#no flying away unprompted

[fogdraws]

Wings and Castiel bcuz I can

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

never have i been so entirely exhausted from sitting in front of a laptop in a dark room for three hours gay! and so full of delight and happiness! like wow! i have not felt this good in ages!! and its a good kind of tired! i feel like im glowing!

but shit, the update is more than i could've dreamed of. like i said - three straight hours of combing, and i probably still missed a thing or two! i'm even saving the storytime audio to enjoy in the morning, i haven't listened to it yet!

i already have so many thoughts and emotions but i'm... so wiped out oh my god lmao. so much new stuff at once! i need to sleep on it all! and in the morning i will be more than happy to reply, interact, answer asks on this subject, share my actual thoughts - i just need to take the rest of the night to Process and rest, yk yk

and i know i "missed" some links on my liveblog! i know i know! i didn't add every single thing i found - like most of the Wally audios - because i'll be compiling them all into a labeled post tomorrow! when i wake up! i'm already looking forward to it <3 i'm confident i personally found all of them, though! i was Thorough! i went through everything at least twice, i tabbed through, i clicked on Everything...

but yes i hope you all are having a wonderful Update Day/Evening/Morning/Afternoon As The Case May Be. this is truly a delight and again, more than i could've dreamed of. i'd forgotten what it's like to be so wholly excited and delighted by something! it's been so long since i've felt this kind of genuine joy and whimsy! usually im white-knuckling my optimism and happiness but tonight it was all authentic 100% non-forced From The Soul!

[shiroi---kumo]

Anonymous asked:

Can Shiori Kumo fight Goku and win

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ "I do not know who this Goku is but I am also not about to stand here and be over confident in my abilities. I, however, will be practical and say most likely due to my ability to rapidly heal from most injuries, and revive from any death without the help of any outside force.

You do realize what I am, do you not stranger? I am a God. I am the divine force of Salvation itself manifested into a body of flesh. If I were to engage in a warrior of power equal to my own, it would generate the power needed to destroy the world. So if this Goku is strong then I don't really wish to fight him.

I don't really wish to fight him anyway unless he's aiding Chaos and somehow there's something telling me that he isn't."

[katsukistofu]

i a-door you

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. fluff. cursing. food. minor unintentional violence. ⭑ bakugo hits on you. literally.

You’re minding your business, book bag slung across your shoulder, and about to walk through the door to 2A’s classroom when something smacks you in the face.

Not only unprompted, but hard.

“Ow!”

It happens so quickly that you don’t remember squeezing your eyes shut as you stumble backwards, both hands flying to clutch your forehead.

Opening your eyes, you swear you can already feel the spot starting to bruise. The previously closed door to the classroom stood ajar and as the cherry on top of the concussion you just received, someone roughly brushes past you.

Fucking asshole.

You whip around, head still throbbing, about to give whoever it is a peace of your mind and finally speak above an inside voice for the first time since a robot almost fell on you during entrance exams semesters ago, when your teary eyes are met with crimson red ones.

He turns his head to give you a once over and your body freezes as his eyes linger a little longer on the darkening mark where the door got you. Something similar to amusement tugs at his lips.

“Pretty cute.”

You blink, dumbfounded as he casually turns on his heel to walk away.

What. The hell.

Did you literally just get hit on by Bakugo freaking Katsuki.

The identical dropped jaws of your classmates that were visible from inside the open doorway confirmed that what just happened was not in fact a post-traumatic induced hallucination, with Midoriya looking the most gobsmacked, his eyes almost comically bulging out of his skull, and upon glancing at Mina, who quickly gets over her initial shock to grin and shoot you a double thumbs up, she excitedly mouths ‘i told you so,’  and you’re not sure whether to laugh or to cry.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀:¨ ·.· ¨: ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . ꔫ

The next day, you’re sporting a fresh, new bandaid on your forehead. It was quite a fashion statement, if you do say so yourself.

It was also the last one at the nurse’s so you were pretty happy to nab it, apparently being the brand that everyone chose when they too got their respective boo-boos.

The latte Mina and the girls brought back from your favorite cafe sat on the wooden coffee table in the common area, still steaming. You refused to go out with a huge bruise marring your appearance, even with the bandaid covering the most of it, and you would take the fullest advantage of the injured person princess treatment while it lasted.

All while awkwardly avoiding a certain blond.

Now that you’re thinking about it, he’s honestly always been kind of nice to you, in his own weird way.

Like when you were forced to ask if you could borrow his eraser, because apparently no one else in the class carried one. Imagine saving Japan your first year of highschool and only writing in pen, even for calculus. Is this what the future generation has come to?

After breathlessly rushing the words out in a hushed voice and wondering if he heard you at all, Bakugo doesn’t even turn around from where he’s resting his chin on his hand listening to Present Mic’s enthusiastic lecture on subject-verb agreement, as he reaches an arm behind him to drop it on your desk.

You’re not sure if you remembered to say “your” before “eraser,” so all he probably heard was “can I borrow eraser?” and it still haunts you to this day.

Shaking the thoughts of him from your mind, you flip your history textbook open to page three hundred and ninety four, ‘A Comprehensive Timeline of Quirk Generations.’ You’re attempting to study for your next upcoming quiz in Midnight’s class.

Key word: attempting.

A delicious smell was starting to waft your way from the kitchen across the room, and now you were kind of hungry. You could feel your attention waning and shook your head, the image of your most recent report card filled with straight As sobering you up. Food could come later, right now you had to focus.

Just twenty more minutes of review, then I'll eat.

Bakugo’s placing the breakfast he easily finished whipping up on the counter. As he uses a spatula to gently coax the fluffy soufflé pancakes out of the pan, he notices the familiar petals of your favorite flower decorating the ceramic he’s putting them on.

It was from a tableware set he picked out when everyone first moved into the dorms. Glasses had assigned everyone groceries among various other things to go shopping for in small groups, and he was paired up with Ponytail to go buy plates.

They were browsing the shelves of a local Daiso store filled with colorful, adorably decorated dishes and rice bowls, when he stopped in front of a price tag, eyes dragging up to study the item it belonged to. The details on it were intricate, and breathtakingly so.

It reminded him of how he felt whenever he looked at you.

Ponytail follows his gaze, and her own eyes brighten.

“Oh, it’s decorated with the favorite flower of–!”

“I know.” He cuts her off, glaring at the floral box set of bowls and plates, before carefully putting it in their cart.

Momo’s eyes widen a bit, before a small, knowing smile spreads across her lips and Bakugo curses at her perceptiveness.

He almost wished he was paired up with that icy-hot bastard instead, who was so oblivious that if you dangled a confession letter in front of him he would have thought you wanted him to proofread it for you.

That was a while ago now, and everyone’s been happily eating meals on the plates they bought ever since.

He tops off the pancakes with a handful of fresh berries and a drizzle of honey, and slides it next to a steaming plate of a kimchi omelette with a zigzag of sriracha sauce already on the counter.

From where he stands, he snorts at your bandaid, noticing the obnoxious amount of Hello Kitty’s plastered all around it. Out of all the bandaids from Recovery Girl’s collection that she kept in her office, of course you would pick the cutest fucking one.

It was undoubtedly something you would like, he thinks, begrudging in his fondness. It was so you.

“Get your ass over here.”

You jump in your spot on the couch at the loud volume of his voice, though it sounded a bit softer than usual. With a finger pointing to yourself, you raise your head in confusion. “Me….?”

Was this about yesterday? Oh my god, was he mad?

You’re not sure why he would be, since he’s not the one that got bitch-slapped in the face by a giant door.

“I don't see anyone else I'd be talking to.” Bakugo scoffs.

He's right, to your increasing dread. The entire common area is completely empty, and you have no choice but to comply with his request.

You’re still nervously fiddling with the edge of your hoodie sleeve, the usual comfort of its softness abandoning you as you approach the kitchen to find him standing at a seat near the counter, arms folded. It hasn’t even been a minute in the same proximity as him and his presence is kind of overwhelming you already.

You’re trying so hard not to stare at his biceps. And just him in general.

“Sit.” he commands, the sound of the metal stool echoing against his hand as he pats it.

You obediently sit down, cursing your lack of a backbone. But his tone didn’t sound like he was planning to take no for an answer, anyway.

“Eat.”

He jabs a thumb at the plate of warm, sweet smelling cloud-like goodness in front of you. You stare at him, wide-eyed.

“This is for me?”

“Huh. You’re slower than I thought you were.” He rolls his eyes and starts to dig into his own plate of omelette in front of him, taking a seat on the stool across from you. It looked good too, as expected. “You’re welcome or whatever.”

With his aggressive blessing and after throwing a quiet but extremely grateful ‘thank you for the meal’ his way, you start to eat.

Your face lights up in joy as the divine taste of spongy goodness and honey spreads across your tongue, and you silently praise his mom for giving birth to the next Gordon Ramsay.

He flicks your forehead as you’re mid-bite in pancake and you yelp in surprise, raising your head to glare at his handsome face. What now? And did he have to be as infuriating as he was good-looking?

That crimson gaze once again stares you down, barely contained amusement dancing in embers of the hot coals of his eyes, and your skin grows warm as you realize you said that last part out loud.

You’re about to give into the urge to run away and take the plate of half-finished pancakes with you when he gruffly speaks up.

“You can’t retain information unless you have something in your stomach, idiot.”

You nod, mouth full, and make a mental note to study on an empty tummy away from him in the future. It’s like he reads your mind because you wince as he scowls, flicking your head again, although a little more gently this time.

Taking care to do it in a spot away from the bandaid covering the injury that he caused, your brain points out.

The both of you continue to eat in comfortable silence.

After a while, your plates are nearly clean.

You smile a little, realizing that you were eating on your favorite plate in the dorm’s kitchen the whole time, and admire the petals of your beloved flowers delicately painted in the center and outer edges of the stark white dish, with the pancakes no longer covering them.

Bakugo notices this, as you softly begin to trace the rim with your finger, and fights the twitch of his lips that threatened to curl upwards.

He’s also noticed those little glances you think you’ve been discreetly throwing his way between the bites of pancake, which you nearly inhaled to his pride.

You could almost be as quiet as that rock-faced animal whisperer of a classmate you both had, but you’ve always sucked at being subtle.

Good thing he hates subtle things.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks as you start to slide off the tall stool, a hint of smirk in his voice. It was cute, how you think you could run away from him so easily. You stop in your tracks, blinking at him as he rises from his own seat.

Strong, toned arms that you totally haven’t been staring at for the past half hour are slowly placed on both sides of you, caging you against the counter. An embarrassing noise escapes from your lips, and the cold granite bites into your back as you lean away, doing anything to avoid his gaze.

“Look at me.”

He rolls his eyes as you continue to look to the side, suddenly finding the chibi magnets of various high ranking heroes on the fridge to be very interesting.

“I said,” he grabs your chin in his hand, which was so big compared to your face that he could squish your cheeks between his ring finger and thumb, “look at me.

You huff, now forcefully held in place to face him against your will. “I’m looking.”

“Good.”

He leans down and his lips graze your ear, seeming to take great pleasure in only further adding to your embarrassment when he mutters:

“And don’t stand so fucking close to the door next time.”

not bakugo pulling the classic asian parent move and giving u food instead of a proper apology LOLL

[luveline]

maybe hotch and reader are expecting a little bambino and nobody else knows until someone points out reader's belly? (i feel like it'd be absolutely hilarious if it was spencer that pointed it out 💀💀)

thank u for ur request! fem!pregnant!reader

"Can I ask you something?" Spencer asks.

You smile at him gently. "Always, Spence." 

He seems cagey despite your assurance, lowering his voice and stepping closer to you. "Do you think maybe you need more fibre in your diet?"

You've been friends, best friends, with Spencer for so long you genuinely can't remember a time in your life where you didn't love him, but you have no idea what to say to that. It's the weirdest thing he's ever said unprompted. That's saying something. 

"Is there… a reason that you're asking me?" 

"There's three," he says. He waits for you to nod before laying them out. "For a few weeks now you've been more tired than usual. You're hungry all the time, and your stomach is bloated. I know that can feel painful, you could eat a handful of chia seeds in the morning and it would help." 

You feel like someone's dropped an ice cube down the back of your t-shirt. Disarmed, you turn to Hotch where he's standing at the whiteboard, your hand moving automatically to your stomach. He gives you a similarly perturbed look. Derek's head shoots up at the list of symptoms, and Emily covers her mouth at your protective hand where it's poised. Fucking profilers.

"I've actually been taking vitamins," you say, wondering if you can still save it.  

Emily is the first to break. "Wait, are you–?" She doesn't let herself finish. 

Spencer shakes his head, brown curls bouncing at the base of his neck. "What?" he asks, his lips twisting into a trademark pout. 

"Spence," you murmur, taking his wrists into your hands. "I want you to know that I was going to tell you first. This weekend, genuinely. I didn't think you'd notice so soon, is all."  

He looks at Hotch, then you, then Hotch again. You press your lips together. "Please don't be upset," you say. 

It clicks. There and then, you witness the cogs turning. "You're pregnant?" he asks breathlessly. 

"On purpose," you joke. 

Spencer tackles you. His arms fly around your waist, a tight, brotherly squeeze of a hug that makes you feel like you're gonna burst. "You're kidding!" 

You're barraged by hugs. Emily, Derek, JJ. Rossi shakes Hotch's hand and pats his back in congratulations, which is so old-man style you find yourself laughing under JJ's arm. "How do you know it's his?" you ask Rossi. 

Hotch laughs as Derek moves in for a similar bro-hug, nothing but love in his eyes as he smiles at you from over Derek's shoulder. You smile back, amazed and ecstatic at their happy reactions, until Spencer forces JJ aside with more gusto than he likely should to hug you again. You're blinded by his wild hair. 

"I don't think you can fix this with a cup of chia seeds," Derek says. 

"We couldn't be happier," Hotch assures him. 

"On purpose, huh? When were you going to tell us?" Emily asks, her face a picture of surprise, a hint of disappointment in her thin brows. "I had no idea you wanted another one!" 

"Jack wants a brother," Hotch says. "You know she can't say no to him. And he's perfect–" 

"But there's nothing wrong with wanting more," Rossi finishes, his eyes gleaming. 

"I thought it might be a little awkward to emphasise that we were trying," you say, patting Spencer's shoulders. 

Emily winces. "Gotcha." 

"Let's see the bump, mama," Derek says. 

You step back from Spencer's side to turn, holding your shirt flat to the underside of your baby bump. It got bigger quicker than you thought it would, and now that it's been pointed out, it's obvious. 

Derek shakes his head in disbelief. "That's–" 

"Amazing," Hotch says. You beam at him. 

There's a second round of hugs. Delight thrums in the air like a charge, laughter buoyant. Hotch parts the sea of excitement to kiss your cheek and hug your shoulder proudly, turning his head away from everyone. You know what he's thinking —this is going to be a really special time for you both. Your team will make sure of it.

"Um?" Penelope asks, elbowing open the door with a weighty laptop in her hands. "Did I miss something?" 

Penelope, predictably, screams down the house at the presenting of your bump. Then she cries, and for a while you're all unashamedly teary-eyed. 

[sundrop-writes]

if ur taking requests then how about female reader being a bau member and is receiving unwanted attention from the local cops but she cant pick up on social cues very well so it’s extra stressful for her to naviagte

Then enter protective and somewhat jealous jj that tries to protect her and shows her what true love and respect is with soft softdom!jj

I really like this, but I like the idea of it more as a short then a full fic, so... here we go.

JJ Being Protective of You - (Jennifer Jareau x Fem!Autistic!Reader)

Warnings: some harassing behaviour from a random male cop towards the reader; the man uses condescending pet names toward the reader; JJ goes full boss mode; use of the term L/N (as in 'Last Name') to refer to the reader; she reader uses she/her pronouns; the reader experiences a small accidental injury; pre-established relationship. Idk what else. Not proofread.

Paperwork. This is where you thrived. Much like Spencer, you loved a good paper trail.

You were currently in the back room of the police station, going through their old case files, looking at every case from the last forty years that had yet to be digitised. You were looking for previous murders that matched the signature of the killer the team was currently after, since the working theory was that the UnSub had 'taken on' the work of his father or another older figure in his life.

So you had to dig through all the files of unsolved murders and see if you could find a pattern stemming back - to see if you could find more killings that this father might have committed.

It was stuffy and dusty in the file room, but you were finding it to be the kind of work that you did best - your brain churning on all cylinders as you looked through the many files for all the markers in the killings that would have aligned with his killer. You put some files aside and closed the lid on a box, and then moved to a new stack, going to take down a box from 1973 - it was rather heavy and awkward to lift, but you could manage it.

"Oh, little lady, let me help you with that,"

Suddenly, someone appeared beside you, as if out of nowhere, and a second pair of hands began tugging on the box.

"I got it." You grunted out, tugging the box back in your direction, trying to get a better grip on it.

"Trust me, doll, someone like you shouldn't be lugging this crap around on your own." The man's voice argued, becoming slightly strained - angry?

Was he frustrated because it was too heavy for him to lift? Did he feel like he had to help because you looked weak and he was frustrated because of the social obligation?

"It's fine." You assured him, tugging on it again. But - he still wouldn't let go. "I'm stronger than I look, trust me."

That was something that Emily and Derek often joked about. You had used a shovel to break a double welded chain in order to get into a basement when a child was in danger. The police had been arguing about getting a warrant and talking about how they would need heavy duty bolt cutters to get through the chain away, and you were down there in minutes - and from then on, the team all agreed not to mess with you. Especially not in an emergency.

"Sweetie, just let go of it-"

His grip slipped off the box, and it went flying in the opposite direction then, and one of the sharp corners smacked you on the head - a piercing pain went through your whole forehead and and papers came flying out of the box, spilling across the floor and fluttering everywhere.

"Oh my god, ow!" You exclaimed loudly, stepping backward, raising a hand to your forehead toward the throbbing pain. You were alarmed when you felt wetness, and you quickly drew your fingers back and saw blood.

"Oh, goodness. I'm sorry, darlin'." The man appeared in front of you, and soon, completely unprompted, he put his hands on both of your cheeks, trying to lift your head to better inspect the cut. "See, that's why you shouldn't-"

"Don't touch me!" You screamed, reaching up inside of his forearms to shove his hands off you. Your skin was crawling with a terrible, icky itch where his hands had been touching you.

He became slack-jawed with shock at this.

"There's no need to shout." He chuckled. "Calm down."

"Ugh, no!" You shouted back.

You were suddenly feeling terribly trapped in the small, stuffy, dusty room, and though you knew that the papers needed to be cleaned up and you needed to finish your fishing expedition for the trail of murders - you had to leave. You needed air.

You needed JJ.

You shoved past the man and your feet carried you as fast as you could go, frantically looking for that head of blonde hair.

"Listen, babydoll, just calm down-"

"Woah, woah, her name is not babydoll."

That voice. Your hero.

You blinked past a haze if tears you hadn't even noticed was forming, and saw the pale blue shirt and blonde hair that you knew was her - you ran to stand behind her, grabbing her hand tightly, which she gripped back, grounding you, letting you know that she was right there.

"I'm not sure what kind of slack operation you people run around here, but we are professionals. You are going to refer to her by her full title, Special Agent L/N - or you won't talk to her at all. You won't even look at her. Do you understand me?" JJ barked at him.

The pure authority dripping from her voice made you feel so utterly safe.

"Listen, m'am, I'm not sure-"

"It's not 'm'am', it's Agent." JJ corrected him, now straining through her teeth, absolutely seething. "We are here representing the FBI, trying to catch a very dangerous man to help keep your town safe. We're not just little secretaries skittering around to get you your coffee and clean up after you. Just because we're women, we're not here to wipe your ass!"

You heard a chuckle from behind you, and you thought it was Emily's voice. This was followed by a low whistle - probably Derek.

"Is that clear?" JJ finished off, daring the man to talk back to her.

The man sighed and turned around to leave, finally defeated. This is when JJ turned to you.

"Are you okay?" She asked, her voice much softer now. "Oh my god, what happened to your head?"

"There was... a box..." You mumbled quietly, still feeling shaken up.

"He hit you with a box?" JJ snapped, looking back in the direction he had walked off.

"JJ, please." You begged, quietly, squeezing her hand, directing her attention back to you.

She knew what her priority was right now.

"Come on,"

JJ walked you to the bathroom, and as she was cleaning up the cut with a damp paper towel, she was still huffing hard through her nose, the anger still pumping through her.

"I'm going to find that guy's supervisor, I'm going to put in a report about him, I'm going to-"

"It's okay, JJ." You said, reaching out to run a gentle hand along her lower back. "I'm pretty sure he's not gonna come near me again after what you said."

She let out a snort of laughter, and half her mouth upturned in a smile. You both knew that she could be incredibly intimidating despite her looks, and she always protected you - just one of the many things that had attracted you to her in the first place.

"Yeah, well... nobody comes near my girl and gets away with it."

[shy-writer-999]

Surrender: Ace cries at night and you comfort him

A/N: This is angst that turns into lovey-dovey stuff. SFW. CW for self-loathing (on Ace's side). ~1,250 words. (´ω｀*)

Surrender: Ace cries at night while you comfort him

Sometimes Ace engages with the deep pit of loneliness and self-loathing that festers inside of him. He tries to avoid it as much as he can, but that part of him can only be ignored for so long until it demands to be heard. In the visceral moments of reconciliation with that neglected part of himself, Ace has to surrender. He has to allow himself to feel and accept the open wounds still gaping inside of him—the wounds in his heart, in his core, in that pit of despair and unimaginable solitude.

There are certain memories of hurt and trauma in your past that you can never forget. Even if these moments are from decades ago, they can sting and haunt you just the same. They flash into the mind, unprompted, intrusive, glaring, and horrible. On a good day, those memories fly under the radar for Ace. They don’t get in the way of how intensely and relentlessly he loves people, nor do they obstruct the happiness he feels in the small moments of joy that every day brings.

When the memories finally surface, when they refuse to go away, not only does Ace have to surrender, but more often than not, he breaks. These days, it’s rare. To be clear, Ace is not broken; the sheer weight of the hurt that he quietly suffers can just get to him. It’s like a watershed—the second that he has to surrender, his repressed emotions and memories detonate like a bomb in his heart. Surrendering to the pain, surrendering to that festering pit, sometimes looks like curling up in fetal position and sobbing for however long he needs; historically, it’s been anywhere from 10 minutes to a couple of hours. Other times that he breaks he is despondent all day—he shuts down, and though there are no tears, the pain is just as torturous.

Since you had started seeing Ace and regularly sharing a bed with him, you had yet to witness one of these moments of surrender. Ace was a force to be reckoned with. He was strong, formidable, talented, and terrifying, yet at the same time he was charming, polite, and astonishingly kind. You had a baseline understanding of what he’d been through in his life and who he was, so you understood that he held pain in his heart. But understanding that fact was different than witnessing that pain in real time.

When you woke up to Ace crying next to you, his back was turned away from you. You realized that he was sobbing as quietly as he could. You could hear the sound of his breath hitching in between the waves of anguish and tears. He was trying to hold as still as he could, be as quiet and as small as possible, so he wouldn’t wake you up. He preferred to suffer these moments of anguish alone—he didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. He shouldered too much, far more than any one person should or could deal with. As the shuddering sobs wracked his body, his heart and core twisted. The watershed of grief had started, and it wouldn’t stop until it all came out.

When you watch someone that you love sob like that, it breaks something in you, too.

For someone to be so vulnerable, so sincere, showing you a part of themselves that they keep locked away… it is nothing to take lightly. Having the privilege of being close to someone like this is precious. It is invaluable. To be trusted completely and without refrain, to be recognized for who you are and to recognize someone for who they are, completely, through thick and thin… this is what love is about.

You stirred and Ace held his breath, worried that he had disturbed your sleep with his break down. No matter how still or soundless he tried to be, the hot tears streaming from his eyes refused to stop.

You shifted, facing his back and scooting closer so you were spooning him. Ace tried to slow down his gasps for air to feign like he had been asleep.

Not only was he worried about being a burden, but he was worried that you would look at his pain and refuse to recognize it—that you would scorn him. As he tried (and failed) to self-regulate, he felt you lean forward to kiss the back of his head. You threw an arm over him, holding him, letting him know that he was cherished here. You nuzzled into his neck and felt his body alongside yours.

“I’m here, Ace. And you are safe.” You spoke gently into the back of his neck.

Upon hearing your recognition and reassurance, Ace fully yielded to the explosion of emotions assailing him—he let himself feel the hatred for himself and for others, let himself feel the suffocating loneliness of his solitude and isolation, let himself feel the desperate need to be loved and assured constantly. He surrendered.

Ace sobbed for a long time. The safety he discovered while you comforted him was beyond anything he knew. Your love radiated on the pit of sadness and despair, managing to lift Ace out of what felt like a molten, toxic, and boiling lake of self-hatred and sorrow.

While he cried, you kissed his neck, shoulder, and the back of his head softly. You held him. You asked for nothing from Ace. You didn’t come from a place of wanting to “fix” him or to figure out exactly what he was upset about—you were there because you profoundly, truly, ardently loved him. You were safe, you understood, you did not judge. He could grieve as much as he needed to and you would be there, always.

When his breath slowed and the tears stopped rolling down his cheeks, Ace felt calm, clear headed. He turned over to face you, getting so close that your foreheads were almost touching. His cheeks were soaked with tears, his eyes were red, and his hair was a mess. He took one of your hands tenderly and entwined his fingers with yours. He spoke three words, his voice hushed and hoarse.

“I love you.”

Ace kissed your forehead softly, his lips still wet from the paths forged by tears down his skin; he peppered the rest of your face with soft, damp kisses. He couldn’t put into words how grateful he was for you or how significant and impactful your care was to him. He didn’t say anything because he knew that you were already aware. This moment didn’t need words.

You fell asleep nestled together, hands held. The love you felt for Ace and the love he felt for you was the same—it was a peaceful acceptance, an attunement, a harmony, and a burning flame.

After this night, anytime Ace felt like he was going under, like he was about to be swallowed by that excruciating weight on his shoulder, he knew that he could find solace in you. You were an anchor for him, as he was for you. You recognized all parts of him and loved each one; he told you about all of the mistakes he had made, the people he had wronged, the regretful and hurtful memories simmering, and you told him that every mistake he ever made led him here—you both agreed that you’d never have it any other way.

(◕︿◕✿) (>_<) ૮ ˙ ﻌ˙ ა

thank you so much for reading, i appreciate it so much!

here's my masterlist if you're interested!

-- Z

[bowenoke]

had a realization getting dressed today. up til this moment i have kind of figured the gender nonconformity was assumed to be part of the butch thing by most of my coworkers. despite

new coworker staring extremely unsubtly as i wrote down my pronouns for a meeting (sorry tumblr, im any/all irl and sometimes that means saying she/her so i have somewhere to pee)

someone on my direct team sending one of the few trans guys i work with to come into my office for some papers and coincidentally he also spent 2 hours telling me about how rewarding it's been to come out + how great our coworkers are about creating a hostile environment for anyone who misgenders him even accidentally

multiple people telling me unprompted about the one gender neutral bathroom in the entire building (the entire reason i have not been coming out, its very far away)

the same coworker from the pronouns asking me directly if i was transgender last week

like im not really sure how i thought i was flying under the radar until this moment. like in context being asked if i was transgender felt like the natural progression of a conversation but now it seems more like one of those "not everyone wants to be a boy/girl/neither." like "if your coworkers are directly asking you if you're transgender you're probably not being very subtle about it."

anyways changed my pronouns on slack today :) now i'll have to walk across the building to the bathroom :')

[sarabethsilver]

An excellent post by @not-with-you-but-of-you got me thinking:

GIF by not-with-you-but-of-you

Rory's wearing the coat she wore to Honor's wedding. The same coat she gives to Doyle as she's struggling with whether or not Logan technically cheated on her. Is she having the same kinds of thoughts now?

Lorelai IMMEDIATELY assumes something is ongoing with Jess. It's not "I didn't know you saw Jess" or "I didn't know you went to Philadelphia." It's "I didn't know you were seeing Jess."

Jess and Rory are officially friends now!

Except Rory can't even look at Lorelai while she's saying it.

Rory lies, unprompted, about kissing Jess ("I swear, nothing happened there").

It's so striking that Rory never discusses this kiss with anyone. She doesn't tell Logan, she doesn't tell Lane, she specifically lies to Lorelai. There's zero indication that she even thinks about telling Logan; no meaningful pause or guilty look for the audience to interpret. It's just... gone. She shoves this kiss so far down that she wants to pretend it didn't even happen.

And I think the only reason she can do this is because Jess isn't anywhere in her vicinity. We see in S3 that Rory instantly falls apart once she's standing 20 feet away from Jess; the secret comes flying out of her mouth and she tells Lorelai they kissed.

In my version of S7, Rory sees Jess by happenstance and just... flies apart. All her feelings come rushing back, she's tripping over her words to apologize, it's a big mess, and she can no longer deny her obvious connection to him. And where does that leave Logan? Now THAT'S the S7 drama I would have loved to see!

[heliosthegriffin]

"So, who's the most dangerous member of team JNPR?" Yang asked the table unprompted, the rest of her team looking up from their food.

"Hmm, Pyrrha." Weiss said with little thought. "Perfect form, incredible strength and reflexes, she is definitely their ace in the hole."

"Really?" Yang held her stomach. "Nora's stronger, and her energy she brings to a fight is something else,"

Blake was silent in thought for a moment. "The question isn't who's strongest, or skilled, though. Pyrrha is their best fighter, but Nora is the physically strongest, but remember, the element of surprise and intelligence are just as deciding a factor in a fight. Ren's not as good a fighter, or as strong, but his mobility and aura control mixed with his ruthlessness, I think make him more dangerous."

"Elaborate." Weiss stated.

"Well, Nora is strong and energetic, but she's always going to come at you head on, so it's easy to counter her, if you don't fight her on her terms. Pyrrha better about that, but she's very civil, so she's not going to fight you outside of arena, unless you start it. Ren though? I can see him slitting someone's throat."

The rest of the table stared at her blankly.

"Nah, it's Jaune." Ruby said after a beat, drinking some milk.

"What?" Weiss said flatly. "You must be kidding. He's by far the least skilled, weakest, and most disgra-"

"Ok that's enough, princess." Yang cut her off. "But, she's got a point, Ruby."

Ruby shrugged. "Yeah, that's true, but-" She took a drink of milk. "What's Jaune's fighting style?"

Weiss huffed. "Simple, it's nothing, he doesn't have one."

"Yeah, it's kind of random style."

Blake thought for a moment, seeing a flash of triumph in Ruby's eyes. "Oh, that's your point."

Ruby gave finger guns at the cat-girl. "Exactly! You asked who's the most dangerous! It's Jaune, because, how you going to fight someone who doesn't know what he's going to do next?"

"What?" Yang and Weiss asked simultaneously.

Blake nodded along. "She's got a point, how are you going to react to someone who doesn't know what even he's going to do next?"

"Plus, have you ever been hit by him?" Ruby added, with no one stepping up to the plate. "His skill and style might not be great, but his strength is incredible, and his durability, endurance, and staying power are unmatched if you ask me."

"She's right, you know." A new voice interjected, all of team RWBY turning to face the sudden newcomer.

"Ren? Since when did you get here?" Yang asked.

"Since the beginning," He said simply, sipping from a juice box. "But, it's definitely, Jaune." His eyes became distant and foggy. "Always has been."

"Uh, you ok, buddy?" Yang putting a hand on his shoulder.

Ren went back to normal. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, the look of trauma on your face, just kind of,-"

"Don't ever get locked in a food-pantry with Jaune, there's no telling what he'll do, because even he doesn't know."

"How did that even occur?" Weiss asked. "Why were you two even-"

"Nora."

"Oh."

"Well, it's not like we ever have to worry about that."

====

"Jaune Arc, you're under arrest for suspicion of forgery to enter Beacon !" Harriet Bree stormed over to the blonde as he was stocking a shelf inside one of Beacons's storage closets. With a sound of confusion and a hand of tomato soup, he turned and let go, screaming.

Harriet, moving at full speed, had no chance to stop, as she knocked away the can of soup, only for another to fall at her feet, as Jaune dropped armfuls of soup to the ground. Harriet, going at full momentum, crushed the metal can underfoot, spraying it all over herself.

"Ah! Gross!" She wailed, still charging forward, only to step on another can and slip, flying up into the air and knock Jaune over. Jaune groaned as she knocked into him, recovering quick she mounted his chest, ready to knock him out.

Jaune reaching wildly, grabbed a shaker of pepper, slamming it into her face. Harriet felt her eyes water and nose sting, as she recoiled back, letting Jaune push her off of him, running for the door, Harriet behind him.

Flailing wildly, Jaune grabbed a broom, swinging it wildly around with knocking rows of preserved goods off the shelves and onto the floor, Harriet taking a wrong step trying to dodge the flailing, stepping into a puddle of oil from a broken bottle, sliding forward, right into Jaune's wild strikes.

Harriet felt her head ring and vision swim, then another swing connected, knocking her back and into a row of shelves. She went straight through it, and the shelves falling straight onto her with a groan, the sound of clanging metal and falling supplies consuming the room, as Jaune fled out the door, turning off the lights and locking the door behind him.

---

AN: Felt like writing some goofiness.

[hom3landr]

Dark Chocolate

18+

Homelander’s interest in you is evolving into a full blown crush and he’s not quite sure what to do about it.

Prev. 1 2

You’re a little less timid now, forward in an innocent way. When you see him you don’t wait. He’s grown used to you lightly tapping him on the arm or shoulder to get his attention. He likes how earnest you are. You don’t notice the nervous stares from people whenever you come up to him unprompted. That’s the curious thing about you. You’re bold when you should be scared but your nervous disposition has your heart pounding any time he starts to tease. It’s cute and it’s why he’s willing to take his time instead of pouncing every time you walk up with that sweet grin on your face.

It’s been weeks now since you brought him those cookies and while it’s not an everyday thing, he’s grown quite used to being spoiled by your talents. You ask him questions about his likes and dislikes as though you actually care. You ask for his opinions. He’s waiting for the catch, waiting for the day you reveal that your little game is just another farce.

He waits in the conference room, eyes facing the sky with his hands behind his back. He rocks slightly on his heels, feeling jittery and impatient. He’s been feeling restless lately. There are things he merely endured previously that are starting to rub him raw. He can hear your every footstep through the building as he traces your path from the entrance all the way up to 99. His stomach flutters at the ding of the elevator and he unconsciously straightens his shoulders. He deserves this today. He deserves you.

You’re humming as you approach the conference room and whatever you have for him, it’s chocolate. His mouth waters and it takes everything he has not to move, not to turn around so he can see the way your eyes light up when you see him. He hears you mutter a little yay when you see him and oh how it makes something in his chest ache. He stays still. He wants to make you work for it so you’ll have no choice but to reach for him first. When he feels the light touch of your hand on his shoulder, he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

He turns and there you are, a thick folder full of paperwork stuffed awkwardly under one arm so you could tap him and hold the package at the same time. Your cheeks are warm but your eyes are warmer. You’re so fucking nice, and it makes him want to howl and bite, makes him want to dig and dig at you until you prove you’re like everyone else, makes him want to find out if your blood is just as sweet as you are. But then you smile at him and all he can think about is how it’s just the tiniest bit lopsided in a way that makes you feel more real than any of the corporate suckups that fill his day to day interactions.

You lift your arm to drop the files onto the meeting table and Homelander is genuinely surprised when they manage to stay in the folder instead of flying all over the room. You place the package on the table as well. You’re practically vibrating and he can tell that something today has you excited.

“You’re my guinea pig today!” You laugh and oh how it smarts . Because that’s not new, is it?

You open the package to reveal a slice of chocolate cake. He looks at it skeptically, previous enthusiasm dampened a bit. He feels sullen and his skin itches under his suit from the way the unassuming comment rubbed him briefly raw. A petty jab sits on his tongue as you hand him a fork. He’d have unleashed it too if you hadn’t started chattering away and distracting him.

“Since my last cake was a bit of a bust,” You shrug, “I thought I’d tweak the recipe to see if you think it improves it.”

Homelander wouldn’t have called it a bust , per se. It was probably the first thing you’ve made that he didn’t like but he personally feels that he was tactful about his feedback.

“I made it dark chocolate and I decided I’d do a whipped cream frosting this time since those don’t tend to be as sweet as a traditional buttercream…” You continue to ramble. You’re on some tangent about food science now that he can’t really be fucked to pay attention to. He’s too busy trying to handle the warmth that blooms in his chest at the thought that you listened to him. You trusted his opinions. Has anyone ever done that without him having to make them?

It makes his pants tight. He kinda wishes the cup in his suit didn’t conceal it. He wants to know how you’d react when you see what you do to him. He can almost picture the surprise on your face, how shy you’d get. He wants to hold you, feel the soft give of your body in his hands like ripe fruit. He decides that he can’t take it anymore.

You startle when he hops up to perch on the edge of the table, gesturing for you to sit next to him. You trail off on your rambling, heartbeat now all fluttery in your chest. You swallow thickly before you nod and take your place next to him. He scoots in close and presses his thigh against yours. Your breath hitches. You’ve gotten better at hiding your attraction to him, but he has ways of knowing how wet you’re getting in your panties. You do that thing he loves where you make a movement like you’re tucking your hair behind your ear, but you never actually grab any hair, so flustered by his presence that your body goes on autopilot.

“Share it with me. I’d feel awfully lonely eating by myself.” He winks before handing you the fork. You blink rapidly and gingerly take it from him. When you’re this close, your scent is overwhelming.

“I don’t have another fork.” You answer meekly and he grins.

“I did suggest we share. Unless you think I have germs.” He raises an eyebrow at you and you bite your lip, shaking your head. He expected you to get flustered but you just look at him slyly, like you’re trying to play coy with him. He feels himself twitch in his pants.

“Hmmm I dunno about germs, but you might have acid spit. I can’t be too careful.” You give a cheeky little shrug. You’re teasing him back . It feels so good to have someone not take things so fucking seriously for once. A vividly pornographic image enters his mind of exactly how he could prove to you that his spit isn’t acidic. He’d prove it to you so thoroughly that you’d be wishing he did just so he’d give your overstimulated cunt a break.

Fuck

He really was testing the limits of his cup now.

“Would make eating pussy kinda awkward, don't ya think? It would be a shame to give that up.” He answers with a casual tilt of his head. Your reaction does not disappoint. He groans under his breath at the way your scent coats his tongue. That one really got you worked up didn’t it. You stare resolutely down at the cake on the table and poke at it with the fork while you avoid his gaze.

“Yeah… I guess it would.” You reply shakily before finally helping yourself to a forkful in an attempt to regain some footing. No teasing this time, he notices with a smirk.

Once you’ve finished your bite, he takes the fork from you, taking a little too much joy in the way your arm erupts in goosebumps as his fingers brush yours. He takes a good hearty bite and groans. Whatever you did…it worked because this is delicious. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you grinning at his obvious approval. Of course, was there any question that it would be good when you were going off his feedback?

He hands the fork back to you again with a wink.

“No acid spit?” Your grin is back.

“No acid spit,” He replies and he finds himself matching your smile, something inside of him loosening.

When he was still young, the doctors would put him in a pool and cover the top. They’d watch him struggle under the water and scribble in their little notebooks. They wanted to see if he was drown-proof. Each time they made him swim, he’d have to stay under a little bit longer. They didn’t care that his lungs hurt or that the way the noise echoed under the water made him nervous. He was too young to know what was happening but they never made the effort to explain. Over time he realized that he wasn’t going to die, that he just needed to endure it and it would inevitably end. Laughing with you makes him feel like when he’d finally get to take that big breath and he knew that for the moment he was safe again.

You spend the next few minutes, passing the fork back and forth. There is something so intimate to him about knowing what you taste like, like he’s already kissed you for the first time. The warmth of your thigh against his is soothing and for the first time in weeks…months… years, that neediness inside quiets for a moment.

“Is there coffee in this?” He asks, if only because he feels ill equipped in situations like this, unsure of how to read the silence. You perk up a bit, always eager to explain how things work.

“Yeah! Can you taste it? It’s pretty much a must when you’re making chocolate cakes because it makes the flavor so much richer.” You explain, and he can tell from your eyes that you’re a few seconds away from launching into a full on chemical breakdown of the recipe so he gently guides you away.

“I smelled it while you were on the way down. I thought that you’d maybe stopped at a coffee shop.” He knows you didn’t. He knew every moment you made the second you walked in the building, but he’s trying to make conversation.

“Cool!” You exclaim and it’s fucking ridiculous how genuinely earnest you are about it. What’s more ridiculous is how pleased he is that you find him cool. He knows when you leave he’ll wince at how pathetic he is, but when you’re here, it seems like such a pointless thing to worry about.

“And what do I smell like? Please tell me I don’t stink!” you ask curiously, biting your lip to hide a smile. He huffs a little laugh. You’re too cute and the twisted part of him wants to push and tease. He wants to tell you that you smell like brown sugar and pussy. That his mouth waters when you walk into the room and that the only thing keeping him from laying you on the table and feasting right now is that… Well, he doesn’t actually have a good reason for why he’s not eating you out the way you both deserve.

He doesn’t even get the chance to answer because before he can, you lick your thumb and wordlessly wipe away a smudge of icing from the corner of his mouth. The ease of motion gives away that it was an instinctual movement, not hindered by fear or anxiety. You tenderly make sure his face is clean before withdrawing again. Homelander’s heart is beating so loudly in his ears that it’s almost affecting his hearing. Where before he felt safe, now he feels raw and exposed. His neediness has woken up again, screaming and snarling for more. He wants. Oh how he wants.

He doesn’t want to think about the last time he exposed himself, let someone touch him skin to skin. He doesn’t want to think about how the stench of her fear made him nauseous, how the sweet scent of her burning flesh still lingers in his nose. He felt how she trembled as he kissed her lips, her forehead. He can hear the sizzle and all of a sudden he can’t stomach another bite. The beast inside him wails for him to take and consume , strip mine you for what he needs and then toss you out, before you think you have the right to take from him in return.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, worried by the way his expression has gone blank. “I should have asked first. You had some crumbs on your face.”

You’re so fucking nice and it’s almost your downfall.

Almost

You’re saved by the fact that he notices that the rest of The Seven should already be making their way to the conference room. He can’t exactly get away with much when there is an audience. He’s grateful for it, because it means that your safety is out of his hands. You’ve unknowingly just had a noose removed from around your neck, all because you forgot that even a docile lion is still a carnivore. Your shoulders slump when he stands up, feeling silly and abandoned as you sit perched on the ledge like a child.

“It’s almost time for the meeting. Better get to work before you get chastised for slacking off.” He says sternly, as if he wasn’t the one to invite you to eat with him in the first place. He needs you back in your box where you’re just the shy PA who brings him sweets, someone he can easily dismiss. He’s learned his lesson about giving parts of himself away just for the attention of some stupid human. You aren’t even special, just a nobody who runs errands. He doesn’t need you. In fact, next thing you bring him he’ll spit out, to teach you a lesson about thinking you’re anywhere on his level.

He pointedly resumes the position he was in when you first entered, hands behind his back as he stares at the sky. There’s a few moments of silence before he hears you slowly hop off the desk and start arranging the files. The task itself only takes a few minutes, and you will most definitely be gone by the time anyone makes it. He expects you to leave without a word, his silent chastisement more cruel than anything he could say. But you surprise him again.

“Thanks for helping me with the recipe! I’ll have something new for you on Monday. Also, don’t forget, I still want to know what I smell like!” He hears you call out to him from the doorway. He resists the urge to look back at you. There is a slight nervousness to your positivity but the fact that you’re even trying despite the obvious rebuke makes you braver than most everyone else in the building. He can admire that. It makes him want to throw you a bone.

“Brown sugar,” He calls back, “since you’re always fucking baking”

Before you leave, he catches your reflection in the window despite promising himself he wouldn’t look, and you smile so fucking happily at his reply, that any progress he’s made goes straight down the drain. A fond grin of his own causes his eyes to crinkle, as he gives an exasperated sigh.

You’re going to be a big problem…aren’t you?

——————

You know you shouldn’t feel as giddy as you do. You sniff your arm, feeling stupid but wanting to know if you really do smell like brown sugar. The most important thing is that you didn’t ruin your friendship with him. You can tell he needs a friend. Sitting with him today made you realize, he’s absolutely nothing like the picture-perfect hero that Vought advertises, but he’s not a heartless monster either. He’s a constantly shifting kaleidoscope of manufactured facets and raw human emotion, bubbling under the surface like a hot spring and just as likely to singe your hand if you touch.

You’re glad he tolerates you, even if it’s just for the free dessert.

[beachytablecloth]

opposing lawyer: you guys defrauded the legal system and i won’t let you get away with it

harvey (unprompted): UM DID YOU JUST SAY SOMETHING BAD ABOUT MIKE ROSS? MIKE ROSS IS A GODDAMN SAINT. MIKE ROSS HAS NEVER HURT A FLY. MIKE ROSS IS THE BEST PERSON ON THE PLANET. HE IS A VERY GOOD BOY AND HE IS MY LITTLE BABYGIRL AND IF YOU SO MUCH AS BLINK IN HIS DIRECTION I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU AND YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

there's something so soothing about holding a weapon when you're Nervous. me and this solid metal fire poker have bonded for life

[thatrandomwriter]

Jealousy

Billy Loomis x Reader

warnings: controlling relationship, violence, character death

summary: Billy gets jealous when reader has a male friend, and they get into a serious argument, prompting him to seek his revenge as Ghostface.

“The fuck was that?” Billy grabbed my arm as I walked out of the school building after last period.

“What do you mean?” I replied. I knew why he was annoyed, but I wanted to give him the chance to pick something more reasonable to be upset about.

He grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop on the pavement, allowing other students to filter past us,. “Don’t play dumb with me - you were flirting with that dick Ryan all class.” his eyes were dark, angry. It wasn’t unlike him to fly into a jealous rage virtually unprompted, but the frequency of it made it no less frustrating.

“He’s my friend. And we sit next to each-other, what do you expect me to do, ignore him?” I felt my face heating up.

“I expect you not to flirt with other guys right in front of me,” he was almost shouting - I was sure that he would be, if we weren’t out in public.

“Oh my God, Billy, we weren’t flirting!”

“You can’t talk to him anymore.” Billy’s face was determined, unflinchingly serious.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” I moved to walk away, but his arms were on my shoulders, his face close to mine. My eyes flicked down to his lips - despite my anger, I still found him insanely attractive. He seemed to pick up on my moment of distraction, shaking his head at me.

“Come on, baby. Can’t you just listen to me? I know exactly what’s going on inside that guy’s head,” his voice softened a bit, and he leaned down to kiss me, gentle and persuasive. I felt my heartbeat quicken, but he pulled away after no more than a few seconds.

“I’m sorry, Billy. But you can’t ban me from talking to people, that’s not how this works,”

He turned away from me, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. If you want to act like a slut, be my guest, but just know that I won’t put up with that shit.”

The insult stung. I felt tears pricking at my eyes, but I blinked them away. “You know what, I’ve had enough of this. You can talk to me again when you realise how ridiculous you’re being, but until then, I’m done with this.” I marched away. He tried to pull me back towards him once again, but I shrugged away his hands. Maybe once he cooled off, we could fix this. Or maybe this was it for us. My tears returned at that thought, stinging and blurring my eyes as I walked home from school.

*

I was home alone when my phone rang, the harsh sound making me jump. I hoped that it was Billy, calling to make up with me, to apologise for being such a dick, and to tell me he understood. Or at least Tatum, so that I could complain about how he was yet to make up with me, and how awful he was being.

“Hello,” The voice was deep and unfamiliar.

“Hello, who is this?” I replied.

There was a chuckle from the caller, “Forgotten about me already? I’m hurt,”

“Billy, is that you? If you wanna talk, at least stop using that stupid voice,”

“You don’t make the rules anymore - this is my game. And trust me when I tell you, you don’t wanna lose.”

“Why not - are you gonna punish me?” I teased him, lighthearted, though a sense of dread was creeping over me. If it was Billy on the line, something felt different, and it wasn’t just the voice he was using.

“That’s exactly right. If you lose, I’ll make it slow, and painful, until you’re begging me to make it stop,”

There was a lump in my throat. My mouth was suddenly dry, “And if I win?” I managed to force the words out. It reminded me of what the police had been saying - that Ghostface had been using a voice changer to call his victims before they ended up dead. Scaring me like this was a sick way for Billy to punish me for our earlier argument.

“I’ll make it quick,”

“Billy, come on, this isn’t funny. Let’s just talk, okay?” My voice trembled slightly. I cleared my throat in an attempt to keep it steady, but it was useless, “We can work this out,”

“But we are working this out. What do you think this is? Now, are you ready to play?”

“No. I’m not playing your game,” I replied. The words were stronger than my tone, still shaky.

Billy, if it was him, tutted mockingly at me, “Forfeiting is an automatic loss. You sure you want to do that?”

“I’m sure. Just come and talk to me, please,” If I saw him in person, I could get through to him.

There was a click as he hung up the phone. And no more than a second later, the crashing sound of a window being smashed. This was not Billy; whoever it was had meant their threat, and was coming for me. I dropped the phone on my bed and sprung to my feet, running to my bedroom window. The drop was too far - but maybe I could climb up instead, onto the roof? Surely he wouldn’t think to look for me there. But there were footsteps on the stairs, far too fast, far too close. I had wasted precious seconds panicking and planning. The only place I could think to hide was under my bed - awfully cliche, surely the first place he would think to look, but maybe I could yank him over by the ankles from under there, and give myself enough of a head start to get out of the house. I grabbed a pair of scissors from my desk and dropped to the floor, rolling under my bed just as a pair of black boots appeared around my doorframe. My unsteady breathing, or the sound of my heart thumping in my chest was sure to give me away, I was convinced of it. But he stepped closer and closer, until his toes were right by my face. I could see black robes hanging around his ankles, and without seeing the mask, I knew that it was Ghostface.

If I wanted to live, I had only one shot at this. With all my strength, I gripped his right ankle, and yanked it towards me. He hit the floor, hard, and I scrambled out from under the bed, running for the stairs. He seemed to have taken inspiration from my move, however, grabbing my ankle as I ran past. I landed on my elbows, inches away from a broken nose. The breath had been knocked out of my body. I could see the mask now, as Ghostface tried to stand, but I kicked at his shins, sitting up and desperately trying to scoot away from him. He still followed, yanking me to stand up with him, gripping tightly onto my wrist. I raised my scissors with my free hand, ramming them as hard as I could into his shoulder. The sensation made me want to throw up. But he let go of me, staggering backwards, and I took off again, out of my bedroom, into the hallway, down the stairs. I chanced a glance behind me - the scissors had not held up Ghostface for long. The white mask leered down at me from the landing. In his good arm, he had raised a knife. My hands felt empty, now that I had thrown away my last defence. I had to get out of the front door.

I ran, breath burning my lungs. Broken glass from the front window caught in one of my feet, and I stuttered, almost falling at the pain. Every step seemed to drive it deeper, but adrenaline kept me moving and I had no time to slow down; Ghostface was faster than me. Despite my head start, I could hear his breath behind me, and just as I had stepped out of the door, a gloved hand had grabbed my arm once again, this time with no chance of letting go. He pulled me back into the house, slamming me against a wall. I felt dizzy.

“Please, please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything, I’ll play your game, whatever you want,” My defiance was long gone.

“Oh, so now you want to do as I say?” The voice that came from under the mask was no longer deep and artificial. My eyes burned, and I felt a tear escape, rolling down my cheek. Billy brought his knife to my neck.

“Baby, please, I’m sorry, okay? I should’ve listened to you - you know what’s best, you were right, okay?”

“Don’t lie to me. You know I hate it when you lie to me,” His voice was devoid of any gentleness, any love. It felt just as unfamiliar as when he had been on the phone.

“I’m not lying, I swear,”

“You fucking stabbed me with a pair of scissors you bitch - we are long past you getting out of this alive,”

I tried to shove away at him, but all it succeeded in doing was pressing his knife further into my neck. He reached up slowly with his bad arm to lift the mask from his face. Hair hung wild in his face - I loved combing my fingers through it, pushing it to the side when it hung down so that I could look him in the eyes. Now, his eyes were dark and filled with what I could only describe as loathing. I wanted nothing more than to look away, but I was fixated on him, the way that his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth twitched.

“Now, I want you to be able to see my face when this happens. I want you to look me in the eyes, and know how much you’ve hurt me - how much I wish you hadn’t made me do this,”

This felt absurd, it was utterly unreal, “You still don’t have to, please, we can forget about all this,”

Billy shook his head, leaning down until his lips met mine in a kiss. It was slow, deep - a goodbye. His free hand cupped the side of my face in what should have been a loving gesture. Maybe this could somehow make him realise that he didn’t want to lose me? That if he only kept me alive, I could make him happy. I kissed him back, and his knife lowered from my neck. His teeth grazed my bottom lip and I parted them for him, feeling him groan against me as he slid his tongue into my mouth. Tentatively, I reached my arm up around him, slow enough to communicate that I meant no harm. When he did not shove it away, I grabbed at the back of his clothes to pull him in closer, allowing the other hand to tangle in his hair. His kisses became faster, more desperate, stealing my breath with their intensity, and it was all I could do to keep up with him, the power of his tongue and his teeth slowly turning the fear I was feeling into desire. He pulled back for a second, eyes steady on mine as I panted slightly.

And then I felt cold, hard pressure in my stomach. I looked down. This kiss had been a goodbye after all, nothing more than a delusion, a distraction while he decided exactly where to place his knife. He kissed me again as he twisted the blade, swallowing my cry of pain. He kissed away the tears that fell down my cheeks, before yanking the knife out of me. My head span as pain overcame me - so much for adrenaline. I clutched the wound in my side, my hands soaking almost immediately.

“You’re so beautiful covered in blood, baby,” Billy’s eyes glittered as I slumped down the wall, legs giving out as I slid to the floor.

“Fuck you,” there was no point in niceties or persuasion - the deed was done. Patches of the world around me had gone shiny with dancing splotches. My heart was thundering and it was almost as if I could feel its rhythm in my wound as I attempted to contain the blood pouring out of it.

Billy chuckled, “I’d be a little nicer to the guy with the knife, if I were you,”

“What, or you’ll kill me faster?”

“Don’t be silly - that wasn’t part of the game. I can’t kill you faster, but I can make it a whole lot more painful,”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please don’t,”

“You’d deserve it - you had my heart, you know that? And you decided to throw it away, to rip it apart and cause all of this, just so that you could flirt with another guy. I loved you. But no-one gets to treat me like that, to break my heart. No-one,” Billy was ranting, red faced, wielding his knife in a way that made me want to run, or at least step back. But I was trapped between him and the wall, the deep cut in my stomach prevented me even from standing. He crouched down, eyes level with mine. “God, I wish I’d known how good you’d look covered in blood. Maybe I would’ve done this sooner,”

I couldn’t help the sob that escaped my chest, the shake of it sending a jolt of pain through me.

“Come on, baby, don’t look so sad - I’m doing the right thing,” He caressed the side of my face with his knife, trailing it down from my cheek to my neck.

“Billy, I love you, please just call an ambulance, we can fix this,” I managed to choke out.

“We both know it’s too late for that.” Billy sat beside me, gently shifting my weight downwards so that my head could rest in his lap. He brushed the hair out of my face as the world fell away, and I was engulfed in darkness.

[nuka-rockit]

unprompted rant, but I think its such a shame that we don't get a closer explanation of the red dragon & githyanki pact/bond in bg3, or at least more of an insight into the dragons. Becoming the rider of a red dragon is such a big dream for Lae'zel. She gets these huge sparkling eyes, and her tone becomes as full of reverence as it does when she speaks of Vlaakith (at least at the beginning) when she first mentions it. It's a symbol of Kithrak Voss' authority and seniority that the first time we meet him he comes flying on one. It's some thing that Vlaakith later offers to Lae'zel in an attempt to lure her away from the Prince of the Comet and back into her service. But bg3 does not make it clear at all that Dragons in DnD, and in this case specifically red dragons, are not just gorlified "mounts" as Lae'zel calls them. Dragons are not like big flying reptilian horses - dragons in DnD are fully sentient, extremely intelligent creatures who are often capable of speaking multiple languages, with unique personalities and motivations, who can form highly complex relationships with people. Dragons are basically their own fully developed society interacting with others. red dragons specifically are among some of the most cunning dragons in the world. In fact the only reason a creature as intelligent, proud and powerful as a red dragon would even tolerate being used as a mount by anyone is that this is part of a pact made by their primary goddess Tiamat with the githyanki. red dragons not as impressed by the covenant of their goddess are recruited through promises of treasure acquired during the githyanki raids they may participate in, most of which they get to keep after they leave (red dragons are notoriously greedy, and love to accumulate large hoards of gold and other valuables).

And yes, they do leave eventually, at least most of them do. the dragon mounts of the githyanki knights are mostly younger dragons, who cherish the violence and looting. When an older dragon leaves it is replaced by a new younger one. They're not livestock raised by the githyanki to become cool flying warhorses, they're more like mercenaries who have agreed to a mutually benefitial contract.

its such a minor gripe, but I was genuinely surprised I never found even like, idk, a book some lone bookshelf in the game explaining this distinction. its such an interesting aspect of their culture and I have always loved that DnD dragons aren't just big dangerous monsters that need to be vanquished, but rather complex inhabitants of the world that can be interacted with in a variety of ways - including forming an alliance.

[demigod-shenanigans]

More next gen stuff since that’s apparently what we’re doing right now:

Veronica di Angelo, Will and Nico’s adopted demigod child from my shared custody universe with @queenjunothegreat

Backstory:

-Veronica’s dad died when they were a baby and they ended up in the foster system. They ran away from neglectful foster parents when they were six and were thankfully found by a satyr and brought to camp relatively quickly after that.

-By that point there’s an established foster program for what used to be the year rounders because the whole concept of “children that can’t return home because it’s too dangerous and/or because their families are dead and that are therefore left to just deal their trauma on their own with at most the care of a slightly older teenager” was always a terrible idea. There’s also some adult volunteer demigods at camp who provide much-needed supervision and support for the kids who haven’t found demigod foster parents yet.

-Especially Nico knows just how much of a difference it could have made to have a trusted adult looking out for him when he was terrified and grieving, so he was the one who initially suggested to Will that they volunteer to stick around and look after the kids. Will was down for it immediately, partially because that way he can take over being the main healer at camp again. He refuses to have that role go to another fourteen year old, that is way too much responsibility, these kids deserve to be actual kids.

-Will patches Veronica up when they get to camp and is able to calm them down a little after the initial Greek mythology freakout, but Nico is the first person to really get through to them. Veronica hasn’t had a trusted adult for so long and things are a lot at the beginning, but Nico is great at finding a balance between giving them space and being supportive at the same time. They grow very attached to him over the next few months.

-It also just in general means the world to this little enby kid to see happy queer adults in a healthy relationship.

-Eventually Nico and Will sit them down and ask if they’d like to be their kid officially. Veronica immediately says yes.

Additional details/fun facts under the cut:

-Veronica is a child of Nike. Go-to nickname is V, like the victory sign.

-Generally they’re a pretty chill person but the second there’s any kind of competition, things get heated very quickly. Even if it’s just a card game with no real stakes aside from winning, they will be a competitive gremlin about it.

-Due to their parentage, V is naturally athletic and a great strategist. They can also fly, though not nearly as well or as far as a child of Zeus/Jupiter could.

-They’ve had a very intense rivalry with Emilia McLean basically since they met because Em had the audacity to beat them in their first ever CHB capture the flag game. The two of them care about each other a great deal but refuse to admit it. They bicker constantly. They’re never on the same team for any of the activities, despite the fact that they’d be damn near unstoppable if they worked together.

-There’s an ongoing bet at CHB about whether or not they’re dating Em. The answer is secret third thing (the two of them are in the world’s most chaotic qpr but neither of them realizes this for the longest time)

-Aside from Em, the person Veronica is closest to is a Hypnos child named Poppy, who is the only calm, chill person in their chaotic little trio. Whenever Poppy gets tired of Em and V’s bickering, she puts them both to sleep.

-Veronica is very close with both of their dads, but especially with Nico.

-When they were little and crawled into their dads’ bed after a nightmare, Will always asked if they wanted him to go nightlight mode so they could sleep more easily (the answer was usually yes). Sometimes when they get upset when they’re older he’ll start glowing unprompted and it still helps.

-They hate getting injured because Will being the main camp healer means their dad is basically always one of the first people to know they did something stupid. It’s really embarrassing.

-They have a decently close relationship with both Hades and Apollo. Neither of them care that V is adopted, that is their grandkid regardless.

-They do not have a great relationship with their mom, who’s really only around when they win something. Veronica has two wonderful dads and two godly granddads who don’t make them put on a show to gain their attention, so at some point they just tell their mom not to bother anymore. They may like winning, especially against Em, but they’re not doing it for Nike’s sake.

-They really enjoy dyeing their hair.

-Veronica adores Frank and Hazel. Family game nights with V and the twins are terrifying (mostly for the adults. The kids usually have a great deal of fun, even though it does look like there’s about to be bloodshed at least half of the evening).

-Aside from Frank and Hazel, V’s favorite member of the Seven is probably Jason because he was really patient and helpful when it came to teaching Veronica to control their ability to fly. That was something they struggled with for a while (largely due to the fact that Nike’s flight works via wings, and Veronica inherited the ability to fly, but did not get the wings, so controlling said flight is… a problem.) Jason had to gently coax them/fly them down from the ceiling a few times because they couldn’t figure out how to get back down after they accidentally went antigravity mode while pacing.

-On Will’s side of the family, Kayla is their favorite, purely based on the fact that they managed to bait her into teaching them how to shoot arrows.