the one in control of your body.

Especially when he moves you off of him, switching positions to take full control. You lie on your back, abandoned pussy and all. “Yoongi, put it back in.” You beg.

He shushes you before bending down, face in between your legs. His mouth attacks your wet cunt. He flatten his tongue to fully taste your sex. Licking and sucking all of you. His mouth sucks on your clit making you scream out in pleasure while his three fingers abuse your hole. “Yoongi, fuck that feels so good.” He slightly smirks up at you.

“Tell me whose pussy this is.” He says lowly. You could’ve came right then and there just from how sexy he said it. All dominant and territorial. The way he looks— his long dark hair sticking to his face and neck.

“Yuh— oh my god!” You moan out as your legs begin to shake at the overwhelming stimulation of his mouth and fingers.

“Tell me.” He demanded a bit louder.

“Yours Yoongi! It all yours, mm.” His fingers moves faster and you grip the sheets for moral support. “F- Fuck me Yoongi. I want your dick inside me.” It doesn’t take long before he obeys. He lifts up, just before you could orgasm and slides his hard dick inside of you. With Yoongi in control now, the pace is much faster. He lifts one of your legs up, putting it over his shoulder for better access.

Going deeper inside of you, hitting all of the right spots. You pull him down towards your body, your nails digging into his back, creating little crescent moon shaped marks. Chest to chest, Yoongi penetrates your pussy as the two of you share a feverish kiss.

“I’m gonna cum, Yoongi.” You say against his lips, out of breath. He rapidly nods his head. “Cum, mm.” His thrusts slow down, instead he makes sure to go deeper, hitting your spot repeatedly, making your legs shake around him. “Cum for me, _______.”

A few thrusts later and you cream on his dick. He pulls out, slips off the condom and starts stroking his dick. You place your hands over his, moving your mouth towards his tip. When the long drags of warm semen pour out you catch every drop of it. Mouth wide open, tongue out— you swallow his cum. Licking the tip afterwards for good measure.

Yoongi’s heavy breathing fills the room as he collapses on the bed. You get up to throw the used condom out and to collect your pajamas off the floor, walking with a bit of a limp. You toss Yoongi his basketball shorts before cleaning yourself up in the bathroom and changing.

When you come back, you find Yoongi already in his basketball shorts lying on the bed still. “Not gonna dip?” You ask, trying to sound nonchalant. You don’t want him to go but you don’t need him to know that. You were just awfully vulnerable and something similar to regret is already creeping up on you.

“Naw, why would I?” You shrug before laying in bed next to him. Not even being able to position yourself, he makes sure he cuddles into you, your face close as hell to his. “So how was the neighborhood’s dick?” He jokingly asks, laughing after. You lightly punch his chest.

“I’m not finna play with you Yoongi.” Yoongi serves you a feigned pout. “Awe, you regretting it already?” You don’t say anything because you really don’t know if you are. You don’t regret the sex because— fuck that was amazing. Best dick you ever had and you really will give him a good rating. However, the things that were said could’ve stayed unsaid. You shared too much vulnerability and that’s not something you’re comfortable with. The last thing you need is Yoongi to throw any of that shit back up in your face.

“I don’t regret it.” You conclude. His arms wrap around your waist tighter, grabbing one of your legs to wrap it around him. “But it won’t happen again. This was a one time thing.”

“But you swallowed my cum.” He pouts again and for some reason you don’t think it’s feigned this time. So you lightly smack his lips. Too much of a distraction.

“Because I didn’t want to get my covers dirty, you freak.” He dramatically raises his eyebrows. “So now I’m back to being a freak.” You sigh because it seems like he’s purposely not paying attention to what you’re actually trying to say.

“Yoongi.” You say seriously making him nod his head. “Okay, I got it. it was a one time thing.” Despite his display of understanding, you can’t help but hear the underlying disappointment in his voice.

You lay in his arms for hours. Neither of you fall asleep, replaying the previous events in your head. You debate with yourself whether or not you’re being in denial, too petty, stubborn, unreasonable. Whether or not you should give Yoongi a chance. Because right now you feel safe. Right now, everything is okay while your head rests against his beating chest. Right now…

“AGUST D GET YO’ ASS DOWN HERE NIGGA!”

You jump. You and Yoongi both lift up— your face of shock is a bit different from his. He knows what it is and you think you do too. That’s why you’re shook as fuck. The shouting and calling through the window doesn’t stop. And when Yoongi arms unravels from your waist, your heart sinks.

“What is that?” You ask.

And when that same, familiar, sorry ass, corny ass smirk that you hate so damn badly form onto Yoongi’s face… you knew.

“That’s D-TOWN BABY.”

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[zeke-fanfucs]

Heyy ^^ no request, just a question

What would you say is your favorite thing you've written recently?? (doesn't have to be BvZ related)

It’s not uhhh BvZ. It’s a little story I make up in my head during a long car ride and I had been playing listening to Hell’s comin’ with me and other songs. So here’s some made up story! Gays! Creepy powers! 1860 cowboys!!!!

Rattle and the River

In the raw heart of Oregon, 1865, where the trees grew thicker than the lies men told, Sheriff Lowell Horne Warner carved out a sliver of peace. His town, barely more than a string of dusty buildings strung along the river like beads on a weathered rosary, stood untouched by the wars that had torn the East apart. Here, the battles were smaller, meaner—between greed and decency, between iron and blood.

Lowell was a man molded by the land he swore to protect: steady, rough-edged, but kinder than most who wore a badge. He tipped his hat to the native families who fished the silver rivers, just as he greeted the weary prospectors who staggered into town looking to bleed the mountains dry. No man was better than another in Warner’s Patch, not while Lowell rode the streets on his gray horse, Rattle—a beast named for his owner’s peculiar talent at killing snakes, both the hissing kind and the two-legged ones.

As the sun slipped behind the pine-drenched hills, the river turned to molten copper, and Lowell rode its edge, keeping a watchful eye on the new families who had arrived on the noon steamer. He already sensed it: trouble, brewing like a summer storm. Gold fever made men foolish, and foolish men got dangerous quick. It was a familiar pattern—drunkards who thought fists made kings, or quick-draw boys who thought themselves invincible until Lowell or his deputies put them down… or under.

But tonight, something different rode on the wind.

A shimmer across the water caught Lowell’s eye—a figure standing just beyond the mist, where the river bent and the world softened. A man, slight but proud, wearing clothes that shimmered wrong against the twilight. His hair was dark, curling at his neck, and his eyes… they glowed faintly, like a lantern seen from underwater.

Lowell narrowed his gaze. Not native, not prospector, not preacher. Not like any damn thing he’d ever seen.

The stranger raised his hand—not in threat, but in greeting—and for the first time in a long while, Lowell felt a crack in the armor he wore around his heart. It was like the earth itself had shifted, subtle and slow, under his boots.

Magic, the old folks whispered. Magic had always lived out here, in the wild places men hadn’t yet ruined.

And maybe, just maybe, it had finally come calling for Sheriff Lowell Horne Warner.

The man in the mist stepped forward with the deliberate ease of someone who had learned to measure every move. He was tall—Lowell’s height, maybe more—and carried himself like a man who’d lived through things no one should’ve had to. His skin caught the last of the sunset’s gold, warm bronze and brown like river-polished stone, and his dark hair curled loose under a beaten hat that had seen better years.

Lowell reined Rattle in, boots creaking in the stirrups. The horse snorted, wary but not hostile.

“You the sheriff?” the man called, voice carrying smooth and even, like it had practice talking men down from foolishness. “’Cause I ain’t looking for trouble, unless trouble’s lookin’ for me.”

Lowell gave a single nod. “That’s me.”

The man glanced around, as if gauging whether the trees might hide bullets. “I’m Alejandro,” he said, and the name came with a weight, like it wasn’t the first he’d worn, just the one he’d kept. “Used to be someone else, but… that name belonged to men who owned chains, and I ain’t never goin’ back to that.”

Lowell tilted his head, just slightly. “Fair enough,” he said. “You got a story, but you don’t owe me the telling of it.”

Alejandro looked almost surprised. “You don’t hear my voice and call me dirty runaway?” he asked, and there was a wary smirk behind the words. “Ain’t gonna draw on me, or say I oughta move along?”

“I ain’t that kind of sheriff,” Lowell said simply. “And you don’t seem like the kind of man who takes kindly to being told where to go.”

Alejandro chuckled, soft and bitter. “You’re right about that.”

He stepped up onto the bank, the mist parting like it respected him, or feared him. There was something old in the way he moved, like roots under the surface of calm water—powerful, deep, and waiting. His boots hit the ground and Lowell saw the faint glimmer of something strange around the edges of the man, like heat haze, or candle smoke. He blinked, and it was gone.

“You got a place in town where a man like me could sit without gettin’ spit on?” Alejandro asked, his voice losing some of its edge. “Somewhere I don’t have to sleep with one eye open, if I got that luxury.”

Lowell looked him over again, quiet for a moment. “There’s a widow runs a boarding house. Name’s Ruth Granger. She don’t ask questions if you pay honest. Keeps a shotgun behind the bar, too, in case someone forgets their manners. I’ll take you there.”

Alejandro nodded, his eyes studying Lowell’s face, like he was deciding whether to trust him.

“You always this helpful to strange men walkin’ out of the river mist?”

Lowell smirked, just a little. “Only the handsome ones.”

That earned a pause—and a flicker of something in Alejandro’s eyes that wasn’t mistrust. Not quite. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the first thread of something stronger.

“Then I reckon I’m lucky tonight,” Alejandro said, and followed as Lowell turned his horse toward town.

The river behind them whispered in a language older than either man, and if it watched them go, it said nothing—just carried its secrets out to sea.

Alejandro threw his bag onto the narrow bed with a grunt, the old frame creaking like it might collapse under anything heavier than his worn satchel. He looked around the small room—wooden walls that still smelled faintly of sawdust, a pitcher of clean water on the nightstand, and a quilt sewn with care, not haste. Nothing grand. But it was his for the night.

He sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders stiff from weeks of travel, and stared at the floor like it might shift beneath him. This town… it was different.

No one spat at his boots when he walked down the main street. No mutters of greaser or half-blood. No sideways glances like he carried some disease. A little girl had smiled at him—wide, gap-toothed and fearless—as she skipped past with a boy who might’ve been Chinook or Nez Perce. The two of them had raced down the road like they’d never been told they weren’t supposed to play together.

It twisted something deep in his chest. A tightness. A memory, maybe. Or something trying to be one.

He rubbed his hands over his face, tried to shake the feeling. Peace made a man nervous when he wasn’t used to it.

The widow had surprised him most of all. Ruth Granger. Stout woman with sharp eyes, gray hair pinned back in a no-nonsense bun. She’d taken one look at him, dusty and road-worn, and offered soup. Just like that.

“You look like you ain’t eaten since Texas,” she’d said, and there wasn’t pity in her tone—just a kind of motherly steel. “Sit down ‘fore you fall down.”

He’d almost laughed. He’d almost said no, too. But his stomach made the choice for him, and before he knew it, he was spooning stew into his mouth while she clattered dishes behind the bar, humming something soft and low.

She didn’t ask where he was from.

Didn’t ask what he was running from.

Didn’t ask what the strange marks on his arms meant, or why his eyes flickered gold when the candlelight hit just right.

She just fed him.

Alejandro leaned back, looking at the ceiling like it held answers. He didn’t trust it. Not yet. Kindness was a knife in the wrong hands. He’d seen preachers smile as they branded men, overseers offer water just to break you with a whip once you took it. He’d trusted once. That was enough.

But this town… It wasn’t just Lowell, with his even voice and steel-eyed calm. It was the land itself. The trees. The river. The way the stars shone brighter than he remembered.

This place was watching him.

Not with hate.

But like it was waiting.

He flexed his fingers, and the faintest flicker of heat shimmered in his palm—like sunlight through water. He closed his hand into a fist and sighed.

He was tired.

And maybe, just maybe, he was tired enough to stay.

For a while.

(I have more if you like to read this. Nothing special, just gay sheriff, decent town in the 1800’s west towns, and not supernatural man)

[mphoenix-7]

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 2: The Heat of Battle

Summary: The mission continues even after Soap warns you not to engage.

The slow burn continues.

Word Count: 4,427

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, blood, violence, death (not main characters), Soap is still mean, angst

A/N: This seems to be doing fairly well on here, so I’m going to post a few more chapters that are out currently on Wattpad. If it gets a big enough following, I’ll keep updating. Just a reminder my Wattpad username is Emily7love, and you can find Bitter Allies there as well!

Masterlist | <- Previous | Next ->

Bitter Allies • Part 2

The rifle kicked back hard against your shoulder as the first bullet excited the barrel of the gun. The silencer on the end did its job at making sure the discharge was hardly heard. However, it became obvious very quickly to the group of four men that they were under attack. As soon as the first man had been shot, they were all alerted.

The first shot you fired was a direct hit to the man's head, and he went down quick. You quickly snapped over to the guy standing on the left, also hitting that target successfully. Already you'd proved Soap wrong. However, this was where things got difficult.

In any kind of armed combat, seconds greatly mattered. Eliminating two targets was easy as long as you could land the shots. By the time the second guy realized something was up, only one second has passed, and by then he was mostly likely already gone. The third guy, however, had a lot more time to react, and the fourth even more so.

Two clean head shots, but by then, the other two had reacted. One was moving to cover and the other stood his ground, weapon raised right at you. A trigger pull away from death, but in this profession, that was always the case.

Their movement disrupted the zig-zag pattern you had hoped on making, forcing you to take additional seconds when aiming at the third guy. You originally had gone for the one running for cover to stop him from alerting other troops, but then your attention shifted to the guy who was looking at you from down his own barrel. That now became your top priority and costed you even more seconds due to switching targets.

You were pretty lucky. You managed to fire before the guy's finger could put enough pressure on the trigger. The shots were sloppy, but three clean hits to the torso did the job.

Once he was downed, you did a quick scan of the area, looking for the fourth guy. He'd no doubt already contacted someone else, blowing your cover. Your heart had already been hammering away in your chest but now it seemed to thump even harder at the realization you'd just completely screwed up this mission.

You keep your weapon raised in a firing position but allow your head to hang down, eyes squeezed shut. Your grip on your gun tightens, prepared any second now to hear the alarms go off, signaling something was wrong. The mission would just have to go on though. Albeit much more dangerous now, but it still needed to continue.

"Fuck, (y/n)..." You mutter to yourself. "Just find Soap and get to cover... You've survived worse-"

Not even ten seconds after you dumped the third target, you heard a soft thump and saw the fourth target laying dead up ahead. A knife was embedded into his neck, blood pooling rapidly in the dirt. A split second later, Soap emerged from behind the cover, ripping his knife from the target's throat with a swift, practiced motion. His icy gaze locked onto you, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent a spray of blood across the dirt. He sheathed his knife and strode toward you, each step radiating fury.

Before you knew it, he was grabbing a fist full of your uniform and slamming you back against the vehicle you'd been using for cover. You hoped the sound of your back hitting the metal door didn't attract any attention.

"What the fuck was that, States?!" He yelled at you as loudly as he dared given your current location. "The fucking hell were you thinking?? You nearly just blew our damn cover! Are you that much of a pure hackit that you can't follow fucking orders?!" He was seething mad, his accent noticeable thicker. This is probably the worst you've ever seen him, and you've seen Soap mad a lot. Still, you had some venom of your own.

"You are not my superior. You can't give me orders." You growl, hands coming up to grip his as they kept you pinned. You kept your eyes on his, refusing to break eye contact with him.

"Oh, can't I? Last I checked you weren't even a permanent member of this team." He smirks back, voice quieter now, but still just as dangerous.

"Still a member of this team, dumbass."

"You think you will be after this?"

His words hung heavy with you. Would Price really kicked you off the team for this? Nothing happened, you and Soap were alive, and the mission hadn't been compromised. Still, taking on four men by yourself when your field partner didn't want to wasn't exactly working as a team. Then again the same could be said for Soap not being willing to go with your plan.

"Nothing happened. I landed two perfect headshots and took down the third all by myself. We were fine." You try to defend yourself, foolishly getting caught up in trying to prove Soap wrong and forgetting about the fourth guy.

"Doesn't matter if you landed three perfect fucking head shots if the fourth one fucks us over, now does it!? What about the fourth guy, huh? What about him, States?! He was a second away from radioing for help. You almost cost us the entire mission and put us both at risk! You're up a pure dafty." He was still gripping your vest tightly, keeping you pressed back against the vehicle.

"Well that wouldn't have been a problem if you had just trusted me, and if we took them out together like I wanted to." You bite back. "And you were wrong. You said I couldn't land those headshots, and I did."

"You still on about that? So you got lucky! You're still bloody inconsistent. You make one half decent shot and then fuck up the next ten. Just like you did on that third and fourth target."

"Well that's what I have a teammate for! To help me take down targets! And you got him, so what's the big deal?"

Soap laughs at you then, a stressed and angry laugh. His head tips back slightly, and he shakes it. "That's your idea of teamwork?" He laughs, meeting your eyes again. "Forcing me to have to rush into a kill? How the hell did someone like you ever pass selection? You are horrible at this job, States. Just pack up and go home before you get actual good soldiers killed." With that, he finally releases you, roughly letting go of your vest but still remaining in front of you.

His words hurt. They made you tremble with rage. Your hands were balled up into fists at your side as you held back the urge to punch him. "You'd like that very much, wouldn't you?" You growl back to him, standing your ground as Soap takes two steps closer to you, his face practically inches from your own.

"Very much so." He nods, a little intimidating as he looked down at you.

"Well it's not going to happen. You are never going to make me leave. So get used to me being around, you hackit." You weren't even really sure what that word meant, but if Soap called you it, you knew it probably wasn't a nice thing to say.

Soap scoffs at you as you say the Scottish word. "You are the most stubborn and-"

"Bravo 7-1, Bravo 7-4, this is Bravo 0-7, give me sit rep." Ghost's voice crackled in your ear, and Soap's as well, cutting him off. You'd been quiet for too long.

Right as you brought a hand up to your radio to answer Ghost, Soap grabbed your wrist. "This isn't over, States." He warns, his voice filled with promise as he pushed your hand away from your radio. He then brought his free hand to his radio and answered Ghost.

"Ran into some trouble thanks to States. We're clear now. Still need to make entry."

"Copy," Ghost answers. "Got word there's some Russian vehicles about ten clicks out. We've got about fifteen minutes before we need to get off the mark."

"Shite." Soap curves. That wasn't going to be enough time. You still needed to make entry and disable their security. Even if you and Soap were quick and ran into no problems, that didn't leave enough time for the Alpha teams to come in, secure General Azamat, and leave before those Russian vehicles showed up.

"Ghost, that's not gonna be enough time." Soap tells him, backing away from you and pacing a little. His face was concentrated, forgetting about everything that happened earlier and focusing on the mission now.

"If we pull out now, we miss our chance," Ghost warns, his voice low and steady. "They'll know someone messed with their generators, and security will tighten up. Next time will be a hell of a lot harder."

"Then what's the plan?" Soap asks, sounding frustrated. This mission was going belly up very quickly.

Then you got an idea. "Ghost, send Alpha team to the front to draw their attention. That will pull most of the men in the camp to that area. Meanwhile, Soap and I will infiltrate the building, disable security, and secure General Azamat. You mentioned he'd most likely be inside this building, right? Once we have him, we'll need an exfil ready at the back of the camp. Disabling the main building's systems should open the back gate. Once we're out, Alpha team can pull back."

Without even giving Soap the opportunity to input his feedback, Ghost approved your plan. "Solid Plan B. Sending in Alpha Team now. Russian vehicles are nine clicks out. Move fast."

"Copy." You nod, glancing up at Soap. He still looked at you like how he always did, but something was different. You didn't know if it was a good or bad different though. It only lasted a few seconds before his usually hard and familiar expression returned.

"This doesn't change anything." He growls, as gunfire can be heard behind you, near the front of the camp.

Instantly, shouts can be heard from the West Building, and the quiet camp became alive. The area with all the tents where Soap wanted to cut through earlier start to rustle as men wake up to join the fight. In an effort not to get caught, Soap quickly runs over to one of the parked vehicles and pulls the door open.

"Inside! Now!" He hurriedly tells you, standing out of the way so you could get in first. Moving fast, you jump inside, feeling Soap give up a push to help boost you into the vehicle before getting in himself and closing the door. He pulls out his pistol, and you do the same, making sure to cock it.

"Get behind the driver's side seat and stay low." He tells you, wiggling a bit to try and fit himself into the same position behind the passenger's side. Him being bigger and more bulkier than you made it a lot harder for him to wedge in there comfortably.

A few seconds later, two men are getting into the vehicle from the driver and passenger side. You and Soap both duck down further once you hear the car door's open. The second they shut, you're moving. Like you'd been fighting together for years, you both wordlessly spring up and shoot the men in the side of the head.

From inside the vehicle, you can see and hear the others driving off, as well as see the area clearing out. You try to wait it out for as long as you can until the door by Soap open up. Another solider just thinking the vehicle was waiting for more passengers and trying to get in. He lets out a surprised yell at seeing Soap there, but is quickly silenced. Soap shoots him, shoves the dead body back, and then closes the door.

"Out your side!" He says, knowing that was going to attract a lot of attention from the few stragglers still trying to wake up and join the action. You quickly do as he says, pushing the door open and tumbling out with Soap right behind you. Without looking back to see how many enemies are in pursuit, you sprint for the West Building, focusing solely on reaching cover. Though how much safety and cover you'd find in that building, you didn't bank on it being much.

Surprisingly, there aren't any bullets being fired towards you as you run. Either the men hadn't seen you somehow, or they thought you were on the same side. Regardless, you weren't going to question it as you burst through the door with Soap, weapons raised.

The hallways were empty aside from two men, which Soap quickly took out. Once somewhat safe, you radioed in to Ghost. "Bravo 7-1 and 4 inside now. Heading to main security room to disable it."

"Copy. Seven clicks." Ghost updates. "Give 5 minutes for exil."

"Roger," Soap confirms before moving to the stairs. "Behind me. I'll take point." He tells you, starting up the steps with his weapon raised. You follow behind him closely, watching your six and trusting Soap to guide you up. The security panel you needed to access was on the top floor of the building, which was the third floor.

The stairs were clear, which made sense. Most of the men were probably filing down the stairs near the front since that's where all the action was. The security room, however, was not empty. As you approached the door, you could hear voices speaking Russian on the other side.

"I hear at least five." You say, making Soap give you a look as he position himself on the other side of the doorframe.

"There's no fucking way you can count how many there are based on voices." He claims, pulling out one of his flashbang grenades. "Flash out." He opens the door a crack and tosses it inside, waiting for the loud bang. As soon as it goes off, he kicks the door open and pushes in. He takes on the targets more directly in front and left while you focus on the ones to the right and to the far side of the room.

The room was clear in seconds. "Clear." Soap confirms, lowering his gun and making his way quickly to the panel. "There were more than five." He mutters, pulling out some bombs and securing them to different places on the panel.

"I said at least five." You point out with an eye roll, keeping your attention on the door that lead into the room.

"That just sounds like a lucky guess then." He claims, backing away from the panel. "Clear out. Charges are set." He tells you, pulling your attention over to the flashing red lights of the bombs he's just placed. You were about to do what he told you before your attention was pulled to the screen.

"Wait. Look." You tell him, walking over to the screen and pointing to it. "This is a map of the building. Look at this room down here. It's a bunker. I bet that's where our General is." You say. "Bet it's locked up. Hold off on blowing the charges until we're down there. Once the power goes out, the doors should open and we can take him by surprise."

Soap is hesitant, his jaw tight before he finally mutters a, "fine." Then instead of talking to you further, he radios in to Ghost. "Bravo 0-7, charges are set. We suspect Azamat's holed up in a bunker in this building. Moving to position by the bunker doors and then we'll blow the charge."

"Roger. Five clicks."

With that, you and Soap quickly make your way back down to the first floor to locate the bunker. Time was not on your side, so you needed to move fast. You of course ran into more resistance along the way. That was to be expected. Soap though, ever true to his callsign, breezed through it like it was nothing. It was like he'd gotten to practice and memorized the course ahead of time. He looked so in his element, almost like he was having fun. It was a nice change from the usual sour attitude he had around you. And for once, you were actually sort of working with him like you would Ghost or Gaz. Given the chaotic nature of the mission probably had a lot to do with that, but you hoped this would finally mark a breakthrough point with the Scot.

Once you'd gotten to the room where the bunker was supposed to be, all you needed to do was find it, blow the charges, and get the General. To your utter joy, the bunker was the most obvious thing in the room. A big metal door with a flashing red light above it. You took up the same positions you did last time at the security room as Soap pulled out the detonator.

"Bravo 0-7, we are outside the bunker and getting ready to blow the charges. Send in exfil." Soap updates Ghost.

"Done. Take the General the alive. Three and a half clicks."

Soap looks to you then. "When I blow this, all the lights are going to go out. Once I get the door open, throw a flash in. And for the love of sweet Jesus, do not kill Azamat."

You scowl at him, irritated that he was talking to you still like you were some lousy, trigger happy marine. Guess things haven't changed too much. "Yeah. I went to all the mission briefs and literally heard Ghost say that three seconds ago. I haven't forgotten."

"So she does listen. Shocker." As he speaks, he holds the detonator up and then presses the button, not giving you the chance to reply. There's a loud explosion upstairs, one that makes the building shake a little bit. The lights immediately power off, and you lower the night vision goggles attached to your helmet.

The red light above the door flickers a few times before going out, and the locks click loudly as they release. There's shouting heard from inside as the people in there start to panic. You ready a flashbang as Soap heaves the door open, and once there's a crack big enough for the flashbang, you toss it inside. There's a loud pop as it goes out and a bright flash of light. It causes the people inside to scream and spew out what you can only assume are curses in Russian.

As Soap finishes pushing the door open, you take point, able to see the room and the people inside thanks to the night vision goggles. You identify General Azamat instantly and work on taking out anyone in the room who posed a threat.

You aim at the heads of the men inside, but they were wearing helmets, making it more difficult to land decent shots. The flashbang had made them all very disoriented, buying you more time to actually line up the shots.

Soon, all the guards around General Azamat were downed, and Soap charged the General, who was pulling a pistol from his holster. You hear the grunt from Soap as he rams the General against the wall. There's a struggle as Soap forces the gun to point upwards and six bullets are rapidly discharged from the pistol. Once the gun is only making clicking sounds, signaling an empty clip, Soap punches the General, sending him to the ground.

"Stay the fuck down!" He growls at the General as he goes to restrict his hands behind his back. The voice he was using sounded familiar to the one he used with you when you argued.

The General curses Soap out in Russian, and you go to help him secure the target. Right as you kneel down to help though, Soap pushes you away.

"Cover the door in case-"

The room is filled with the sound of gunfire, and bright flashes come from the doorway. Soap gets hit and falls back, gasping, as you quickly raise your gun and return fire. The guy shooting hadn't been wearing any chest plates and went down with a few shots. As soon as it was clear again, you grab at the General, who was trying to get up now that Soap wasn't holding him down.

"Soap! Oh my God, are you ok?!" You ask, wanting to check on him, but you couldn't let go of the general. You see him from the corner of your eye, lying back, and can hear him gasping still. You worried his injuries were fatal. Sure, you couldn't stand Soap, but you didn't want him to die either.

Then, he leans forward and grabs at General Azamat. "Hit... the plate.." He gasps out, getting his breath back slowly. A second later, he'd pushed through the pain and pressed his pistol into Azamat's head.

"Stop moving, fucker! Get up!" He commands, hooking his free arm around his restrained ones and hauling him to his feet. "Walk!" He shouts once the General is up, giving him a harsh push and keeping the gun aimed at him.

"Who are you?" The General asks, his accent heavy as Soap pushes him out of the bunker. You take point, still a bit shaken up from Soap being shot.

"Shut the hell up and walk!" He growls, opting to grab a handful of the back of the General's suit and push him along instead. It was faster that way. While you make your way out of the West Building back the way you came, you radio to Ghost.

"Bravo 0-7, this is Bravo 7-4. Target secure. Repeat, target is secure. Heading to exfil now."

"Ah. An American." You hear Azamat say, earning a rough shove from Soap.

"I said shut up!”

"Copy that 7-4," Ghost replies. "Exfil in two minutes. Russians are one click out. Move it. Alpha team is pulling back."

"This is gonna be close." Soap mutters under his breath. He begins to pick up the pace a bit, or as much as he can while dragging along a General who didn't want to go with you.

Once outside, you're practically running to the gates, shooting at anyone you can. There was hardly any cover and more and more men seemed to be popping up. About halfway to the exit, you can see bullets hitting the dirt by your feet and hear them wizz past you. This was definitely the most dangerous position you'd been in during your whole career. At least in the other firefights you'd been in, you had your entire squad behind you. This time, it was just you and Soap.

A gargling yelling sound makes you look back, and you see the General is hunched over and falling to his knees. Soap is trying to get him back up, but he's not moving.

"Fuck! He's been shot." Soap notices, seeing red begin to stain his tan uniform. "States, keep moving!" He shouts over the gunfire, hoisting the General over his shoulder and continuing the run.

Your heart is pounding loudly in your ears, adrenaline the only thing keeping your legs moving. Before you know it though, you're through the gate, and you can see your exfil vehicle ahead.

"There it is!" You shout to Soap. "Almost there!" You push harder, your lungs burning. Someone from the passenger side of your exfil vehicle jumps out and opens your door. You pile in first and then help drag the General in as Soap gets him in the car. As bullets start to spray against the side of the vehicle, Soap jumps in. He is practically on top of the General, and slams his door shut.

"Go, go, go!!" Soap yells to the driver. You hear bullets showering the side of the vehicle, and the driver floors it, making you grip tightly onto the handle on the ceiling.

Once you can't hear the bullets hitting the metal doors of the vehicle anymore, you sigh a breath of relief. This mission had been a lot harder than you thought it was going to be. And it wasn't even over yet.

"States, help me sit him up." Soap says, getting your attention and pulling you out of your daze. You do as he asks, moving Azamat out from under Soap to the seat in the middle. Once he's sitting up, you can see his face has paled significantly and there was blood all over the seat and his suit.

"Shite.." Soap cures as you instantly start to apply pressure to the man's stomach. "Ghost, we have General Azamat and are on our way to the rendezvous. He's been shot though and is losing a lot of blood."

"Copy that. Keep him breathing. I'll have medical on standby. What about you and States?"

"We're good." He answers, turning his attention on the man's wound now. "Aside from feeling like I took a bullet to my chest. Oh wait, that did happen." Soap mutters, looking at you angrily.

You look up from where your hands are currently placed on the General's side, blood gushing out from between your fingers. You meet Soap's gaze and glower at him.

"Seriously? You're going to blame me for you getting shot in the plate?" Though of course he was going to blame that on you. Cause why wouldn't he?

"It's one hundred percent your fault! Someone needed to cover the door!" Soap was grabbing a med kit from under the seat and violently opening it to get some medical supplies.

"Are you fucking- you know what? No. I'm not doing this with you right now. This dude is bleeding out, and I'm not going to have you distract me and then blame this dude dying on me! Give me those fucking bandages!" You rip them from his hand and start stuffing the wound, making the General moan in protest.

"Whatever, States. Fuck you too."

You don't say a word to each other after that. The only words spoken are by you trying to keep the General awake, Soap talking to Ghost over the comms, or the occasion word or two from the guys in the front seats, talking to the other teams.

You couldn't wait to get to the helo, hand General Azamat off to the medical staff, and then get away from Soap.

[weeb-polls-with-pip]

Autistic Anime Boys Prelims - Propaganda Division - Group 6

Propaganda:

Kiriwo -

"Seems innocent at first and he's just a guy with a special interest in magic items, but watch out."

Arjuna -

"MASKING KING!!!!!! ok joke aside one of his biggest things is that he's super scared that if anyone gets too close to him they'll notice he's not perfect/has a 'secret darkness' (that's literally just a guy) and overall a lot of his storyline is a strong parallel for being neurodivergent and becoming more comfortable with accepting it. he's also super strict and hard on himself for any sort of failure that isn't in line with what's socially appropriate but at the same time he doesn't always have a good grasp on what that is which is how you get stuff like him blowing up a forest to try and impress someone. it also runs in his family bc his brother is autistic as hell too."

Sherlock -

"God, where do I start? I mean what Holmes adaptation, even if he's not the main character, would this be if he were not autistic coded? And our combo of autism and ADHD is absolute perfection, all tied up with a pretty, excitable face. Hit him with the crime hyperfixation and do not make him wear socks."

Apollo -

"Not canonically autistic but he has ZERO volume control plus he scripts/repeats stuff (“I’M FINE!!!”), sometimes mimics other people’s speech patterns (like replying “ja” to Klavier), sensitive to loud noises (stayed backstage at a concert cuz it was too loud) and bright lights (complained about the stage lights being too bright at the same concert + screamed when opening the hatch to the bright stage at magic show), and has been really into space since he was a kid, which could definitely be a hyperfixation (not to mention how he read every single one of Phoenix’s old case files back when he admired him). Plus he’s a little TOO normal, to the point where it circles back around to making him the odd one out, which is absolutely what masking feels like for me. Even when he tries to be fun and weird he gets strange looks/made fun of for not being weird in the right way. The list of autism symptoms is just a checklist for him at this point."

Heiji -

"90% of the cast in detective conan is autistic but heiji is the most autistic of them all."

Urara -

"Another alien who is so excited to dance with everyone that he does not understand that his intended purpose of inviting people to dance via water communication is brainwashing them into dancing and is causing extreme chaos. He nearly causes an apocalypse by being so excited about dancing but he apologizes and tries to make friends with Yuki at the end of the story. He is extremely soft spoken and try, finding it difficult to begin conversations and fidgeting."

Shu -

"speaking specifically about the first season but he was the "explains everything so the audience knows whats happening" guy. he was pretty antisocial (not sure if thats just how he was or if he lived alone [which was fucked up cause he was 11]) . im trying to think of more but my brain goes hghghhhggggh im just a big fan of him."

Vash -

"ain’t no way i’m the only one who’s submitted him. go look at the gif of him crawling in the dirt like a bug while he dodges bullets and get back to me."

Hyakkimaru -

"Due to a terrible curse he has lived his whole life without several body parts including his eyes and ears. Because of this he is often overstimulated and awkward in new situations (when he doesn't do what he does best, killing monsters and samurai with his sword arms) He can't say or express much, and often comes off as strange and creepy, but he is actually a cutie patootie full of emotions, has a big heart, a keen brain, endless inner strength and loves the people close to him! This adorable, cursed, demon slaying boy deserves everything!"

Kei -

"He has the tbh face. Also he canonically has sensory issues and gets sensory overload. He constantly wears earbuds. He has an extremely rigid sense of morality and considers himself a savior figure. He has a hard time relating to other people and is a bit awkward in his interactions."

[gaylordscooter]

Direct Hit Through the Soul

Despite living together for months now, Killer and Dust still had their fights. Ironically enough, they were arguably the closest in the group.

These fights weren't exactly sparring matches between friends where they'd show off their bullet patterns. It was more like blowing off steam. Having high LV had consequences, after all.

They didn't exactly want to kill anyone, but the urge was there. Gaining EXP was addictive and they were essentially experiencing withdrawal. Fortunately for Horror, their urges were directed at each other and not him.

Killer and Dust were evenly matched in terms of power—they made Horror seem as weak as a Whimsun. Regardless, Horror would typically supervise their fights and call it off when they get too close to actually dusting the other.

This time, however, Horror was not here to supervise.

The forest was a mess. Without having to worry without collateral damage the two let loose.

Trees were uprooted, rocks were broken, plenty of scorch marks from blasters plastered the dirt.

This time, Dust started the fight and he intended to finish it.

He slammed Killer into a tree using blue magic. His soul pulsed wildly like it wanted to run away but Killer was giggling like a gossiping middle schooler.

Dust closed in on him, ready to deal the final blow.

Killer used the last of his energy to swing his knife at his neck, but Dust caught his wrist and wrenched the knife out of his hand. 

He inspected the knife as if to taunt him.

Killer immediately knew he was planning to use his own knife against him yet that dumb smile stayed plastered on his face.

Dust adjusted his grip on the knife, getting ready. His eyelights were right on his soul.

The knife pierced through his soul and into his sternum.

Killer didn't make a sound. He didn't even flinch. He reacted as if it didn't hurt at all.

Dust checked his HP. He only had a tenth of his HP left. There was a rush of excitement that came from bringing him so close to death.

And then Killer laughed. It was like he heard the funniest joke of his life.

Dust released his hold on his soul, causing him to fall on the ground as he continued.

“i can't believe that didn't kill me!” he finally exclaimed. “a direct hit through the soul! do you know how much care you need to have for that to not kill?!”

Dust looked down at him, deadpan, debating on whether or not to speak. Surely it was obvious enough to Killer that their fights weren't actually to the death.

Then again, Horror would always have to step in after Killer got a nasty hit on him. Had it been Killer that won today, would he still be standing?

The knife was still lodged in his chest.

“did all those make out sessions make you soft?? i’m flattered, really, but if our positions were switched you’d be your namesake right now.” He stood up, looking at the knife still impaling him, probably wondering how the hell to get it out without dusting.

Or not, because his hand moved straight to the handle with obvious intent to yank it out as if it were a mere splinter.

Dust grabbed his wrist with a very audible sigh.

“you're right, that would kill me,” Killer replied, bringing his hand away from the handle. For once in his life, he actually guessed correctly what Dust was thinking. “guess i’ll have that there forever, i’ll have to name it. what about uhh, mildred?”

Dust blankly stared at him.

“yeah, that’s a dumb name. maybe something fierce, like debbie.”

Dust rolled his eyelights and brought his hand close to his soul.

Now was the time Killer decided to flinch. “woah, hey, whatcha doing?”

Dust paused and spelled “heal” with his other hand.

“you can use healing magic?” Killer asked in disbelief. He lost his ability to use healing magic long ago, and even back then he was horrible at it. He couldn't even heal Papyrus after he scratched his knee from a fall. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't proficient at magic in general. There was a reason why he resorted to using primarily knives.

Dust answered by demonstrating.

Killer watched in intrigue as he felt his HP rise. It didn't look like Dust was doing anything but holding his hand near his soul. He wondered how it worked.

And then the usual target-shape of his soul shifted into the shape of a normal monster soul.

Killer's breath hitched and Dust’s eye sockets widened.

Killer shoved him away. He wasn't fully healed yet but he was at half at least. He yanked the knife out with a hiss. He could feel the pain. It wasn't the numb pins-and-needles feeling he’d usually have instead.

“what the hell did you do?” he asked. It was like the floodgates to his emotions were smashed open. “what the fuck did you do?!” he repeated, brandishing the knife coated in his own marrow.

“i was just healing you,” Dust muttered.

“my soul’s an entirely different shape!” he barked.

“it's the shape of a normal monster soul now.”

“well, it ain’t normal for me!”

“why are you freaking out?”

Killer backed away from Dust as he tried to put a hand on his shoulder. It felt like the world was spinning and it was disorienting.

Why was he freaking out? Because he could now. He was able to and that threw him off. He was so used to pretending and faking it he forgot what it actually felt like to have emotions.

It was almost like he was Sans again, but he knew he was still only an echo of him. What was more apparent is that he had no control over his emotions.

He felt guilt. He felt confused. He even felt love towards Dust. But fear overwhelmed him the most.

And then his soul reverted to his usual shape and the world stilled.

Dust was looking at him weird as if he had any right to.

“never do that again,” Killer said. He took off to the castle without another word.

Dust suspected he was going straight to his room. He probably wasn't going to leave it for the rest of the day either. He was sure that wasn't the first time Killer’s soul changed shape. There was that night they decided they could hang out without any drugs. His soul was all sorts of shapes that night, but notably it was that same upside down heart shape by the end of the night. He wasn't sure why it was such a big deal to him now. Maybe he never noticed before.

I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU COULDN’T FINISH HIM OFF.

He was pretty sure if he killed him Nightmare would kill him too.

THAT WASN’T THE ONLY REASON YOU COULDN’T KILL HIM.

God forbid he cares about someone.

THAT “SOMEONE” IS A DIRTY BROTHER KILLER.

He didn't give a shit about that at this point no matter how much the stupid voice in his head would try to say otherwise.

HE’S PERFECT FOR YOU. BECAUSE HE’S UTTERLY HORRIBLE.

He agreed with the second part. He is horrible.

HE’S GOING TO HURT YOU. HE ALREADY HAS.

Killer entered the kitchen, stumbling around. At first Horror thought he was drunk or something and then he noticed how low his HP was.

“didja get hit by a truck?” he asked. Usually he’d be concerned for his safety, but this was Killer. It was a common occurrence for something like this to happen.

“yeah,” he deadpanned. He rummaged through the pantry and took out a bag of chips. He opened the bag by popping it. Somehow that ended up working out for him.

Horror grimaced at the loud noise. “you gotta stop opening chip bags that way.”

Killer shoved a handful of chips into his mouth, crunching loudly in reply.

Horror groaned, shaking his head disapprovingly. “where's dust at? don't tell me you killed him.”

“he won the fight, actually,” he said with his mouth full. “drove my knife right through my soul.”

Horror's sockets went blank in shock. “he did?” He looked at him as if he’d crumble into a pile of dust at any moment.

“yeah,” he chuckled, “isn’t that pathetic? he couldn't kill me with a hit to the soul.”

“how high’s your defense?” It was a dumb question, but he asked anyway.

“doesn't matter. that would’ve killed me no matter what, unless he didn't intend to, and here i am standing here.”

If there was a single part of Dust that wanted him dead he wouldn't be standing, much less alive. Killer didn't know why that was so shocking to him, that he survived that. Sure, they've been living together for awhile and got all buddy-buddy, but to Killer it was all an act—turned out he was the only one acting.

Any malice would’ve killed him. So how did he survive?

The answer was obvious yet he still couldn’t believe it.

“so, where's he now?”

Killer shrugged, pouring more of the chips into his mouth. “i left him in the forest,” he said, voice muffled.

Horror’s eye darted to the windows as if he'd be able to see Dust from here. “what's the deal with you two anyway?”

“huh?”

“you two fight nearly to the death and yet you hang out almost every night.” He vividly remembered that time he was woken up by the sound of a blaster. Nightmare was pretty mad about that.

“it's something to do.” He shrugged again.

“so you're just using him for entertainment?”

Killer scoffed, “you say that like i haven't told you two repeatedly that i don't feel anything.” Finished with the chips, he crumpled up the bag and tossed it to the trash bin, missing.

“which you're obviously lying about,” he challenged. “besides, you don't have to exploit him like that.”

“psh, you're acting like he's not a powerful monster that almost killed me a second ago,” he said nonchalantly.

Horror glared at him, standing straight instead of slouching to gain an edge on him. “let's say you don’t feel anything, then. you toy with dust, acting like you have a little crush on him. and it annoyed him at first, but ever since that night we played truth or dare something changed—he started to like you.”

“no he didn't,” Killer hissed.

“but you, who ‘can’t feel anything’, never liked him in the first place. you lead him on, purposefully.”

“it's not—we’re not, there are no feelings between us. it's just hedonism, an inside joke, even. you wouldn't get it.”

The door to the kitchen opened.

Killer perked up at the sight of Dust. “tell him, dust. i didn't lead you on, there aren't any feelings between us.”

Dust ignored him and walked straight to the hallway. He slammed the door when he left.

“that was very convincing,” Horror said sarcastically.

“shut up!” Killer snipped. “he just didn’t feel like talking.”

Horror gave him a stern look. “you being dense on purpose?”

Killer ground his teeth and grumbled incoherently.

“i’m taking that as a yes.”

“‘m going to my room,” he mumbled and took off.

“you aren’t gonna apologize to him?” Horror asked.

Killer scoffed, “apologize about what? telling the truth? he’ll get over it.”

He did not get over it.

[noneedforflowers]

✿ No Need for Flowers DEMO ✿

The demo is finally here!

You can play No Need for Flowers, a new Touhou-inspired bullet hell game about dragon girls, right now!!

Try it out on Steam:

... And itch.io!:

ABOUT THE GAME:

Play as a dragon priestess on a quest to stop a mysterious necromancer from destroying the world...

NNFF features classic high-action danmaku gameplay veterans can appreciate. Its easy to learn mechanics makes it great for people new to the genre too! There's a lot of quality of life such as a snappy in-depth practice mode, replays, smooth easy-to-read graphics, and more!

This game also has a strong focus on its story and characters, with dynamic boss sprites with simple but fun animations, expressive animated dialogue portraits, and there's even an unlockable bestiary containing the backstory of all of the bosses you meet!

Also, the music (composed by Princess Sylvysprit) is really REALLY good!! (Demo OST album releasing soon...)

This demo contains the first 3 stages. I really hope you enjoy it.

Developers: 🐊Game by Mongo 🎵Music and SFX by Princess Sylvysprit

[onechicagolife]

ABSENTIA | JAY HALSTEAD

Detective Jay Halstead is a senior member of the Intelligence Unit, where he is partnered with Detective Hailey Upton after his former partner went missing undercover. While he never wanted to give up hope, the CPD assumed her dead and he was resigned to accept it. Now, two years later, Jay gets a sudden phone call with news that changes his life forever. Avery Clarke is alive. want to be tagged? link in bio <3

Chapter 23

The sun filtered softly through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the tangled mess of sheets and limbs. The room was quiet, filled only with the distant hum of the city outside and the slow, steady breaths of the woman beside him. Jay woke to warmth. The kind that settled deep, that made it impossible to do anything but stay exactly where he was.

Avery lay curled into his side, her bare skin pressed against his, her breath warm and even against his collarbone. His arm was slung around her, fingers moving idly in light, absentminded patterns across the curve of her spine.

He didn't move. Didn't want to. Instead, he just watched her—the way her lashes flickered slightly, the way her lips parted softly in sleep. She looked so at peace, so untouched by the chaos of the world they lived in, filled with bullets flying at them and undercover stints with Russian crime bosses.

They rarely got mornings like this. Slow. Unrushed. Just them. And he wanted more of them.

That was why the velvet box with his mother's ring was tucked away in his bag. He had planned everything—take her to the cabin, just the two of them. No cases. No stress. No danger.

Just them.

And then he was going to ask her to marry him. It wasn't going to be some elaborate, orchestrated moment. There would be no grand speeches, no excessive plans. Just a ring, a question, and the rest of their lives. Because that was them. Simple. Natural. The way they were always meant to be.

She shifted slightly, her nose brushing against his collarbone before she let out a sleepy hum. Jay smiled, his fingers trailing up to her face, brushing his thumb gently over her cheekbone. "Morning," he whispered.

Avery made a small noise of protest, burrowing closer against him, her face pressed to his chest. "Too early," she grumbled, her voice muffled against his skin.

Jay chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "It's not even that early."

She huffed, one eye cracking open, still hazy with sleep and warmth. Then she stretched like a cat, her body arching against his, her muscles flexing beneath golden morning light.

Jay watched her, his chest tightening with something deep, something unwavering. How the hell did he get this lucky?

Then, with a wicked grin, she climbed on top of him, the sheets pooling around her waist as she straddled him, hands pressed to his chest. "So," she drew out the word, eyes gleaming with mirth. "What's the plan for our little getaway?"

He exhaled, schooling his expression into something neutral, even as his hands skimmed up her bare thighs, anchoring her firmly in place. Even as he pictured the look on her face when he got down on one knee. "That's classified."

Avery bit her lip, leaning down, her mouth ghosting over the shell of his ear. "I have ways of making you talk."

"Yeah?" Jay laughed, his grip tightening on her hips.

She hummed in response, her voice low, suggestive, "I'm extremely skilled at interrogation."

"Hopefully these aren't your usual methods," he teased, arching a brow.

Avery rolled her hips just slightly, enough to make his breath catch, her smirk deepening. "Just for you, babe." She leaned in, her nose brushing against his, teasing him with a barely-there kiss.

His heart thudded hard against his ribs, every part of him anchored to this moment, to her.

Because this was it. This was everything, and he never wanted it to end.

Jay jerks awake. Pain explodes through his ribs, hot and blinding, stealing his breath before he even fully registers where he is. His vision swims, the dim, flickering light above him casting eerie shadows that twist and blur.

Concrete. A cold chair digging into his back. His wrists bound tightly to its arms, plastic biting into raw skin.

Fuck.

His pulse spikes, body tensing on instinct—

And then he hears her breathing, and relief crashes through him. His head snaps up, ignoring the sharp protest of his ribs, eyes zeroing in on the figure across from him. Her head hangs forward slightly, hair falling into her face, but she's breathing. Jay exhales, forcing his breath steady, blinking hard, "Avery."

A soft groan slips from her lips as she stirs, her wrists burning from the zip ties, her head pounding violently. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused, her head throbbing. Panic claws at her chest, but Avery forces herself to stay still, to breathe, to take in her surroundings. It ebbs slightly when she sees him. Her voice is hoarse from disuse, "Jay?"

"I'm here," he reassures.

Her chest rises too fast, a familiar sinking feeling crashing through her gut. The room, the restraints, the way the cold bleeds into her skin. It's too familiar, and it's like she's back there again. Hanging from the ceiling in chains. Her breathing stutters, panic coiling like a vice around her lungs.

Jay sees it immediately. He recognizes the signs—the way her shoulders lock up, the way her breath comes too fast, too uneven. "Ave, look at me." His voice is soft but firm, grounding her before she spirals completely. Her eyes snap to his, wide and filled with something he hates seeing in her—fear. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, ignoring the sharp agony in his ribs, "Just breathe with me."

She nods quickly, watching the way his chest moves, forcing herself to match him.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

The panic doesn't vanish, but the fog lifts just enough.

After a few moments, after she's calmed enough, Jay finally asks, "You okay?"

Avery shifts slightly in her restraints, testing them. "Been better." Her gaze rakes over him, flickering with something sharp and worried as she takes in the blood on his face, the bruising forming along his jaw, "You?"

He exhales sharply, gritting his teeth against the pain, "Think I've got a busted rib."

She tugs harder at that, but the zip ties don't budge. "What the hell happened?"

"We drove into a trap," Jay grits out, struggling against his own ties. The plastic digs into his skin, but he doesn't care—he has to get them out of here.

Avery opens her mouth but before she can respond, the door across the room opens. Both of their heads snap toward it, but they can't see anything in the darkness. Then a familiar voice cuts through the silence, sending a cold shiver down her spine.

"Finally awake, Talia. Or do you prefer Avery? Detective Clarke?"

Her blood turns to ice. Nikolai. She forces her face into a mask of indifference, despite the fear curling in her gut. "Nik," she says cooly, even as her pulse hammers against her ribs. "If you missed me that bad, you should've just called."

A slow, humorless chuckle drifts through the air. Footsteps echo against the concrete, deliberate and measured, as Nikolai steps into view. Hands tucked casually into his pockets, his dark eyes gleaming with something sharp and twisted. He looks the same. And yet, somehow worse. The boyish charm she'd grown familiar with is gone, replaced with something colder, more lethal.

And the anger—the anger flows from him in radioactive waves, like he has been waiting for this moment.

"I trusted you," he says, his voice eerily calm, and that terrifies her more than anything. "And you lied to me."

Avery arches an eyebrow, shrugging casually, "It wasn't hard."

Something flashes in his expression, something almost like hurt before it's swallowed by fury. "That's the thing about love," he mutters, stepping closer. "It makes you blind. It makes you a fool. And you made me a fool, Talia." He spits the name like it's poison on his tongue, before his gaze flicks to Jay. A wicked grin spreads across his face, "Ah. And there he is. The boyfriend."

Jay grits out roughly, "Go to hell."

Nikolai laughs, circling behind Avery's chair, fingers trailing along the wooden frame. "The valiant Detective Halstead," he muses, feigning nostalgia.

"Don't talk to him," Avery snaps, jaw tight.

He just looks amused as he ignores her. "When I first heard about you, Halstead, I wasn't very impressed. But I'll admit, you fought harder than my men thought you would." His fingers trail deliberately along her sleeve. "The things we do for love, no?"

Jay strains against the zip ties, every muscle in his body coiled with rage. "Get your hands off her."

"Oh, Detective," he tuts, shaking his head as his smirk only grows. "You act like I haven't already had her."

Avery doesn't flinch. "In your dreams," she scoffs.

Nikolai clicks his tongue. "I was good to you, wasn't I?" He cups her chin, forcing her to look at him, "I gave you everything. Protection. Power. And what did you do with it?" His grip tightens just slightly, enough to send a warning. "You betrayed me."

She narrows her eyes, steel in her voice despite the tremor in her hands. "It wasn't a betrayal, Nik. I was never loyal to you to begin with."

His eyes darken, the mask of amusement slipping for just a second. "I don't believe you," he says, a wistful lilt to his tone. Like a part of him doesn’t want to accept that she never cared, that it was all one complicated, drawn out lie.

Jay's breathing is sharp, painful and unsteady. He's trying to hold it together, trying to remind himself that Volkov is a liar, a manipulator, a sadistic bastard who thrives on control. But the second Nikolai tilts his head, smirking, his gaze flickering between Avery and Jay like he's savoring this moment, he knows what's coming. And he hates that Nikolai can already see how much this is getting to him.

"You know, Halstead..." He stops beside Avery's chair, trailing his fingers lightly over the top of it—just close enough to feel like a threat, but not touching her again. "I have to say, I admire your taste."

Jay glares, his fingers curling into fists against the arm rests, "Shut the fuck up."

Nikolai laughs under his breath, his fingers tapping against the chair absently. "When I first saw her, I was mesmerized," he hums, shaking his head. "The most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, yes. But the fire beneath, that's what caught my eye." He smirks, glancing down at Avery.

She doesn't look at him, her body vibrating with restrained fury.

"Don't fucking talk about her," Jay warns through grit teeth.

Nik ignores him, his grin widening as he tilts his head toward Avery. "And she knew it, knew exactly how to use her...talents to her advantage. Isn't that right, malyshka?"

Avery jerks her shoulder away when his fingers get too close, "I am not your baby."

"No?" he quirks a brow. "Not even when you begged for it like you had never been touched properly before?"

Her chest rises and falls quickly, her body strung so tight she feels like she might snap. He's lying. She knows it. Jay knows it. But the way Nikolai says it, so casual, so cruel, like it's some cherished fucking memory—it makes her stomach churn violently.

Nik crouches beside her chair, eyes gleaming at the pure rage on Jay's face. "Tell him, Avery," he mutters, voice soft, mocking.

"You're a fucking liar." Her jaw clenches so tightly it aches, pain splintering through her temples, but she doesn't care. Doesn't care about the zip ties cutting into her skin, doesn't care about the bruises forming along her ribs. Because she won't let him win. Her nails dig into her palms, sharp and biting, keeping her anchored, keeping her from showing weakness.

"You keep saying that.” His fingers twist into her hair and yank hard, wrenching her head back violently, and she sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth. The angle forces her to look up at him, his face hovering too close, his breath hot against her skin. "But I remember how much you liked it rough."

Jay loses all semblance of control. "I will kill you, you sick fuck," he snarls dangerously, each word dripping with a promise of violence. He wrenches against the restraints, his muscles straining so brutally that the chair screeches against the floor, metal legs scraping against the concrete.

Avery sees the rage in his eyes, the kind of rage that destroys everything in its path, but Nikolai only grins. He loves this. He's relishing it. Because this isn't just about hurting her—the woman who manipulated him into loving her—it's about hurting Jay, the man she actually cared about.

Nikolai tilts his head slightly before he whispers, still loud enough for them both to hear, "Should we give him a little show?"

Something in Avery snaps. Her vision flashes red, fury blazing so hot it scorches her skin, and she spits in his face.

The moment the saliva splatters across his cheek, the room goes deathly still.

Jay stills in his chair, and he struggles to fight back the proud smile threatening to take over his face.

Nikolai's entire expression twists, the amusement gone in an instant, replaced by something dark, simmering, volatile. He lets go of her instantly, jerking back, his hand wiping slowly across his cheek. His breathing is heavy, nostrils flaring as his other hand curls into a fist at his side.

When he reels his hand back, she braces herself for the hit, every muscle tensing. But it never comes.

A voice cuts through the tension like a blade. "That's enough." It's sharp, commanding, and it makes the room shift instantly.

Nikolai freezes, his body going rigid.

Avery turns her head, breath catching in her throat as she sees the man stepping into the room. Her stomach twists violently with instant recognition.

But it's the way he looks at her that's confusing. Not with amusement. Not with rage. Not with indifference. But with familiarity. Like he's seen her before. Like he knows her.

And when he speaks, his voice is smooth, confident, dripping with something unreadable. "Hello again, Talia."

Avery's blood runs cold. Her pulse pounds viciously against her ribs, her breath hitching in her throat.

Because she doesn't remember ever meeting Dmitri Volkov.

But he remembers her.

prev . . . next

[goldenlionprince]

lawyer up

after the events of the last story in The Bodyguard AU, it's time for Sirius to get a lawyer! there is also awesome art about Sirius' arrest and his welcome to prison! you should check out! (you can find previous parts in my AO3 collection and in @sorenphelps Bodyguard AU tag)

tagging @neverenoughmarauders @lovelymasks @0o-r-anon-o0

.

The door to his cell opens. “Your lawyer is here.”

Sirius gets up from the bed, ignoring the whispers and taunts from the other inmates as he walks out through the cell door. The guard leads him down the hall and through a set of doors to a small room.

Lily looks up from where she sits at the steel table when the door opens, her eyes widening when she sees Sirius. “What the hell have they done to you?”

“There is a lice problem, apparently,” he says as he sits down across from her, rubbing the palm of his hand over the stubble on his head. “A precaution, or so they said.”

“I'll have to make sure James is sitting down when I tell him about this,” Lily says, her eyes still on the lack of hair on Sirius' head.

“How is he dealing with all this?” Sirius asks, dropping his hand on the table.

“Not great,” Lily says truthfully. “He's feeling a bit guilty about dragging you on that vacation in the first place and deals with it in his usual way, glued to his screen. And then there are all the people who are thirsty as hell and a bit inappropriate about it.”

Sirius frowns. “What?”

“Oh, you're the talk of the moment. You'd hate it.” Lily gives him a grin that looks a little gleeful. “The thirst tweets about your arrest photos that were in the Daily Prophet are constantly trending. People want those shots and your mugshots to be released in better quality so they can put them on posters. James had to lock down his social media because people keep pestering him for your nudes. It's a little bit insane. I'll bring you some of the best tweets next time, James is collecting them.”

Sirius shakes his head fondly. “Of course he is.”

“He needs something nice to do other than digging for.. alternatives.”

Alternatives. So James is looking into who might have killed Bertha Jorkins. Who might have had a reason to do it. Someone who's name is not Sirius Black. Someone who makes more sense.

“And there might be some leads but I don't want to get your hopes up too much just yet,” Lily says, pulling the folder she has in front of her closer. “Crouch is making things difficult. He's insisting on your incarceration right here until the trial, no transfers. If it would be up to him you wouldn't even get a trial at all. He's a bit sensitive about his secretary being murdered and loudly demands that justice needs to be served, even if the evidence they have of your involvement in the murder is more than flimsy.”

She opens the file in front of her. “They all hang it on your fingerprints being on the empty bullet casings -”

“Big surprise, since I picked them up on the beach,” Sirius grumbles, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“And the pattern of shots found on Miss Jorkins,” Lily continues. “One bullet in the heart, one in each eye, one to the forehead.”

Sirius sighs. “Why the hell would I kill someone and leave a calling card in the form of my signature pattern behind? I'm better than that.”

“Maybe I shouldn't tell them you're much more capable than they already think you are,” Lily grins and closes the file again. “But yes, I call that very suspicious too. They also don't know yet if the bullets were what killed her or if she died in a different way. I'll get the results on that soon.”

“Thank you, Evans.”

Lily smiles at him. “Don't worry about it. I'm working as fast as I can but knowing the legal system it will take a bit until I can get you out of here. In the meantime, try not to get into any more trouble. No fights. Look as unthreatening as you can.”

“That's going to be impossible,” Sirius says with a little grin. “You haven't met the other guys here.”

“I mean it, Black.” Lily points a finger at him. “Don't kill anyone. Promise me.”

“Fine.” Sirius drops his arms. “Just do me a favour, will you?”

“What favour?” Lily asks, right when the door behind Sirius opens again. The guard is back, signalling that their time is up.

“Keep an eye on James for me.”

Lily smiles as they both get up from their chairs. “I will, and so will the others. Don't worry.”

[stanwixbuster]

jynx absolutely fascinates me as a game dev because they're like. inspiration but in the opposite way of literally everything they've ever done

jynx decided they want to make touhou-like shmups, and decided to approach this by building most patterns around extremely fast bullets relying entirely on player reaction or having already seen a pattern before, infamously the most disliked and player-antagonistic way of approaching bullet hells

jynx added a great iteration on touhou-like shmups with flash bombing, an infinitely regenerating way to clear bullets if you put yourself in active danger in contrast to the use of bombs as a safe but finite resource, and then made sure you could only use it if you aren't focusing your shots, which you spend over 90% of a touhou-like doing

jynx created "absurdly extra" stages just as a complete fuck you to the player. half of them are humanly impossible to complete

jynx's version of character development is to add more characters. jynx will drop one of the most fascinating backstories you've ever heard that has groundbreaking and sweeping impacts on len'en lore, yet somehow being entirely consistent with it, and then proceed to do literally nothing and minutes later introduce another character with one of the most fascinating backstories you've ever heard. len'en has 40+ characters and all of them have been in perpetual Big Things Are Coming hell for over half a decade

jynx has spent over an alledged 15 years working on the world and lore in mugenri and the outside world, desperately wants to share this and continually mentions the short stories and lore dumps they write, which we never see, because they have somehow convinced themself the only way to show this story is through touhou-likes, which are notable for showing "story" as an excuse for people to shoot bullets at each other

jynx treats feature creep like an arms race. there isn't a single idea they come up with that doesn't end up in a game or is planned to at a later date. len'en 4 is still technically unfinished despite it having enough paths to dwarf all the previous len'en games combined thrice over and featuring the entire cast of the series in it (i will stress again, 40+ characters), and they've promised a dlc with even more stuff to do

jynx wanted to make a mobile cafe management simulator after having made nothing but bullet hell shmups on pc, just because it sounded fun, realised their previous tools couldn't make mobile games well, realised they'd be going in entirely blind on a new tech stack, realised they'd be going in blind on a genre they have no experience with, decided to tag on a second entire game to the cafe management with a turn-based rpg, realised they also have no experience with that genre, continued anyway, learnt how to use unity from the ground up, realised the multitude of issues unity development brings, decided every single character also needed to be in this one with unique boss battles, realised the problems of having 40+ character assets and 5min+ music themes in a mobile game that very infamously is a platform you need to stick to strict asset and tech limitations, decided to stream in assets from a server, made it a live service game because it would be online and that was an obvious next step, stuck through it, totalling in five years of dev time to make a full "gacha" game that is generous beyond belief and makes them a net zero in ad revenue vs server costs

jynx iterates nothing. literally everything you see in their games is the first go and if it sucks, too bad

jynx creates all their music with default fl studio sounds and the touhou trumpet. everything's unmixed. they earnestly believe that loud = better

jynx, allegedly, "blacks out" when making music after hitting some kind of flow state, and wakes up with a complete track. like everything else, these are never iterated on

jynx wrote the entirety of len'en 4's 100,000+ word script in one week. i don't even have a funny comment for this one

jynx doesn't think len'en would fit the format of a visual novel despite the fact len'en 4 has a 100,000+ word script

jynx refuses to collab with anyone for any reason. motives unclear

jynx did three 12 hour back-to-back livestreams crunching to finish book of the cafe. literally no part of this is a good idea

jynx is like the quintessential representation of everything you shouldn't do as a game dev. they should have burnt out years ago and been remembered as nothing but a random quirky touhou ripoff that was an interesting yet janky interpretation but ultimately went nowhere and YET here we are coming in to len'ens decade anniversary

how the fuck is jynx a real person. why am i so obsessed with everything they've ever made

[eleventhhourfactor]

First day of 2025 has been good so far. So good, in fact, that I've decided to actually make a self-reflection/look to the future post, as much as I'm trying not to be vain.

Anyway...2024. There was a lot happening there.

If we're looking at Tumblr alone, it's pretty clear that this was the year that solidified Mario and Luigi as a hyperfixation for me. Helped along by the mutuals I made along the way, I turned out a lot of stories for AO3--moreso than I'd ever done for any other fandom prior to this. It's...mindblowing, honestly. Just the year before, I'd written and deleted my works after becoming convinced that it wouldn't amount to anything and ought as well not be out there. It was a pattern I longed to break, and I think I've finally cracked it, and I've never been happier to put myself out there and be cringe and free.

The rest of 2024 was a hell of a lot of change for me--mostly good. I moved across the country, started writing for another company, found another special interest in the form of Mario RPGs. I also realized that a load of my extended family have garbage takes, and that I alone can't fix that for them. My cat needed teeth taken out, my car got hit by a delivery truck in the parking lot, and I got holed up at my in-laws' house with the flu on Christmas Day. I'm still trying to make real-life friends, which seems to be an outstanding issue for little ol' me. Outside of college, I've never been great at making and keeping friends.

But I do have my network, without which I wouldn't have been able to publish a story, plan a big move, or even doodle on occasion. And you, dear mutuals and others, are a part of that, I've come to realize. It's stupid and corny, but there's something really neat about going to the internet and nerding out about things through headcanon posts, fabulous art, and wonderfully-written tales. What's even crazier is what fanwork can drive me to do in my original little things.

So, for 2025, along with some outstanding fics I need to wrap up and work on, I also want to put some work and effort into fleshing out a long-running project of mine: the world of Astrara, the worldhoppers moving throughout, and the threads of the universe tying it all together. There's characters I've been bouncing around in my skull for nearly a decade now, and it's about time I clear the sad lack of confidence from my space and actually draw them to the life they deserve. Might I make a comic? Who knows. For the next year, I just want to draw my little dudes until I run out of pencils, and then scan it in and color digitally. I want to make more art, and I want to write out the story of Lenora, Aylín, and their absolutely batshit journey to find their way home. Or at least, get the bullet points down and go from there.

It's crazy, but I thought turning out over a dozen fanfics was insane as well, and look where I'm at. Anything can happen. The spark has caught aflame. I want to keep creating. For the first time ever, I want to keep going with whatever the heck I've got going instead of letting it sit while I grind to live.

So, follow me as I get this going. See how far I go or fall short. Maybe ask me some more about what exactly I'm working on. I'd love to brainstorm and share and get others interested, too.

A bit of insurance in the form of doodles. Lenora on the left, Aylín on the right. One's being careful, the other wants to fight.

Kinda funny how much I project onto my own little stories.

Thank you all for sticking with me. Sorry this turned from reflection to a bit of narcissist goal-setting, but I've never felt so set on a creative goal before. This project means a lot to me and my growth over time, and without stepping out and meeting you all, I'd never be able to do this. So, thank you for being there, and I hope I've been able to do half as much for you.

Under the cut special! Sending love to all the people who keep me going on here. Like, y'all are so great. You are all great people.

So, mutuals and creators I admire (as well as my frens), this one's for you:

@giddlygoat @peaches2217 @snakeeyesdraws @bberetd @itsavee4117 @silenzahra @silksongmaiden @fyreburning @akiiame-blog @megamagimugi @supergay-64 @artizonka @rainbogen @loud-kid2 @@diamondempp @dooxliss @lu1g199 @laatgag @moriouchou-radio @thegravityshark @gustygardns @vulpixfairy1985 @vbnhuet

[thegreenlynx]

I Bite, Pretty Boy

Chapter 3: Blood-Sucking Hero

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Violence, attempted murder, and murder in this one.

It is now Saturday and Jisung is walking leisurely through the dimming streets, a heavy bag in each hand. The chilling breeze rustling his white t-shirt is the only other sound aside from the echoed tapping of his shoes against the pavement. He swings the bags mindlessly as he makes his way back to his house, where his friends are no doubt waiting impatiently for his return. 

The day of their long awaited hang out had finally arrived and the boys were all pretty excited, having had a grueling week of classes. Naturally however, you cannot have a good proper game sesh with your friends without some yummy things to munch on. And what is one to do when the friend group is in dire need of snacks but the kitchen is scarce of such comfort foods? Well obviously you play rock paper scissors and make the loser go get the snacks for the whole group; It's only fair really. 

It had been a long game, the four of them getting combination after combination of unwinnable plays but eventually it ended in a miraculous three scissors majority versus Jisung's single pitiful paper. It would seem they'd finally caught on to his simple, foolish repeating pattern of throwing rock, rock, scissors, paper, and then paper again.

It didn't take him long to find and purchase the snacks, he knew his friends well enough to know exactly what they'd want without asking. These cold autumn days fell to darkness quite early however, and Jisung shivers as the cold air bites his skin. 

He has only gotten about ten minutes from the convenience store when his leisure stroll back to his house turns into a brisk walk. He begins to feel the prick of anxiety tingle its way up his spine, goosebumps permeate across the tanned skin of his arms, and the hairs on the nape of his neck raise in alarm. 

While his feet move at an increasing pace he turns his head from side to side, glancing cautiously between the alleys and behind him in an attempt to find the source of this sudden unsettling feeling. He feels as though he is being watched, followed perhaps. However, no matter how hard he looks he cannot seem to find the cause.

He attempts to dismiss the feeling, shaking his head and turning to face forward once again. Only to be met with the barrel of a gun being pointed directly at his chest from roughly ten feet away. He immediately freezes, paralyzed in fear. He barely has time to register the presence of the weapon before the masked man goes to pull the trigger. 

The expected pain never comes though; instead a blur of movement his human eyes cannot process moves in front of him, blocking the incoming bullet from reaching him. He feels warm liquid splatter onto his t-shirt, and a woman with otherworldly beauty fills his vision. 

His consciousness seeps out of him in shock and you catch his now limp body in your arms, letting out an exasperated sigh in response while you gently ease him to the ground. You aren't surprised he fainted, and really it is probably a good thing since he wasn't even supposed to see you in the first place. But by hell is it inconvenient.

As you rise from lowering the cute human to the ground, you turn to face the man who put a bullet in your side. You feel an anger unlike any you've ever known as you stare at the man pitifully scrambling, tripping over himself, to get away from you. 

It is not even really that you're mad about the wound. After all while you are bleeding, in a sense anyway, it is isn't exactly a fatal wound for you like it may have been for the human. Still hurts like a bitch, but you'll heal just fine. In a week or so you'll be back to your normal everyday health. And even so while Minho isn't going to be particularly thrilled when he finds out, he'll also be quick to treat it. Whether necessary or not. 

The anger you feel stems more from disgust at the man than anything. A gang member, a pathetic one. He is known for wearing a mask whilst killing random, innocent civilians and stealing their possessions. He even uses the most cowardly of weapons, a gun. How is a mere human ever going to have a chance against a gun? You can think of few things as pathetic as that, if you're to steal you should at least earn your goods. Fist fight for it or perhaps engage in a good old knife duel. Shooting some random defenseless college kid? That's going too far. Not only that but it's pretty stupid, what college student has anything worth stealing anyway?

"Hey Min?" You hear your own soft voice echo through the streets as you walk slowly towards the man crawling backwards on the ground. You make no effort to increase your pace, no human could actually escape you anyway.

"W-Wha-?" You ignore the human as he speaks, assuming you must be talking to him rather than the vampire in your ear piece. 

That very vampire replies almost immediately afterwards. "Yeah? What is it y/n?" His voice attentive and worried as always. 

"I need to run something by you.." You respond thoughtfully. "I had a run-in with a gang member. Tried to kill some cute goofy-looking college boy in the middle of the street till I got in the way." You finally reach the man and push him further to the ground with your foot pressed to his sternum. "I know human vs human isn't typically our area but I couldn't just leave the poor guy to die so I stepped in. Before you freak out, we're both fine. Kid fainted but I need to know what to do with this guy cause he definitely saw me and the whole being a vampire thing."

"Kill him."

You tilt your head coyly, while pressing the heel of your foot slightly into the man's chest. Not reacting as he gasps in pain. "Oh? You sure? Chan might get mad." 

"No honestly he'd probably say the same." You hear the man let out a heavy sigh in your ear. "Near the area you are patrolling I've heard about a pretty rough gang terrorizing some neighborhoods. That's kind of why you were sent there, to look and see if there was any vampire involvement in it but I'm fairly certain it's just some filthy humans."

"That bad?" 

"Oh yeah. Theft, murder, assaults, human trafficking of both women and children, opioid dealings... the list goes on and on. That group's gotten so many people killed I think everyone would agree it needs to be stopped. Vampires or not, this is probably a situation where we should step in." He hums thoughtfully and continues, "Just make sure no evidence of your presence is left behind. The cops have been on their trail for a while now but have failed to actually catch them, I will deal with the gang by pulling some strings to make sure they finally do within the next week. So all you need to do is kill the man, make it look another gang member could have done it and take the kid home... The kid didn't see you right?" 

"Even if he did he probably won't remember it, he fainted immediately. And no one would believe him anyway."

"Good point. If he's a college student he's probably got an ID, so just dig through his bag and send me a quick photo of that when you're done. I'll send you his address. Drop him off at the door, knock, and then leave and come immediately back here. You'll have about reached the end of patrol time by then anyway and I am gonna need your help with my little plan. We also can't risk anyone seeing you with him. You are not to converse with the humans, you will leave the kid at the door for his family or dormmate to deal with. He's not your problem or responsibility, understand?"

"Yes, sir!" You respond with mock enthusiasm, a playful giggle tumbling past your lips while you get up and pull the gang member off the ground by his collar. 

The man whimpers in response and you ignore it again in favor of listening to Minho. "I mean it goofy girl, be careful and get your ass back here when you're done." You can practically hear the smile on his face even as he lectures you with his ever serious tone. 

"I know, I will, Have some gyoza and ramen ready for me when I get back?" You add a pleading lilt to your voice in an attempt to persuade him to feed you; his cooking is magnificent. To die for really. Vampires may not actually need human food to live, but that doesn't mean they don't crave it every now and again. Besides, it goes wonderfully with a thick glass of blood. 

"Whatever you want, princess." Despite the slightly sarcastic tone he uses to hide it, you hear Minho's chair fall to the ground behind him through the ear piece and barely resist a snort as you imagine how he looks darting off immediately to the kitchen. You shake your head, a fond expression on your face as you turn off your mic with your free hand.

"Now, where were we?" You smile in mock sympathy at the man in front of you whilst tapping your chin in fake consideration. "Oh right! Time to die." You don't give the man time to react as you grab a knife from your sock and lodge it into his neck. 

The man sputters in response, grabs at his neck as blood seeps down into his clothes. However there is nothing he can do. His body falls slack to the ground and the life slowly leaves his eyes. 

You don't stop to watch, simply sighing and turning back to the boy laid carefully on the pavement. You reach into his pants pocket to grab his wallet, scoffing and rolling your eyes at the intricate mermaid design on the cover. You take out the ID and snap a shot to Minho, who follows seconds later with the address. How he managed to do that so fast whilst cooking you a meal, you may never know. 

You groan in annoyance before lifting the unconscious college student off the ground, bags and all, to begrudgingly take him to his home. For a grown man, he's fairly light. It also helps that you are a vampire with strength no mortal could compete with.

You use your vampiric speed to get to the address quickly. It's only three blocks away, but you aren't exactly one to dally when Minho gives you orders. Especially when he's got a nice warm meal at home. Not to mention when he sees the gunshot wound he'll probably spend the whole night treating and pampering you. Might even feed you and prepare you a nice warm bath, the sweet man he is. 

It's not as if you expect him to do that but he'll do it even if you try to refuse. It's as if he's completely incapable of not doting on you. And well, that certainly beats carrying some weird guy around town. 

Although he is pretty nice to look at, for a human. 

You gently and silently ease the soft looking nerd against the wall of his house. His white shirt is soaked with your blood and he looks cold. You stare at his face for a few moments, a complicated expression taking over your features before you breathe out a sigh. You settle his bags next to his body and look down at the oversized hoodie tied around your waist. It's surprisingly clean, free of any blood splatter. So you quickly untie it and crouch down in front of the sleeping figure. You cover him snugly into the hoodie before turning to knock loudly on the door. 

However, before anyone can answer you disappear off into the night, back to Minho.

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Taglist: @estella-novella @jisuperboard @feelikecinderella

[weird-homosexual-in-your-area]

Around 7 years into the Fourth War, Stormcell and Forcemesh- the two corporations warring over control of the galaxy- realised that foot soldiers were no longer sufficient, no matter how powerful their weapons may be. After all, a weapon is only as strong as its weakest part, and the weakest part in the soldiers of the First Phase was the soldiers themselves- the weapons were capable of wiping buildings out in a single shot, but the flesh behind them could still be broken with a simple bullet or sword to the neck. Trillions of credits were poured into finding a better way to wage war, into a new status quo of suffering, and it was found in the analogue mech.

A marvel of technology, was the analogue mech. Years ahead of its time, its destructive capabilities were unparalleled by even the largest squadrons of infantry. Its weapons were beyond count, its speed could theoretically surpass even a jet plane, its armour was designed by a true genius- but one fatal flaw held it back. Its code was so complex that no computer could run it without delays. Even on an integrated system built into the mech itself, there could still be as much as a quarter of a second of delay between the pilot pushing the button to fire a weapon, and the rain of hell actually being unleashed on the enemy. Regardless of this flaw, it was still pushed to large-scale production, beginning the Second Phase- the dominance of the clunky, delayed analogue mech, and the anti-mech infantry units designed to counter them.

Time passed- new designs for the analogue mech came into the public eye faster than they could count them, with them being replaced with a better design even faster, and eventually, Doctor ___- a now-nameless doctor, graduating from Terra University with highest honours- had an idea. “It’s said that the brain is the most powerful computer ever devised,” they wrote in the paper they published on the possibility of a new type of technology they’d devised. “Its neurons transmit information with higher density, higher precision, than any circuit board born of silicon. It’s a wonder of nature that it was developed with as few faults as it has in modern life forms. So why, I ask, do we still bother with silicon?”

The paper went into detail about the possibility of using lab-grown brains as processors in machines. It was a fairly inconspicuous paper- revolutionary science, to be sure, but nothing immediately useful to Stormcell or Forcemesh. Until, of course, it mentioned the possibility of using animal brains in lieu of lab-grown ones. It was mentioned in passing, just as a future possibility should lab-grown brains prove unviable for whatever reason, but a mention of the possibility was all that was needed to spark research into how it would be done, and a method was discovered within weeks. A fairly gentle pattern of lights (relatively speaking) that when shown to a human would induce a dissociative state. Would make them docile, easy to control.

Easy to rewrite.

The Blank Pattern, as it came to be called, was useless for the purpose Stormcell and Forcemesh wanted it for on its own. It made the viewer more compliant, to be sure, but no matter how much you tell a human to have themself function as a computer, they won’t- it’s impossible. So what has to be done instead is that they’re stripped of their humanity, until their brain wouldn’t dare to not function as it was told.

A followup to the Blank Pattern was soon discovered, which remains nameless due to its existence being a highly classified secret. This pattern is extremely intense, containing light bursts at frequencies of up to 17.3kHz, and the brain can’t handle it, so it simply breaks. The majority of neural pathways crumble, like buildings in the path of a tsunami, leaving a nearly empty brain if allowed to run to its full course. The very basics of the brain are left intact- the weakest of neurotransmitter receptors, basic motor function, some semblance of sentience, but not of sapience. The viewer can’t be called human anymore- it's been reduced to so much more. It now only has the most basic of functions, just enough to survive, to fight for survival, to fight for dopamine.

What did Stormcell and Forcemesh do with this knowledge? What they assumed the other would be doing. The two companies immediately cut 99% of funding to the analogue mech program, redirecting it all to the new program by the name of “Neural”. Pilots, upon signing up, are shown the Blank Pattern, and urged to sign a wavier forfeiting their rights, their possessions, their humanity, and then put in a chamber where the followup is shown. They lose their uniqueness. All that remains of the person a subject once was is a few of the strongest memories, maybe lovers, parents, phobias, but faces are muddied. They may remember they had a dog, but draw a blank upon trying for its name, breed, age. Without purpose, without fine rewards, they crave the bigger rewards that they remain still sensitive to. This is why they make such good pilots- quite literally nothing feels as good to them as the sheer rush of dopamine a reward drive can give them.

After the unnamed pattern is shown, their rights are gone, so surgeons don’t need to keep up the illusion of informed consent when they install the various ports along their spines to link them to the mechs. After all, they aren’t human anymore- why would they need to be consulted? They undergo weeks of surgery until their backs are lined with ports, like craters in a war zone. All for one simple purpose- the connection between brain and machine that triggered the start of the Third Phase- the dominance of the neural.

And what a beautiful connection it was. When the code for the mechs was loaded into the brain, even physical buttons and levers weren’t needed- pilots could perform finer function than any analogue mech with just a thought. Sure, the link could fry some pilots’ minds, and sure, sometimes desynchronisation could corrupt what little remained of the pilot, turning them into a bloodthirsty monster, but just look at the results! Besides, they signed a wavier that warned them- they clearly wanted this.

With the need for pilots growing more and more as pilots died faster and faster, be it by natural causes, dying in the field, or desync corruption, propaganda from both sides grew even faster. Posters spreading sweet lies of what the front lines were lined every street, every wall, every billboard, not one of them telling the full truth. If the public knew what they were doing, they would begin to question them. The war became all society was- in an ironic turn, the fight to defend society devolved into overwriting society.

Well, the public don’t question them anymore, at least.

[cassyapper]

So I have been going over the stands of the series in my head, trying to see if any of them show even a little of the same amount of sentience that sex pistols have, at first I thought of the Requiem stands, but in Silver chariot requiem acts less like a sentient being more like a machine on autopilot that can't be stopped.

We have more hope with GER, since it canonically can and will withhold information about itself from Giorno (like the infinite death loop)

Hell even Giorno looks at GER like "What the hell did you do???"

But sadly we don't have enough screentime for GER to measure its level of sentience but that's still something and with SCR we know that sentience in stands doesn't come with requiem, ger is just weird /aff

So at this point I was at a loss, the closest I could find to a sentient stands doesn't even reach sex pistols level of sentience WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH STAND HUH MISTA???

BUT BUT

Then I remembered this fucker

Anubis from part 3!!

I mean it being able to still live on after the DEATH of its user (and not be stuck in autopilot mood unlike notorious B.I.G) and then independently following DIO?? (that's so fucking funny to me though, I desperately need to know how the hell did DIO find a sword, found out it's actually a stand possessed sword and let it join his club odjjfjkdfj)

But yeah! Anubis shares the same level of sentience as the sex pistols! I mean we don't know if it likes eating but they can eat if they're possessing a human

That's still pretty huge! So I started to try and link anything between sex pistols and Anubis to see if there're any patterns to what make a stand sentient (besides the mental/soul state of the user)

Now that was pretty hard, but I think they both share attachments to material things in the world

For Anubis, it's literally possessing an actual sword that can help it possess others, the sword is an actual real life sword that can be seen by regular humans, the actual stand is bound to it. Perhaps, and this is just a theory, before the death of its user Anubis could possess any sword and that was simply its power with having its user the one it is bound to, but after the user's death Anubis was now bound to just one sword while being able to live on

Now the pistols don't actually possess anything nor anyone (hell they don't really need guns nor bullets since they can use anything small enough to make into projectiles they can control) but it is the easiest for them to use (both for Mista and sex pistols) so I could see them grow an attachment to the revolver

Ofc not anything as extreme as Anubis

That's why I firmly believe that the sex pistols could be an independent stand and that they would still be alive even if Mista dies (which is pretty fuckin sad oh god)

(that also explains how the hell five was able to stop Prosciutto's shots to Mista's head in the grateful dead arc even though I'm pretty sure Mista was barely conscious)

holy shit ur spitting here dude. oh my god i never would have even thought of anubis but ur so right. ur so so right

the only other stands that i think come close to sex pistols in terms of sentience, even if not independence, might be spice girls (can talk and converse w trish even if she cant guide her/make independent decisions) and echoes (particularly act 3 but again, he's not independent like the sex pistols are) but honestly ur absolutely absolutely absolutely spot on with the anubis comparison for the independence AND sentience aspect. like holy shit. the thought of them living on as a revolver's bullets after mista dies... oh that's so sad but there's a lot of potential there me thinks if anyone wanted to make a jojo oc or fan part

but honestly other than that i have nothing to add like this genius