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ghostchems · 1 year

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somethin' spooky - papa emeritus iv x female!reader

you've secure an invite to an exclusive party at a satanic church only to end up being underwhelmed by the lack of "spooky".

author's note: i felt like i was neglecting popia so i wrote this lil thing! 3k words! 18+! mdni! there's smut and popia being popia. ao3 link.

Your fingernails tap against the glass you're holding as you gaze out into the crowd of people. Curiosity had gotten the better of you but right now, you were feeling some regret at the effort you had gone through to be here right now.

There were whispers throughout the valley about an exclusive, invite-only party that took place at a satanic church. You weren’t too big on parties but you had to find a way to see this for yourself. A friend of a friend of a friend was able to get you an invite for a fee and here you are, moseying through the kind of people that you could probably see at any other bar around town.

And it’s honestly, not that special. Sure, you were at a satanic church but it wasn’t spooky enough for your taste. There was plenty of artwork adorning the walls that depicted scenes of hell, demons and Lucifer himself, plus plenty of grucifixes everywhere. But the fact that they were serving White Claw? There weren’t even any spooky themed drinks.

Plus, you weren’t a party person, especially since you had come alone. So, you give the large chapel one last look before you head out the doors. The hallways seem to go on forever as you wander through them, unable to remember where the exit was. You start to stress, your mind immediately jumping to the conclusion that maybe you were stuck here forever.

“Dove stai andando? Where are you going? Leaving the party, eh?”

You spin around to look where the voice was coming from. A man was peeking out of a doorway, studying you. He was wearing a blue sparkly jacket, torn pants and his face – contrasting black and white paint covered it with his white eye practically glowing as he looked you up and down.

“Uh, yeah. Just trying to find my way out.”

“Mm.” He walks out of the doorway toward you, steepling his fingers as he did so. “Ehm, may I ask why? Were you not having fun?” Curiousness was oozing from him as he stepped even closer, the distance closing between you. Nothing about him seems threatening so you stay where you are.

“Oh, I’m just not super into partying, ya know. Just wanted to see what this whole thing was about.” You rock back and forth on your heels. “Why aren’t you at the party?”

“Ehhh… catching up on work.” He sounds sheepish.

“On a Saturday night?” You cross your arms and pop your hip. There’s a feeling creeping into your head that maybe you should be more cautious around this man but he seems so approachable despite being so striking.

“Not super into partying, either.” He offers you a small smile and fidgets with his hands. “E-ehm, would you consider joining me in my office, maybe? You’ve convinced me – working on a Saturday is a bit sad.”

You stare at him blankly for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts. You know you should just go home and not spend time with this man with corpse paint you just met. But…your curiosity was getting the better of you. Plus, it seemed like he worked there so you could potentially get the spooky scoop on the satanic church.

“Sure, okay.”

“Eccelente!” He lights up and beckons for you to follow him. “Apologies, it’s a tad messy.”

You are taken aback by the stacks of papers that line the walls and cover his desk. Aside from that, the office was dimly lit with scattered candles (which seems like an extreme fire hazard) and antique looking furniture.

“Ehh, please, have a seat! Would you like a drink, cara?” He is already fussing with glasses before you can respond, hearing them clink together. You pick up a few papers off of one of the wingback chairs in his office and can’t help but scan over it before setting it on the floor. Invoices for coffee cups and hot chocolate packets. Nothing spooky or satanic about that.

You sit in the chair and sink back into it, getting comfortable as you survey the room some more. He is in front of you so quickly and hands you a glass with some kind of brown liquid. You examine it and give it a small sniff: whiskey.

“Oh, this is so exciting, cara. I haven’t been able to spend much time with outsiders since becoming Papa.” He pulls up the smallest stool you’ve ever seen and sits directly in front of you. His knees are practically up to his chest.

“Becoming Papa?” You ask with an amused tone before being brave enough to take a sip of the whiskey. It is strong.

“Ah, si. Papa Emeritus, leader of the church.”

You start to cough, from the whiskey and also because of what he just said. Leader of the church?! The man sitting on an impossibly tiny stool, surrounded in paperwork, wearing a sparkly blue jacket, is the LEADER of the church.

“Cara, do you need some water or-”

“No, no, I’m fine.” You cough a bit more and wave your hand. “Went down the wrong pipe.”

Papa is studying you, watching curiously as you set the whiskey down. His eyes narrow a bit as he shifts closer to you.

“Am I not what you were expecting?” There’s a touch of sadness in his voice as his white eye meets yours, his other eye shrouded in darkness.

“O-oh, no, no, I’m just surprised, Papa.” It feels weird calling him that. “I just wasn’t expecting the leader of the church of Satan to have so much paperwork to do. I was expecting a bit more spooky things.” You laugh nervously.

“Spooky? I can be spooky.” Papa’s voice drops to a sinister tone, his lips curling into a grin. “Are you curious about spooky things, cara? That is why you came tonight, si?” Suddenly, he is up and is standing directly in front of you now and leans down, meeting your eyes.

“Maybe it is.” You answer confidently but you can feel yourself shifting back against the chair, trying to get some distance between the two of you.

“Okie dokie, wait just a minute.” Papa turns his back to you and seems to be working himself up a bit. You are looking at him curiously, the suspense building as silence stretches between the two of you. He spins around, his arms stretched above him. “BOO!”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head at him.

“Not spooky enough, cara?” He slowly lowers his arms and starts to steeple his fingers.

“I was expecting more of… ya know, satanic rituals, orgies… sacrifices?”

“Ahhh.” He exhales and plants his hands on the armrests; he has you cornered now. “I must apologize then, cara, we don’t typically perform rituals when outsiders are present.”

“That’s a shame.” You try to relax but he is so close to you now and he sways back and forth, almost hypnotically. His eyes are glued to yours and you can see just how green the one is.

“Have I disappointed you?” Papa pouts teasingly and you could feel his hot breath on your face. You are out of smart responses, your mouth hanging open as if to say something before you shut it again. His presence is intoxicating and your head is still swimming from how he went from a semi-awkward, cute man to this, this being that has lured you into his trap.

You squirm in the seat but you find yourself inching closer to him. He seems to notice, the corners of his lips tugging into a smirk.

“I could give you a little taste, hm? Would you like that, cara?” Papa presses his forehead to yours and rubs the tip of his nose against yours. “Tell me.”

“What if I want more than just a taste?” Your breath is shaky but you manage to get the words out. He hums quietly, pretending to be deep in thought before he’s finally upon you, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip.

You give a soft moan as his tongue slips into your mouth with ease. He cups your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. You can feel your face start to grow hot, tasting the whiskey on his tongue. His gloved fingers gently move from your cheeks down your neck, giving the sides of it a soft squeeze before settling on your shoulders. He breaks the kiss, his dark eyes roaming your face with a grin. His lips meet your jaw, mouthing along it as he toys with the straps of your dress.

“May I, cara?” He growls against your neck, still tugging at your straps. So gentlemanly. Your brains are scrambled to the point that you’re unable to speak words so you give a soft, affirmative grunt.

“Have I rendered you speechless?” Papa purrs as he exposes your breasts. His fingers softly stroke them, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. A moan rumbles in your throat as your head tips back against the chair. He slips down to his knees, settling in between your legs. His arms slide behind your back, pulling you into him as his lips brush against one of your nipples.

“F-fuck, Papa.” You surprise yourself, your body shuddering at his touch. He feels so good against you, his arms holding you so tight as he sucks the nipple into his mouth. Your hands fall to his head, fingers grabbing onto his hair as you arch your back. Papa buries his face into your chest, moaning against you as his lips and teeth graze against you.

“Will you kneel before me, cara?” He gazes up at you, his white eye looking like it could be glowing. “Kneel before your Papa?”

You suck in a breath as your fingers card through his hair. Desire is burning through you. You need him. You need him now.

“Yes, Papa.”

He kisses your collarbone softly then pulls himself to his feet. You immediately slink off of the chair and get on your knees in front of him. His jacket is now on the floor and he’s working on the buttons of his shirt as you start to feel him through his pants. The momentum comes to a screeching halt, though, when you start to fiddle with his corset laced crotch.

“This is — ugh! This is so impractical!” You whine as your fingers desperately try to figure out a way to unlace his pants. After he removes his shirt, he swats your hand away with a small laugh.

“Guardi.” He takes one of the laces in his hands and pulls it at what seems like a specific angle. His pants come completely unlaced with the one pull, dropping around his knees as his cock springs free. If your mouth wasn’t already hanging open from the sheer ridiculousness that just happened, it would have dropped even further at the sight of him.

He is huge.

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”

You know what he’s going to do. You grew up on the outskirts of the Catholic Church, having gone to mass each Sunday before going to CCD (only to not retain anything you learned). But you remember communion and how you would cup your hands together to receive the body of Christ. Some adults would merely go up to the priest and open their mouths to receive Him…

You do as you’re told. Papa gazes at you for a few moments as he strokes himself lazily. His hand catches you by the chin and tilts your head up with a hum. He plops the head of his cock onto your tongue and you swear you can hear it thud.

The taste of him on your tongue is enough to make you moan. He breathes deep, keeping his eyes locked on you. His hand moves from your chin to your hair, fingers tangling in it.

“Nema.” Papa hisses, then pushes his cock past your lips. You move your hand to grip the base and slip your tongue along the underside of his length. He groans and starts to slowly roll his hips, sinking his cock further into your mouth. His fingers dig into your scalp as he hits the back of your throat. You moan around him, your one hand moving to hold onto his thigh as you swallow around him, feeling your throat spasm.

He is so big. You start to stroke him as you bob your head along him, keeping the movements in sync. His breath starts to hitch and you feel his thigh start to tense up. Papa pulls you off of him and you sink back on your heels, looking up at him wide eyed and somewhat afraid that you’ve done something wrong.

Before you’re able to say anything, he scoops you up into your arms. You squeak and wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself. It looks like he is walking straight for a wall but once you get closer you can see the seams of what appears to be a door. He pushed it with his foot and it creaks open, revealing another dimly lit room covered in candles.

And… there’s a mattress on the floor?

Papa carefully sets you down on it, his fingers sliding your dress and underwear off in one quick motion. He settles in between your legs and you can feel the pressure of the head of his cock against your slick folds.

“W-wait, I haven’t-“ You stutter, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“Are you alright, cara? Do you want me to stop?” He immediately brings his hands up to your arms and gently starts to caress them.

“No, no. Please, don’t stop. I just-“ You take a deep breath. “I haven’t done it in a while and you’re… you’re big. A friend of mine told me that when she tried to do it after not doing it for a while it wouldn’t fit and-” You continue to ramble and he listens so patiently to you. Papa’s fingers drift up your arms to cup your face.

“We will take it slow, and if it doesn’t work – I know plenty of other ways to make you scream my name.” Even though what he says sounds dirty, he is being so earnest, so gentle with you. Papa shifts himself back into position but keeps one hand holding your face.

He pushes in inch by inch, stopping each time to make sure you’re okay. The way he is taking care of you makes you feel so relaxed, so trusting of him. You bring your hips up to meet his once he’s almost completely inside of you. Papa’s mouth drops open and he moans deeply, his gloved fingers digging into your hip.

“Cara, you feel so good.” He breathes huskily, pressing his forehead against yours as he starts to gradually pick up his pace. You can’t believe how good he feels, how he seems to know the exact places to touch and press to make you moan. He kisses you hungrily, growling against your lips.

Papa sinks his cock inside you and holds it there, pinning you down. You squirm against him and try to roll your hips but his grip is too tight. He chuckles softly and slips his hand down between the two of you, lightly rubbing your clit.

“P-papa.” You whine as your fingernails dig into his shoulders.

“One thing about us satanists…” He draws out the word, pressing his hot mouth to your ear. “Is that we make sure all parties cum during our rituals.” Papa sucks on your earlobe as he presses his thumb against your clit. Your body is trembling beneath him, eyes squeezing shut as he starts to quicken his pace.

He wants you to give in to him, to give yourself over to the way he is making you feel. His teeth graze your chin and his chest rumbles with a growl. Your moaning, gasping, clawing beneath him as your body twists with pleasure, all while you can feel his cock throbbing inside of you. One more swipe has you coming undone, a broken sob pushing from your lips.

Papa’s fingers snake up to tangle in your hair and gives it a sharp yank as he starts to fuck you again. Your mouth hangs open, deep breaths and groans slipping from it. You hold onto him for dear life as his hips snap into yours, the sound of slapping skin filling his room. Your legs wrap his waist causing him to moan deeply, sinking even deeper inside you.

He starts to say… something. You don’t understand it. It could be in Italian or Latin, but that’s only an educated guess. You can’t even focus on it, can’t even worry about it now because of how good he feels. Papa yanks at your hair again, forcing you to look into his eyes. His hips snap one last time and he gives a loud moan as he spills inside you.

Papa buries his face in your neck, staying in place for a moment as the two of you come down. He starts to gently touch your neck again, sighing contently before he slips out of you and pulls you up to his chest. You are so comfortable against him, feeling his chest rise and fall. He is caressing you all over and the sensation soothes you into deep relaxation.

“Not so much for spooky but how is that for sinful, eh, cara?” He whispers against your ear but you’re already asleep.

LATER…

You start to stir, eyes still shut as you nestle in closer to Papa. He shifts a bit, his arms tightening around you.

“I missed my party.” He says sleepily against your neck.

“Your party?!” You snap your eyes open and you try to look at him.

“Mmm si, the party was thrown in my honor.” Papa mumbles as he wraps his arms tightly around you. “Glad I missed it, cara?” You feel him smile against your neck.

You don’t say anything because you’re sure he already knows the answer.

#papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iv x female reader #popia x reader #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfics #ghost fanfic

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beevean · 7 months

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WIP Saturday

(supposed to be Wednesday but you know)

I was tagged by @monochromatictoad! I do have a WIP, several in fact :D and I tag @the-crow-binary and @viralvava, if you guys are willing to share!

Since I'm stuck here, I'll get the chance to post the most complete part :P

On Walter’s throne, Joachim was bored.

And he was so sick of being bored.

Oh sure, at first he was delighted to see the throne room from that new perspective – no longer on his knees kissing Walter’s ridiculously ornamented boots, but sitting where the wretched despot used to sit, looking down at the pathetic creatures crawling in and out the hall.

(he could still smell his stench on his throne, fresh blood and meat and polished metal Joachim couldn’t stand it he hated it hated it hated him him him)

He had been weak and helpless for so long, that he didn’t know what to do with his newfound power: it was a liberation and a burden at the same time.

At first, he passed the time killing some of the monsters that bowed down to him, shaking like rippling water. Some of the uglier ones, the slimy ones, the mermen who still dared to show their faces around him as if he didn’t have enough of them and their blood that stank of rotten fish; it was easy, to decapitate them with his swords, or cut off their limbs to leave them to bleed out, or exert more of his power to crush their windpipes and lungs. They made funny noises when dying: they made for lovely music. And it felt so, so good to do so not because his body cried out for nourishment, seized by despair and the primal need for survival: but because he could, and there was nothing who could stop him, not anymore.

But even that grew stale. Death had no gravitas, for someone who had transcended it.

So Joachim spent some more years exploring what he used to call his home, to refresh his memory.

(Not all of it: he gave the watery caves a wide berth. He’d rather descend into Hell and break his legs there: it was bound to be a more pleasant stay. The sound of falling rain still made him jolt on the throne. He could kill any eventual witness to that sorry spectacle, but not the shame burning in his dead guts.)

(One day, he finally sealed the entrance for good measure, and his cackling resonated up to the surface.)

The new enormous chapel, polished to a shine and bathed in the silver moonlight, only made him scoff. He could stare at the giant crucifixes and the statues of holy women without his eyes melting: they were mere counterfeits, bait for the knights’ hope and faith. How like Walter, to meticulously create something so ostentatious as a form of mockery. Joachim had no affection for the Christian God he was forced to worship in his life, so no emotions ever stirred him – he counted it as a victory against his dead master, who used to drink Joachim’s anger like distilled blood.

He’d visit the abandoned theatre quite often, force the vain succubi to give him a show, to transform into Joachim and Walter and reenact the moment he had slayed the former Lord, perhaps with a little embellishment for his amusement. And Joachim clapped, clapped hard enough that the sound of his joy echoed into the empty hallways! If they were creative enough, he’d even spare them.

He didn’t understand why the inhabitants of the castle were so terrified of him. So maybe he had a little too much fun cleaning up the place, but he had no intention of imprisoning anyone, so they should be grateful that their new Lord was much more merciful. Not that he cared about the opinion of lurid creatures who enjoyed their useless freedom when he rotted in the bowels of the castle, forgotten by everything, lower than the maggots that squirmed in decayed corpses.

The alchemy laboratory brought back memories that Joachim could have done without. Walter had taught him the basics of alchemy, in that place, he had told him about the Ebony and the Crimson Stone, the greatest treasures for a vampire to hold. And Joachim looked up to him, to his knowledge, and he had allowed him to fill his head with his obnoxious voice, and allowed him to touch him with those filthy paws of his, and…

Well, Walter was dead, and Joachim still remembered how to read, albeit slowly. He could soak in the rest of Walter’s knowledge by himself. And curse him for even thinking of appreciating one thing about that bastard, but his wealth of knowledge was immense, and a more than fulfilling pastime.

But the gardens were by far his favorite wing of the castle. Air, fresh air, for him and only him to feel on his skin! He even breathed it, as if to replace the stagnant humidity that had become part of his body. And oh, how he had missed the night sky, the stars spreading over his head rather than those stalactites he had watched grow, waiting for them to impale him. He enjoyed laying on the damp grass, drawing in the air with his swords, and stare at the immense, red moon shining upon him, a benefactor he had forgotten about.

Soon, the castle became tight on him. Another cell, just bigger than the one he had called his home for… he was afraid of knowing how much time had passed ever since that fateful day, when he tried to show Walter that he was no mere toy, that he deserved the throne more than he did.

Never. Never again. Never again will he be stuck!

He hadn’t realized that Walter was his reason of living. Not just because he had gifted him with eternal life; the reason he never melted himself away under a waterfall was because for countless time, he had anticipated the sweet taste of revenge.

He feasted on that revenge. And then what?

Joachim had wasted enough of his immortality.

#beev's writing #castlevania #akumajou dracula #joachim armster #the second part is supposed to be joachim welcoming bapy isaac and julia in his castle lol #but i don't know i'm not convinced by this one #and i want joachim to travel around europe before that but that woudl require me to do research on early middle age europe and no thanks #anyway. he mad. he's just as fun to write as isaac is <3

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blogger-yura · 8 months

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Entry #52 Oct 23rd '23

#YurasLife #MovieMonday #HalloweenWeek #Thriller #Horror #Slasher #Gore

𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 - This is Halloween~

This is Halloween~ Pumpkins scream in the dead of night~.

It's that time of the year again! Isn't it just OH, so exciting! If you've been here a while, you might know how much I LOVE holidays ♡ And Halloween, of course, holds a special place in my heart. Wouldn't be able to tell you why, but it's always with great joy that I spend october, and especially the last week, preparing, decorating, and celebrating ~.

Same as last year, to get in the mood this week before the day comes, I've prepared a small list with movies to watch! Some were added to the ranking last time, classics that simply can't be left out–. And some, well, are just here to enjoy and have fun with friends at night (*^ω^)

With nothing else to say, I hope you enjoy this year's selection!

Monday 23rd

Title: Scream franchise (1996-2023) - Director: Wes Craven, Matt Bettinelli-Olpin, Tyler Gillett, Christopher Landon

It is not a Halloween movie night if there's not at least ONE Scream movie in there. That's it. That's everything there is to say. Ah, how do you even explain this franchise? To this day, it remains a must watch for any and all horror lovers. There is no further discussion about it. I'm taking the holiday as an excuse! Still need to watch the new drop. So do the same, and if you haven't watched them all, make yourself a favor and sit through them tonight!

Personal score: 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

Tuesday 24th

Title: Hostel (2005-2011) - Director: Eli Roth, Scott Spiegel

Personal score: 🌟🌟🌟☆☆

Wednesday 25th

Title: Slither (2006) - Director: James Gunn

Personal score: 🌟🌟🌟☆☆

Thursday 26th

Title: The Evil Dead franchise (1981-2023) - Director: Sam Raimi, Federico Alvarez, Lee Cronin

It's the hand. It will ALWAYS be the hand. Picture this, you're watching a terribly gore-y, comical horror movie. You can't get past the 1st person POV of the evil spirit sprinting through the woods, trying to take the movie seriously as it's so old. And then, to top it off, a possessed hand wants to end its former owner's life. That's all you need to know to understand why this is here. A comic, a computer game, a movie, a tv show, and a musical. That's the cultural impact of The Evil Dead!

Personal score: 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

Friday 27th

Title: House of 1000 corpses (2003) - Director: Rob Zombie

Personal score: 🌟🌟🌟☆☆

Saturday 28th

Title: The Strangers (2008) - Director: Bryan Bertino

Personal score: 🌟🌟🌟🌟☆

Sunday 29th

Title: Paranormal Activity (2006) - Director: Oren Peli.

Lets be honest for once. There's only one good Paranormal Activity movie, and that's simply the first one. Maybe it was the fear it induced, the novelty of the idea and the filmmaking, or simply the fact it made it seem like such an ordinary occurrence, like it could happen to you at any time. But it is, undoubtedly, an axiety inducing, terrifying movie. And I am more than convinced it deserves a little spot in todays list.

Personal score: 🌟🌟🌟🌟☆

Did I pick your favorite movie, or did I miss it? It's always so hard picking so little movies to share and have fun with for these dates! Never know if I want to keep the list old school, modern, psychological, or bloody! Regardless, this is the list I'm going with myself! A bit of everything, I reckon, and I know I'll enjoy it.

If you have your own horror list for the week, what do you have in it? And if you don't like horrors, what do you watch for Halloween? (^w^)

Can't wait for next week to come already! Still have so much to share the next few days, though. I'm super excited, and I hope you are too!

I'll go now, or I'll fall behind on my other plans! But I'll be back tomorrow with more, so don't miss me much! All the love, my little pumpkins~.

Stay safe out there! -Yura ♡

🧡: @clubwnderland [💙] @shin-haneul @neonvandalsxcb @neverland-fairies @silcntxnight @urluvlyfe @oppositesattraxt @theboys-oc @norselegends-cb @jinju-oc @fallenangels-cb @domxbot @moonlightchn @cyberpunkcollection @coffeexdreamcb @thetoplinecb @vandalsxcb @teyvatcb @lunaaofthemoon @oc-honeys @3rachabot @darkloversxcb @yandereskz @darkkingdomscb @johnnys-toes-cb @markshands-cb @domrachaa @soyeon-cb @lucky-charmsanhwa @livealittleoc-cb @reve-rv @evicted-oc @littleboywooyoungie @vampireskz @demonljy @welcome-to-maniac @shuhua-cb @theonesxcb @bpkhybrids-shelter @night-racers @firstkill-cb @fearlessxcb @fantasyaespa @minsour-r @redlight-cb @dreamtech-cb @chxithex @hearthstone-apothecary @elemental-dream @kimheebby

#yura types 🧡#movie monday #Halloween special 🎃

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mrktimes · 2 years

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YOUR WEEK IN MERROCK OCTOBER 23 - 29

Halloween is almost here, and the week leading up to it is full of fun! Starting with Spook Fest happening all week at the ranch, and the movie theater playing some fun, spooky and family-friendly movies. Then our big sleepover slash costume party is Saturday night, as well! The weather should be alright, especially the back half of the week, as long as you can survive some showers to kick things off!

FORECAST:

Sunday: 60°F / 51°F - showers

Monday: 59°F / 50°F - showers

Tuesday: 64°F / 51°F - cloudy

Wednesday: 63°F / 52°F - showers

Thursday: 66°F / 43°F - partly cloudy

Friday: 56°F / 40°F - partly cloudy

Saturday: 55°F / 40°F - partly cloudy

BIRTHDAYS THIS WEEK:

October 27 -- Demetrius Dawson!

October 27 -- Delaney Dawson!

October 27 -- Jamie Mariadaga-Evans!

ON THE BULLETIN BOARD:

October 22-20: Spook Fest!

October 28: home football game!

October 29-30: The Big Spookover!

LOCATION SPOTLIGHT:

STUBS -- looking to catch a Halloween flick around the holiday? Stubs is playing some great Halloween classics this week. Sunday: Practical Magic, Monday: Halloween, Tuesday: Ghostbusters, Wednesday: Corpse Bride, Thursday: IT, Friday: Hocus Pocus, no special on Saturday due to the party, and Sunday: Scream. Halloween night, they will be playing Beetlejuice. Stop by!

MAINE FUN FACT:

Bucksport, Maine is the most haunted town in the state.

#mrktimes #mrkweekly

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folkloreguk · 3 years

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Moving Antics (M)

A/N: This was requested a while ago and I hope you will enjoy it! I always welcome feedback of any kind! Have a good day x

genre: smut, optional bias (m) x reader (f), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, overstimulation (a tiny bit), dom!bias, very lowkey roleplaying??, reader wears a maid outfit (not in a degrading way)

words: ~ 5.4 k

tag list: @mochi-ficz (let me know if you wanna be tagged when I post new fics!)

People had told you over and over. Moving is a stressful, exhausting process. It would take a while for you to settle in. Until everything had found its perfect place, weeks could pass. At least that’s what everybody said. What they all failed to understand, though, was that being in love could make the most tiring experience fun. Was it stressful? Sometimes. Exhausting? Why don’t you ask yourself that, when you fell into bed like a walking corpse at night? But all it took was a glimpse at your boyfriend as he carried inside the box that said ‘anniversary gifts’ and it was all worth it. You were confident in one thing at least. In the settling in department you were both ranking foremost.

You had lived in the apartment for only a week, and you couldn’t have been more all-over-each-other. Somehow there seemed to be an unspoken challenge you had both taken on. Maybe you two could set a record for most surfaces in a flat someone could have sex on. Or perhaps you should have started marking the rooms and spaces you hadn’t been able to add to your list yet. There wouldn’t have been many left. At the moment, there was only one downside to being so head-over-heels in love. A lot of the boxes in the apartment had been left unattended, as if you only waited long enough, the things would start flying out of the cartons and miraculously sort themselves out while you could stay there, in bed with your lover between your legs.

But this wasn’t Hogwarts and you weren’t some magician. And so one rainy Saturday noon you decided it would be thatday. The day you finally put away all the things that were still in the boxes. Not that the day had been successful so far. It was 12 pm and you were in bed. The shower was running in the bathroom next door, and you wondered how you would convince your boyfriend and yourself that getting things done would be a worthwhile pastime. Telling yourself you would come up with a tactic with your eyes closed, you tricked yourself into daydreaming for a little while longer, cuddled in the blankets that still smelled like him.

When you heard footsteps approach, your mind snapped back to reality. He strut through the door like a nude model, searching for some clothes to wear. His smirk when he saw you eye him was prominent and made your stomach flip. It took every last will of yours to not ask him to come back into bed with you, forget all your earlier plans and live like you were the last people on earth.

“Do you want breakfast?” he asked, finishing his outfit by pulling a shirt over his head. “I’ll make you some.”

You hummed, starry-eyed at his perfection. “Thank you,” you said. Quickly, he kissed your forehead and then walked off, presumably in the direction of the kitchen. Twenty minutes later, at the kitchen table, you finally brought up your wonderful idea.

“I think we really should unpack some more stuff today,” you said, “Don’t you think?”

“You’re right,” he said, “We’ve really been procrastinating.”

“You can say that again,” you laughed.

“Although I wouldn’t describe our scientific research of the last few days as completely pointless.”

“Our what?” you asked. You were getting up to put away the plates of your late breakfast.

“Us testing which room of the house is the most fun to have sex in,” he stated, matter of fact. “I vote for the bathroom.”

“You just love the mirrors,” you grinned, and he mirrored it.

“I do,” he said. His arms snuck around your waist from behind. “Almost as much as I love you.”

“I love you too, babe,” you said, “You know, there’s one room we haven’t tried yet.”

“The office,” he said. You turned your head and you kissed him deeply. In agreement you hummed, your arms wrapping around him. He pulled you closer, hands ghosting over the back of your thighs and up to your hips. You felt like jumping onto the counter and having him there, again, just like you had done it two days ago. But then you remembered you had other projects for the day. If you gave in to him now, you’d end up back in bed for the rest of the day, probably. Guilt was already setting in at the mere thought.

“Wait,” you pulled away and said, “We have things to get done.”

His nod was dilatory but then he seemed to recall his own determination from around two minutes ago. You wished you could have motivated him otherwise, but you were already struggling to spur on yourself to be productive. Then, you suddenly remembered something. Your eyes must have widened in surprise because he furrowed his brows at you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Stay here,” you announced, “I’ll make sure we get through with this today.”

And you were off to your bedroom. You pulled the box out from the far back of your closet. Memories flashed your mind, of when you and your boyfriend had been watching a show together. One of the characters had been wearing a provocative maid outfit, and you still thought about the way he had grinned at it, or how he had said he found it cute, which you believed translated to sexy, but he had been a little shy back then.

Long story short you bought one. And what better occasion to put it to use than now? You went all out, stockings and heels as well as your attempt at fixing your hair quickly, which you knew didn’t really matter, since you would want it out of the way if you were really going to be emptying boxes. You strut down the hall, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The black and white costume just about covered your ass, and on your chest was a cutout in the shape of a cat’s head. The ruffles of the material bounced as you walked, excited to see your boyfriend’s reaction.

“Close your eyes!” you shouted. “No cheating!”

“I never cheat,” he said. You rolled your eyes, remembering his video game antics from the past.

“Before you say anything…this is supposed to be a motivation for us to empty the boxes. If we do that, we can have our reward,” you said.

“What reward?” he asked, eyes still shut.

“Open your eyes and you’ll know,” you said. Oh, how dearly you whished you could have captured his face on camera.

“Babe…,” he said. Then his mouth just stayed agape, as he ogled at you shamelessly. Just because he could. Because he was just thatlucky to have you.

“Do you like it?” you asked.

“Yes. Of course I do,” he said. His tone was emotionless because he was way too busy sorting out his own thoughts in his head. “But do you really think this is a good idea? How am I supposed to focus on anything but you?”

“We’ll figure it out,” you said. “Don’t you want to feel accomplished at the end of it all? If we don’t start working now, we’ll just end up feeling guilty. Again. Come on, let’s do this.”

“Alright,” he said. “Let me have one kiss.”

You laughed and granted him that one wish. His lips lingered on yours for a while. You knew he didn’t want to pull away. Neither did you. But at last, he had enough control to remove himself from you. It was the office that still needed the most work to be done. Cardboard boxes were piled on top of each other, labelled with some sort of theme or room of belonging on the outside. When you looked his way, he was only eyeing your legs. But then you grabbed the closest box to you and handed it to your boyfriend, and he snapped out of his trance.

Believe it or not, there were up- and downsides to the maid costume in this situation. The pros included feeling unnecessarily sexy whilst doing an unbelievably humane task, not getting too warm since you were already wearing little clothing and having your boyfriend virtually drooling over your appearance. The downsides were mostly reduced to one word: heels. Climbing a ladder and balancing three boxes on top of each other in your arms was an arduous task to begin with. Now add the possibility of twisting your ankle on the top step of a ladder and crashing to the floor, probably breaking your back or worse. You really couldn’t endanger the prospect of the fun you were planning on having later by taking that risk.

That’s why you chose to abandon the heels somewhere on the floor about half an hour into the process. And you came to the conclusion that finally getting over and done with what you had been procrastinating for the last week wasn’t all that bad. You were a whirlwind, running from room to room to make sure everything had its place. At some point he had turned some music on, and it was making everything even better. After all this time, you finally had your own place to decorate however you desired. As you admired how nicely things were coming together, you hummed to yourself quietly.

You weren’t sure whether he was having as much fun as you were. Especially not when you walked past him in the doorframe, carrying four pillows. Your ass – maybe not all that accidentally – brushed against his front as you entered the room. Innocence and feigned ignorance were on your face but you noticed exactly the way his eyes dwelled on you for a little longer until he got back to work.

But everything you could do he could do just as well. Fifteen minutes later, you were occupied with stacking books onto a shelf. Wanting them to stand in a very specific order turned out to be more time-consuming than you had anticipated. You heard his steps behind you, assuming he was going to walk past you. Suddenly his lips brushed against your exposed neck.

“Remember this song?” he asked. You hadn’t been focused on the music for a while now, but of course you remembered. “Remember when I fucked you to the beat of this? Because I do.”

“Babe,” you said. There was a little part in your brain that had the glorious idea of him having you right there, against the bookshelf. You wouldn’t even need to remove your clothes. With him, it took nothing but a few magic words and you felt like giving him all of you. No. It’s not time for that yet. Your rationality vanquished that little avid thought and pushed it away, back into your unconscious where it had come from. It wasn’t gone yet, only not so urgent anymore.

“You’re right,” he said. “We’ll save that for later. Just wanted to remind you of how much of a good time we can have.”

You only shook your head and grinned as he walked off, pretending to be blissfully unbothered. What goes around, comes around, after all. And you deserved that for pushing up against him earlier. It took a minute and you got back to sorting your book titles. Time passed surprisingly fast when you were being productive. Box after box emptied itself, almost as if your wish for magic powers had become reality. But it was just two people, who were so excited about their reward that they forgot to even take a proper break in between the chaos. And soon you were down to the last cardboard box. It was full of decorations you didn’t need for the current season.

Just a few more climbs up and down the ladder to the very top of the closet and you were done. He stood next to the ladder, handing you the things so you didn’t have to go all the way down each time.

“Last one,” he said, giving you a box with holiday lights. Successfully, you placed it in its new spot. When you finally made eye contact with him, he was already staring at you like you were the only thing in the room worth looking at. To be fair, from where he stood, there wasn’t much left up to his imagination. With your stockings on display, his eyes could probably go all the way up to your garter belt.

“Is this angle too revealing?” you asked.

“Absolutely,” he said, making you laugh. Smirking, he took your hand as you stepped off the ladder. You stumbled into his body as you grinned at each other. You both had the same thing on your mind, without a doubt. It was like a little inside joke you had made up just now, making you flirt through looks and small touches. His hand rubbed the small of your back as he bent to your ear.

“My pretty maid, haven’t you worked enough for the day?” he asked. “All that teasing you did today must have been soexhausting.”

You nodded overly seriously, as if riling up your horny boyfriend was physically tiring work. “I hope I did a good job. Did I?”

“No one else could have done it better,” he said. “Now let me treat you, baby.”

You hummed with your mouth already too close to his to say anything. Then your lips finally crashed onto his. It was a little ridiculous how much you missed his touch after only hours of being without it. People had told you you’d get tired of being with each other all the time. But it had been years and you still wished you could have cuffed his wrist to yours because you loved him just that much.

Your tongues fought playfully as you pushed him against the closet front. Small noises came from both of your mouths, quietly agreeing that this was what you had been waiting for – more or less patiently. Your hands became busy with the buttons of his flannel. When you came across his bare skin underneath instead of a shirt, you smiled into the kiss. Every layer less to remove meant you were one step closer to what you wanted.

“We’ve never done it in here,” you muttered against his hungry lips. “That table looks nice, doesn’t it?”

He grinned. Your hands had already messed up his hair, but nothing came close to his dark eyes in moments like these. His look never failed to make your heart skip a beat while you wondered how you had ended up with the most handsome guy in the world.

“Will you think of us, if you ever sit there and work in the future?” he asked, leading you over to the office table. He dropped his flannel on the ground on the way.

“I always think about us,” you said. “But you can make sure this one stays especially prominent in my memory.”

“There’s nothing I’d rather do,” he said, and kissed you again. Your ass was backed against the edge of the table and one of his legs pushed between your thighs. It made you whimper quietly in anticipation. He touched the little part on your thighs that was bare, playing with your garters. With your eyes closed, his tongue on yours and his hands being so close but so far from where you needed him, your head spun with dizziness. He was like a drug, like alcohol dripping straight from his lips and the more you kissed him, the less control you had over yourself. His attention gave you loose lips and the impulse to be risky, all whilst feeling so high up in the clouds you weren’t sure you’d ever find your way back down. You hissed when he pressed his fingers against your underwear.

“You’ll keep the dress on,” he said. “Will you?”

“Of course,” you obliged. “If that’s what you want.”

“Good girl,” he said, and he pulled aside your panties to slide his finger over the slickness that had formed between your thighs. As if on command, your hips moved closer to his hand as you whimpered at the too gentle friction. All afternoon you had been thinking of his hands on you. When you had watched him peel away the tape from the boxes, when he was taking your hand to help you down from the ladder and when he had run his fingers through his hair absentmindedly – all you could think about was how much you wanted those hands to grab your hips and for him to have his way with you.

“Take these off,” he ordered. His stern but gentle voice turned your insides into mush. It made you behave almost like a robot, no ifs ands or buts. When you usually liked to tease him, you knew not to test your limits when he spoke in this tone. Your underwear dropped to the floor and you kicked it a few meters away. Again, his hands ghosted under your dress and found your center. You felt like your knees would buckle from the way he rubbed small circles on your clit. Moaning quietly, you wrapped your arms around his neck for support, leaning your forehead against his chest for a moment. You let out small huffs and whimpers against his skin and nuzzled especially close to him when he touched that one special spot for a few seconds.

“Look at me.” He watched intently as your eyelids fluttered like your eyes were going to roll to the back of your head. You tried your best.

“Put your hands on the table by your sides,” he said. You hummed in disapproval but didn’t dare say so. After all, he could have also told you to put them on your back. And holding on to a wooden edge was still better than not holding on to anything, when you felt like a child standing on its feet for the first time. When he hooked his free hand under your thigh, lifting up your leg a little, your grip on the table tightened. You swore under your breath when he plunged two of his fingers into you. He curled them, pushing hard against your sweet spot and you curled your back in response.

All day you had gone without any sort of attention, when your head had been so full of things you knew you could do with him. The most release you had gotten – which was basically no release at all – was from pushing your legs together tightly when the dirty thoughts had become too much for your brain to handle. You knew it was your own fault for setting yourself up with this challenge. But now with your chest heaving and your head feeling like a tsunami of emotions was raging inside of it, you didn’t regret it as much as you thought you would two hours ago. Maybe you should play this waiting game more often, instead of jumping onto each other any chance you got.

“You look so hot like this,” he said. At the sound of his voice your eyes opened. Those eyes. While they usually held loyalty and playfulness, they now only spoke of authority. He used his thumb to rub your clit whilst his fingers were still inside of you, making you feel like floating. You were his favorite sight, by far. Above all times he watched you, from waking up in the morning to falling asleep in his arms at night, right now was the most mesmerizing. Your parted lips were the entrance to heaven and the glow in your teary, desperate eyes was putting the evening sun to shame.

“I’m so close,” you moaned. Your chest was alternating between short puffs and not breathing at all. Maybe your brain was too focused on the bliss you were chasing to care about breathing for now. You couldn’t blame yourself.

“Don’t make a mess, baby,” he said.

“No, I won’t,” you said. “Can I touch you when I come, please?”

You gave him your most entreating eyes, knowing that even though he liked telling you what to do in the bedroom, not even the strictest boyfriend was immune to your puppy eyes. You suspected that if he had declined, you might have held on to him anyways. Too overpowering was the clamor inside your head that was telling you to be close to him.

“Only when you’re coming,” he said. “Not a second earlier.”

You nodded obediently as your eyes shut again. Good thing you were mere moments away from just that. His fingers moved quickly, now that he knew how close you were to your high. It robbed your breath all at once. And it did the job, after a short while. You whined and arched your back, your hands flinging around his shoulders. Your little noises came out muffled against his skin as you closed your legs around his hand. He barely moved his fingers anymore, but kept the pressure on your most sensitive spots, making sure you could relish in every last second of your orgasm. Only after a while your grip on him loosened, and you realized how your nails had been digging into his skin.

“Sorry,” you said, rubbing over the moon-shaped marks on his shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, baby,” he said. When he removed his hand, you shuddered one last time, but missed his touch already. His magic was always working on you. Even when he had just made you come, the mere sight of the bulge in his pants, ready to spring free, made you want to pull him right into your body again.

“You came so fast today,” he said. Softly, he kissed you, but you noticed the hint of hunger that he must had been feeling as you were coming down from your high.

“That’s what you do to me,” you admitted. “Do you think you’re the only one who felt tortured all day long? It was driving me crazy, too.”

“You seemed to have a lot of fun, messing with my head,” he said, smirking.

“You’ll find that it was worth it, after this,” you said. He raised his eyebrows in question. You were already stepping forward, dropping to your knees in front of him. Like a child on Christmas morning, his eyes lit up at the sight of you.

“Aren’t you the prettiest maid?” he asked, the question obviously rhetorical. To him, you were the prettiest person in the whole universe. You tugged on his pants and pulled them down, along with his underwear. Your mouth watered at the sight of his member, hard and red from all the waiting he’d had to endure. The way he looked at you from above made you feel small, but he stroked your hair out of your face gently and you knew this was exactly where you wanted to be right now, and any other day.

“Hands behind your back,” he said. You smiled and did as he said, holding your right wrist with your left hand on your back. He caught on to your reaction right away.

“You don’t even mind, right?” he said. You were already sitting straight, mouth open, your tongue protruding slightly. “You like it when I make it more difficult for you, don’t you?”

You only nodded and hummed a small yes, then he placed the tip of his dick on your tongue. At first, you only closed your mouth around it, not taking more of him. Your tongue licked over the swollen tip almost shyly. He groaned as he watched you test the waters. After all, he was the one who could control what you did to him. For now, however, he seemed to leave you your freedom to do what you felt like. You pressed your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, licking over the tip ever so slowly. Then, you sunk your mouth further onto his length, taking as much as you could. It was so quiet you only noticed his uneven breathing as he eyed you from above.

“Shit, you’re so good for me,” he said. “Now stop with the teasing, will you? You know what happens if you don’t.”

You knew exactly. And so you shifted from your slow movements to quicker ones. You made sure to keep your tongue on him, especially when you moved your head away, swirling it around the tip now and then. His moans were music to your ears and only motivated you further. You had always loved his voice, when you sang to the song on the car radio or hummed his latest favorite song under the shower. But nothing compared to the way his voice sounded when you sucked him off. He seemed to be the most unrestrained then, not caring who heard him because he was way to obsessed with you sitting by his feet. The way he looked at you then made your stomach turn in pleasure. He didn’t even need to say anything or touch you. His overseeing eyes alone made you want him more than anything else.

His fingers in your hair curled, pushing your head further down on him. You focused on not gagging, your eyes closing. Tears brimmed behind your eyelids, but you were determined not to let them fall. Instead, you opened your lips a little wider and stuck your tongue out to make it easier for him to use your mouth however he desired.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, sighing in relief. You were awaiting treatment a lot rougher than the one he gave you, though. He thrusted into your mouth rather slowly, giving you enough of a break to remember to breathe. When you looked up at him with your sweetest eyes possible, his expression was a mix of strain and pleasure. You suspected he was trying not to overdo it just yet.

“Baby…can I fuck you or is that too much for you?” he asked. You perked up at his request. When you started humming around his length, he pulled away to let you speak.

“Please,” you said. “Fuck me. On the table.”

“Alright, my baby’s making the rules now, is she?” he said. “Come here.”

“I thought that’s where you wanted me to remember you, wasn’t it?” you asked, getting up.

“You’re right,” he said. You sat down on the edge of the office table with your legs parted for him to stand between them. Just once he kissed you. You wanted him to hurry, so you linked your heels behind his back, pulling him closer.

“Take me like a good girl.” He ran his cock over your slick folds, and he groaned when he felt your warmth on him. In response you nodded willingly, unable to wait a second more for him. Luckily, he didn’t plan on dragging out the anticipation any longer. With ease he slid into you, finding a familiar rhythm right away. As if you hadn’t just come ten minutes ago, you whimpered pathetically at the satisfaction. You leaned your weight onto your hands behind you, watching his cock enter you over and over. There was no limit to how many times you could have him inside of you. Every time it felt the same. Like he was completing you, all whilst simultaneously ruining you. His thrusts were sharp and as you raised your legs and changed the angle slightly, your eyes rolled back for a moment.

“Harder,” you asked, even though you were already overwhelmed.

“You want more?” he asked. You hummed a yes and nodded quickly. His grip on your waist tightened as he pulled you closer to the edge of the table. He didn’t disappoint. He never did. Swiftly, he pushed your legs further open and pounded into you, making your body shake every time his hips slapped against yours. It drove you borderline mad. A part of your brain urged you to praise him, to let him know what he was doing to you. But then, those unspoken words between you were inconsequential. You didn’t need to tell him how good he was. He could read it in every part of your body. He saw it in the arch of your back, in your curled toes and in your lip that was captured between your teeth. He heard it in the way you moaned and said his name like he was your savior.

Plus, you would tell him all about it afterward. But that wasn’t what your mind was focused on momentarily. It was the way he hit your sweet spot every time and you could barely breathe normally amidst your whimpers. You hadn’t even introduced yourself to all your neighbors yet, but they most certainly had taken notice of your arrival in the new apartment.

“Can you use your hands for me?” he asked. “Show me touching yourself, baby.”

His words and the look of dominance in his eyes was all it took, and without second thought your hands went to your center. You sucked in a breath at the added pleasure. It was almost too much at first, but then you let it all in. Like a wave was crashing over you, your eyes closed, and you hummed from the intensity.

“That’s it. Make yourself come again,” he said. “You can do it again.”

“Yes,” you said, almost breathed with the weakest voice. Your body had other things to focus on at that moment, letting your vocal chords do whatever they felt like. You clenched your walls around him and the knot in your stomach tightened with every little circle you drew on your clit. His usually tender eyes were everything but that as he watched you revel in the pleasure.

“So fucking hot,” he groaned. You tried hard to uphold eye-contact through fluttering eyelids and furrowed brows. “Good girl, keep going. Tell me when you’re coming.”

You hummed a yes as one of his hands cupped the side of your neck, the other remaining on your hips so he could push your body against his own with every thrust. After all this time of being with him you knew what it meant when his moans became higher pitched and he seemed to not realize his mean grip on your skin – not that you minded. You loved seeing the marks he left on you, especially when you had nowhere to be the next days. It always made him hungry, when he saw the dark spots on your skin, like a fading memory of what you had done.

A curse fell from his perfect lips and his thrusts turned sloppy as he came inside of you. His face, all twisted in bliss and from exhaustion, was all you needed.

“Stay inside of me. Just for a little while, please,” you plead, fingers on your clit rubbing at the quickest speed you could muster. “I’ll come if you stay.”

“I’m right here,” he said, slowing his actions until he was just filling you up, but now moving anymore. “It’s okay. Come for me.”

Just having him there, stretching out your walls and making you feel so close to him was all you really needed. And his words of affirmation sent you over the edge in no time. It was a toe-curling, mind-bending surge that overcame you at your release. Stars danced delightfully behind your closed eyelids while you tried to process all of it. He gripped your hand that was touching your clit and pressed it down, urging you to go on for a little while longer. You whined in sensitivity, feeling like your legs would give in, even though you were already sitting down. For just another while, he dragged out your orgasm as you struggled to control your overwhelmed senses. He distracted you by bending forward and letting his lips graze yours.

“You did so good,” he said. “My pretty maid.”

You whimpered and then sighed when he finally lifted your hand away from between your legs. Only then you could scrape together some words.

“We both did good today,” you grinned. “And I mean not only the last half hour.”

“Agreed,” he said. “Tomorrow we could tackle those last boxes in the kitchen. What do you think?”

“Can the maid outfit make another appearance?” you asked.

“I was hoping it might,” he said, kissing you softly. Your tired limbs and mind welcomed his gentleness as your hands went to his hair. You could already guess how the next day would go, then. But truth be told, you didn’t mind it one bit.

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thesolferino · 3 years

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⤷ note: apologies for losing your request, anon, but thank you for requesting! this is my first time writing a full fic in second person, so bear with me, and i hope this is what you were looking for <3

The Great American Bake Off

pairing: corpse husband x gn!reader

word count: 3.6k

genre: fluff

summary: you’ve been jealous of rae and her closeness with your boyfriend since the dawn of time, but things change and friendships are made once she comes over for one hell of a cooking video.

Corpse, among many other things, was a man many wished to have.

It’s the truth; even if he didn’t have a YouTube channel through which millions kept up with everything from horror stories to Among Us gameplays, people would still turn heads and whisper whenever he spoke - that attention more than multiplied when he started blowing up and his social media presence grew.

With growth come numbers, and there are always people behind said numbers. Through them, Corpse makes wonderful friends - through them, you had met him, too. All the way back, during his horror narration days, you had grown to like him - really, who wouldn’t?

A DM you once sent after a few drinks, when you claimed to your friends you’d get the “deep-voiced man of your dreams” you often talked about and they, in turn, challenged you to message him, was nothing short of a joke and the idea of him responding was merely a pipe dream. What you hadn’t expected, however, was a response, which wrecked your brain at noon the next day, where your head throbbed with embarrassment, guilt, pride, happiness, a melt of hatred and gratefulness for your friends, panic and the remains of alcohol that tugged at every part of your skull.

It had turned out to be more than a great idea, though, because for the next few weeks you were constantly talking. You learned so much more than he let on in videos, and during late night calls you found out everything from his favorite clothing brand to his favorite color to his thoughts about his own mortality and then back to his favorite cereal. Audio calls and short voice messages turned into hours long FaceTimes that led you from friends to something more. And after a year or so of dating, you packed your bags and made it to sunny San Diego, ready to lay in his arms and sweat bullets.

Safe to say Corpse’s social media presence had its good sides. However, with all good things come bad things too, and you weren’t sure if the bad things were bad at all or you were simply too jealous.

Corpse made wonderful friends thanks to his YouTube channel. He met people he could confide in, meet, people he could talk to about his worst problems, people who would listen - he met people he could have fun with, with who he could forget all about the real world and his own issues, and simply laugh his heart away, play games until the late hours of the night.

If he had to name his closest ones, they would have to be Dave, Loey, maybe Mykie, possibly Jack, and Rae. And that is exactly where the root of the problem stood.

Rae is beautiful, and everyone who denies it must be either dumb or blind. She’s drop dead gorgeous, and funny, and kind, and smart, in a way that made you want to rip your hair out. You wanted to hate her so bad, because the jealousy ate away at you like a damn disease, but you couldn’t, because she was perfect Rae, and as much as you hated the fact she seemed to be perfect inside out, you just couldn’t hate her as her. It was impossible, you concluded.

You convinced yourself you weren’t jealous every time you heard him yelling or laughing at her from his office room - or at least you attempted to do so. Your lunch would turn sour and end up forgotten because you’d be way too focused on listening in on what he was doing and trying to make out what she was saying to even eat at the same pace you previously were. Jealousy ate away at you, no matter if you admitted it to yourself or not.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Corpse, of course. On one late night when you couldn’t sleep and neither could he, as per usual, you turned on a random comedy that you half-heartedly paid attention to, his fingers combing through the knots in your hair peacefully and the slow pace of the movie lulling you to sleep slowly. That is, before his phone rang and lit the mostly dark room. You managed to sneak a glance at the notification before he had, and the familiar bitterness seeped between your ribs as always upon seeing the name displayed at the top of the message, more than awake now.

You visibly stiffened when he laughed at the message and typed something back, shifting your head in his lap as some subconscious attempt at getting him to pay attention to you instead. He put his phone down and you huffed, eyes locked on the TV screen as you pretended to be extremely absorbed in the movie even though you weren’t quite sure of the difference between the protagonist and antagonist anymore. His hands didn’t return to your hair, and that somehow made you even more annoyed.

“What’s up?” Corpse quietly spoke up, barely over the volume over the already quiet movie.

“Nothing.” You said, quicker than you wanted to, and you bit your tongue in cringe when you realised it was an awful lie. Corpse seemed to think the same.

“That’s bullshit. Seriously, what’s wrong?” He asked, and was met with pure silence. In reality, you were hoping he’d simply never realise you were somewhat jealous, because you knew you were being stupid and unreasonable, but you couldn’t help wanting him all to yourself. Admitting it out loud made it so much more real, and so much more embarrassing that you would rather bury yourself alive than admit to being jealous of Rae, of all people.

After a few seconds of silence, save the laughter of characters on screen, he spoke again.

“Are you jealous?” The hint of a teasing tone in his voice made you want to rip your hair out of your skull. Was it really that damn hard to believe that yes, you were jealous of an extremely close friend of his? Was it a crime?

The clenching of your jaw seemed to give Corpse enough of a response, and his hands returned to running themselves through your hair as he giggled to himself.

“What’s so damn funny?” You borderline spat, causing his movements to halt for a second before continuing with even louder laughter.

“I don’t know, just the idea of you being jealous of Rae is so funny. I’ve noticed the way you roll your eyes whenever I text her in front of you. You’re not exactly sneaky, you know?” His words made blood rush straight to your face, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. How long has he known this for?

“Sorry. I don’t…” you exhaled and attempted to smile. “I don’t know what’s up with me. I’m so jealous nowadays. I don’t even know why.”

“There’s enough of me to share with everyone, no worries baby.” he replied, teasing tone still yet to dissipate as you slap his knee in mock offense and he starts wheezing.

“Absolutely not! Fucking excuse you, I’m not sharing with anyone!” you gaped at him as he kept laughing.

That was the end of it - or at least Corpse thought so. Needless to say, he was wrong.

Your mood would instantly turn sour whenever he’d laugh at one of her messages, and you attempted to push down every eye roll whenever he’d sit on his phone, between your legs, back turned to you so you could see everything, and open Rae’s DMs again. Sometimes you managed, sometimes you couldn’t help it, but you did your best to do it whenever he wasn’t looking. Because you truly knew you were being unreasonable, especially whenever you have to relay situations like how he had to postpone a date one time because Rae asked him to play Rust for a bit longer and you almost ripped all your hair out of your skull in frustration back to your best friend who just turned Rae and Corpse into the villains in the situation because that’s what best friends are supposed to do.

Not like he was going out of his way to talk to her a concerning amount, they mostly talked in groupchats and on streams and that was only a few times weekly, but it did absolutely nothing to calm the green monster growing stronger in you every day, fed by every laugh she got out of him.

The green monster fucking loved it when Corpse excitedly announced to you that he’s finally meeting his friends for the first time, and by friends meaning Rae, Sykkuno and Karl. You, however… were far from impressed.

He paced around the room in excitement, a mix of obvious anxiety and joy evident on his face, and he fiddled with the strings of his hoodie with shaky hands as he very proudly announced that he would be the second tallest person in the room through a blinding, pearly grin, and seeing him so electrified couldn’t help but make you shut your jealous thoughts up, even if just for a little bit, and mirror his grin back to him.

What did, however, make you as anxious as him was when he announced they’d a) be coming to your shared apartment and b) making a cooking video - it sent you into a panicked mom mode as you dusted every corner of every room and vacuumed everything from the kitchen to the balcony and Corpse did nothing but record you as you anxiously rambled and laugh at you from his place on your bed.

When the dreaded Saturday finally came, and the first person to arrive, Sykkuno, rang your doorbell, you squeezed Corpse’s hand to stop him from nervously toying with his rings and opened the door, and you greeted the man like he was your own brother and not a person you’d seen probably a total of three times through the computer screen and someone who’s seen you maybe two times, from the pictures Corpse sent him, in your best attempt to make both of them more comfortable. It actually kind of worked - turns out Sykkuno is a pretty affectionate guy, too, and a conversation started as soon as he stepped in. Corpse gave you a look when you pulled away from Sykkuno’s half-hug, and you almost laughed out loud at the irony when his phone lit up with a notification from Rae announcing she was almost there at that exact moment.

She had kept true to her word; ten minutes or so later, another ring was heard and you gestured to Corpse to open it this time as you gave Sykkuno his cup of water and resisted any and every urge to roll your eyes or do something otherwise bitchy and stupid. Corpse did as told, and you watched them hug and listened to Rae squeal in excitement through the open door of the living room and decided to plaster a smile on your face for as long as you could muster before you remove yourself from the situation when they start filming.

Unfortunately for you, the first person she locked eyes with was exactly you, and they lit up an even prettier brown (if that was even possible) as she beelined to you and you barely got a greeting out before she engulfed you in a large hug, arms wrapping around your neck as she swayed both of you side to side.

“Oh my God, you must be Y/N! I’ve heard so much about you, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” Rae cheered into your ear before she finally pulled back, before shooting an infectious grin at you that you couldn’t help but return back.

“All good things, I hope.” you chuckled as she moved to greeting Sykkuno, and nodded her head with an enthusiastic giggle of her own. You eyed Corpse for a second who simply leaned against the door frame, watching the whole thing unfold with somewhat of a proud smile on his face, before Rae turned back to you and your attention was on her again.

“Of course! Corpse is very much a simp for you, you know that?” She said and both you and Corpse laughed, especially him, who nodded his head in agreement as she sat back down, still beaming at you.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that.” you respond before turning back to Corpse. “Where’s Karl at?”

“He’ll be here in half an hour or so, he only landed recently.” he said. You nodded and moved to sit on a nearby chair to leave space for the guests on the couch.

Karl ended up arriving in twenty minutes and apprised everyone of the information that “his taxi driver is a psycho that, apparently, doesn’t fear stop signs or the police” before setting up the camera in your kitchen and tried his best to attach lapel mics on everybody (admittedly, it took way longer than it should’ve, but he eventually managed and that counted as a win in his book). You reluctantly agreed to be the judge of the finished product when they’re done cooking, and Karl was there for the purposes of being a cameraman and making jokes off screen so he agreed too, albeit way more enthusiastically than you.

The two of you sat behind the camera as the three of them lined up, Corpse wearing a mask and his signature eyepatch (that he didn’t really need, but those two did their job in preserving his privacy) and introduced what they were doing. Corpse was obviously very anxious, hands fidgeting constantly and shivering like a dog after a bath despite the hoodie he was wearing in 100 degree weather because of the shower of sweat that was now drying on his body, and that was partly why you were there, supportive smiles, encouraging cheers and all.

They were making Mexican ground beef tacos, and despite knowing Corpse can barely make a sandwich without setting at least two dishes on fire, you still cheered him on proudly and repeated he was part Mexican himself roughly 5 times a minute, claiming he was going to kill it.

“Kill it? More like kill one of us- CORPSE watch what you’re doing with that fucking knife! You’re proving my point!” Rae yelled at him as he giggled in delight, watching the woman gape at him in pure horror and Sykkuno watch his movements completely entranced as he played with the knife in his hands.

“You’re just mad that he’s going to make tacos fifty times better than you.” you said to Rae, chewing down on some M&Ms that Karl and you shared (both of you decided on a genius plan - you’re going to eat the whole bag before they’re done with cooking so you can claim you’re full and therefore can’t eat the atrocity that will most likely be the tacos).

“Don’t gas me up like that, Y/N, you are well aware I’m shit at cooking. Expect absolutely nothing from me.” he replied over the sizzling of the meat on the pan, throwing a whole spoonful of chili powder into it, earning loud yelling and scolding from your side and loud laughter from Rae.

“HALF A TEASPOON! Half a teaspoon, how have you not remembered this already?! We’ve made tacos a million times now, oh my God, you’re actually stupid.” you yelled at him, arms flailing in the direction of the seasoning to emphasise your ‘half a teaspoon’ point as Rae doubled over in laughter and Sykkuno looked into the pan with a concerned and somewhat afraid look. Just as he peeked in, the overwhelming smell of chili powder started biting away at his eyes, and he jumped away with a yelp.

“Jesus, Corpse!” he exclaimed, rubbing his eyes with his forearm as the whole room burst into laughter and Corpse suspiciously inspected his beef.

“What were you saying about your ‘Mexican king’, Y/N?” Rae asked, pulling out a few tortillas and putting them on the table. You huffed, grabbing another handful of M&Ms.

“Giving him up to God. He’s the only one who can help, at this point.” you said. She giggled in response and Corpse let out some sort of protesting sound and waved his knife around in complaint. “I don’t know who this man is. He broke into my kitchen and now I’m here.”

“Hey, I pay half of your rent!” he said, and you were about to reply but Rae dropped her meat into a pan full of overheated oil, and a loud hiss and some sort of a scream overtook the room as a cloud of steam shot into the air and she frantically looked around for the wooden spoon so the meat wouldn’t stick to the pan. You simply sat and laughed, eating the candy like it was popcorn and you were watching a shitty cooking show - it wasn’t that far from reality, really.

“Um, I just realised I don’t make many tacos, actually.” she said as she helplessly stirred the meat, turning to you with pleading eyes. “What seasoning even goes into this? Y/N, will you help me? Let’s team up against Corpse!”

You tilted your head in thought, but before you could even speak, Corpse spoke up.

“That’s not fucking fair, that’s-that’s against the rules.” he turned to you. “You won’t betray me, right?”

You laughed at him, adjusting in your seat. “I gave up on you ever since you added, like, 3 kilos of seasoning into the meat for no reason.” then you turned to Rae. “Sure, let’s do it, babe.”

Their loud yelling immediately started mixing, Rae’s cheers contrasting Corpse’s protesting. She stuck her tongue out at him meanwhile Corpse shot her the middle finger, and she turned back to you with a grin.

“Alright, what do I put in?”

Roughly twenty unnecessary and extremely long minutes later, the tacos were done, two each for each of them. Rae’s looked the best - probably because you guided her through the whole thing - next to Sykkuno’s, whose you were genuinely intrigued to try. While Corpse was arguing with Rae, he burned roughly half of his already ruined beef, and Karl made the very nice observation that it looked like a bird shat in a tortilla, which you proclaimed as the highlight of the video.

Since you and Karl claimed you were full, the three of them simply swapped tacos between each other as to be unbiased, and the two of you watched in amused suspense. You were actually quite interested to see what the end results were - you were first anxious and quite annoyed you even had to participate in the first place, because it meant losing your mind from jealousy, watching Corpse and Rae giggle and act all domestic while cooking, but jealousy simply dissipated somewhere half through the video as you watched the three argue if cheddar cheese belonged on tacos or not and Rae laugh at every stupid joke you cracked. Now, you sat, fully immersed as you stared at Sykkuno’s face; the poor guy ended up with the misfortune of having to try Corpse’s taco first.

“Zoom in, zoom in!” you whispered into Karl’s ear who complied and zoomed into Sykkuno’s face. He bit into the taco, chewing for a second before his face twisted in disgust and you began wheezing when he grabbed a tissue and spit it out, immediately grabbing his glass of water. Rae laughed at him as well, mouth full of his one, which she claimed she actually liked but it wasn’t as good as the “Y/NRae-co” as she proudly called it. Corpse silently ate Rae’s taco and refused to give a review on it because he was upset he got defeated, but the fact that he scarfed down the whole thing in a minute or so was enough of a review.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.” Corpse exclaimed when he saw Sykkuno’s bite in the tissue, grabbing the second taco he made and biting down on it. The whole room burst into laughter when he roughly swallowed, tears obvious in the one eye that showed, because of the overly spicy beef.

“What are you motherfuckers laughing at? It’s not that bad, I stand by tacorpse.”

“Tacorpse is actually genius. The one good thing you came up with during the entirety of this video.” Rae said and Corpse mumbled a fuck you in response.

“Well, I think we can all agree that me and Y/N’s taco was clearly the best.” she said, clasping her hands together.

“I actually think mine was better.” Sykkuno said, to which she pushed his plate out of the frame.

“Nobody asked you anything.”

“Don’t bully Sykkuno, I’ll fucking kick you out.”

“Oh yeah? I’m pretty sure Y/N would kick you out before they’d let you kick me!” Rae said, accusingly pointing her taco in Corpse’s direction.

“Alright, let’s wrap up the video.” Karl laughed behind the camera, and the three of them all turned to properly face it and end the video.

“Thank you all so much for watching, this has been an… interesting video, to say the least. Uh, thank you to Karl for filming this whole disaster, thank you to Corpse,” Rae gestured in his direction, “for lending us his kitchen, thank you to Sykkuno for probably getting us more views on this video, and also a big thank you to Y/N, Corpse’s better half for making this video way more interesting and helping me make probably, like, the best taco I’ve ever made.” she grinned and you shoved a peace sign in front of the camera.

“If you liked this video, check out Sykkuno and Corpse’s channels, they will be linked down below, and please click like and subscribe to support the channel! Again, thank you all for watching, see you later, bye!” she finished, and with that, Karl turned the camera off.

Silence engulfed the room. You sighed.

“Alright, who’s gonna clean this shit up?”

#corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x female reader #corpse husband fanfic #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband fluff

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regulusblackfest · 2 years

Text

Week 5 Round Up

And with this week, we've wrapped up an absolutely amazing posting period of this year's Regulus Fest! The final masterlist, including the creators-reveal, will go up next Saturday - until then, have fun with this last batch of brilliant fics, and leave our creators some love if you can!

Title: Hour-Glasses, Lightning Bolts and Lions Pairing/main characters: Regulus Black/Harry Potter Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Medium/Word Count: 9340 Summary:

The soulmark on Regulus’ wrist has never made sense, an hour-glass and a lightning bolt. Then he goes to the cave, prepared to die, and instead wakes up to what looks like a whole army of Weasleys and, apparently, a wedding. The soulmark on Harry’s wrist has never made sense, an hour-glass and a constellation. Until his 17th birthday and Bill and Fleur’s wedding, when a drenched boy who looks painfully like Sirius lands in the midst of the chaos, matching soulmark unmistakable.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38619609/chapters/96543495

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Title: Out of the Shadow (Into the Abyss) Pairing/main characters: Regulus Black/ Barty Crouch Jr. Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: None Medium/Word Count: 10k

Summary:

His first assignment as a Death Eater was to bring another student into the fold. Easy, he thought. It would have been, too, if only the student in question hadn’t been none other than the son of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement: Crouch.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38660685

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Title: We Don’t Die Like Heroes Pairing/main characters: Sirius & Regulus Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: No Warnings Medium/Word Count: 4445 words Summary:

When an otherwise normal day goes awry, Regulus thinks about how his own life and values.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Regulus_Black_Fest_2022/works/39043473

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Title: that would be enough Pairing/main characters: Gen, Alphard Black. Regulus Black. Sirius Black Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: Major Character Death (off screen) Medium/Word Count: Fic, 15559 Summary:

Prompt: Walburga and Orion die when Sirius and Regulus are young (pre-Hogwarts), and their Uncle Alphard steps in to raise them. Sirius and Regulus find the true meaning of family, bravery, and kindness when Alphard steps in to raise them.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39135687/chapters/97907835

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Title: in too deep to find a safe way out Pairing/main characters: Regulus Black/Harry Potter Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: None Medium/Word Count: 28k Summary:

“That was rude,” the boy says, but he doesn’t look particularly annoyed. In fact, he looks amused, of all things. “Who in Salazar’s name are you?” “I’m Harry Potter,” he says, and now he is definitely grinning. It disappears as quickly as it appeared, and he takes Regulus in once more. There is something far too knowing in his gaze. “And you are Regulus Black, here to steal Tom Riddle’s Horcrux.” — Regulus never wanted to be saved, but Harry Potter is nothing if not stubborn. As it turns out, they might have both needed each other, really, and if they save a few more people in the process, well… that’s a rather lucky side-effect, isn’t it?

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38953695/chapters/97422636

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Title: Live Fast, Die Young, Leave a Pretty Corpse Pairing/Main Characters: Sirius Black & Regulus Black Rating: Teen & up Warnings: None Word Count: 12919 Summary:

It’s been two years since his brother died, and Sirius still hasn’t mourned. The sudden appearance in his life of a Muggle fashion model who bears him a suspicious resemblance is making it difficult for Sirius to keep pretending he doesn’t care.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38850015/chapters/97150725

#regulus black #regulus black fest #regulus black fest 2022 #round up post

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blackspoon99 · 3 years

Text

The Sign of Three Pt. 3

Sherlock x Female! Reader

TW: Drinking, Language, Potential Emetophobia (If you’ve seen this episode, you know), Spoilers to Season 3

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

“Of course, there’s hours of material here, but I’ve cut it down to the really good bits.”

Oh god, the stag night. You almost laughed just thinking about it. It was unbelievable that Sherlock was willingly telling this story to an audience. You were fortunate enough to witness some of the events of the night firsthand.

The story began the morning of in Baker Street, 11 am:

It was a Saturday morning, and you were over having tea with Sherlock. For the two of you, “having tea” consisted of you both reading in complete silence while you happened to be drinking tea. It was a common occurrence, and for you, it was a treasured tradition. You were curled up in John’s chair opposite Sherlock. Today, you were reading Emma by Jane Austen. You peeked over at Sherlock to see what he was reading. Sherlock was reading a book titled “Atlas of Forensic Pathology”. Riveting. The book looked so heavy; it would probably go straight through the floor if he dropped it.

You returned to your book. This was probably your third time reading the Jane Austen classic. You were inexplicably drawn to the plot, the message, the love story, all of it. You finally were at your favorite part. When Mr. Knightly said to Emma, “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” You looked at Sherlock over the pages of your book. You couldn’t help but consider the relevance of the quote in your own life.

When you first came to terms with the fact that you were in love with Sherlock, the feeling had burned through you. You couldn’t focus and constantly fought the urge to tell him. Possibly because of the several near-death experiences you'd had. After you made up with Sherlock at the engagement party, the feeling persisted but it was almost duller, easier to live with. You’d slowly regained security in Sherlock’s role in your life and you no longer constantly worried he’d leave again. You returned to your version of mundane and your unrequited feelings for Sherlock became the new normal. It had become more of a consistent ache than a burn.

Sherlock interrupted your thoughts: “Shouldn’t it be relatively easy to find a new book to read if you work in a bookstore?”

“True, but I like this one,” you said without looking up from your book.

“Why? What do you gain from reading a convoluted story of questionable morals that provides no useful information?”

You finally put your book down. “Because, I like to read for fun. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Sherlock smiled and scoffed at you then returned to his book.

You shook your head and downed the rest of your tea. “Okay, I’ve got to go to work.” You got up and took your mug to the kitchen. On your way back to gather your things, you noticed an open file on the kitchen table that looked like a John Watson scrapbook. You pulled the first paper off the stack to see a cutout of John’s head pasted onto the Vitruvian Man. “Sherlock?” you called over your shoulder, “What’s this file for?”

“What file?” He asked.

You picked up the file and carried it back to the living room. You returned to your seat and started thumbing through it.

“Oh. That’s for the stag night,” said Sherlock.

“Stag night? I didn’t think you would want to do that sort of thing”

“Why not?” He swiftly closed his book. If you didn’t know better, you’d take the action as a sign of offense.

“Uh, no reason,” you said hastily. The file was full of peer-reviewed studies on alcohol consumption, detailed chemistry notes, and copies of John’s medical records. The last page was a detailed schedule of where they were going and how much they were going to drink every hour. “This is awfully thorough.”

“I needed to ensure the maximum amount of enjoyment for the both of us for the duration of the night.”

“How considerate of you.” You put the file down and leaned forward. “So, what do you have planned?”

“John and I will be drinking at a pub on every street we ever found a corpse.”

“That is oddly perfect for the both of you.”

“I thought so,” Sherlock said with a grin.

You looked at the time. If you didn’t leave now, you’d be late. “Well, I’m off. See you later, Sherlock.”

“Yes, yes, goodbye,” he mumbled and returned to reading. You left the file on the table, gathered your belongings, and left for your shift.

---------------------------------

Later that evening:

You closed the bookshop at 8 pm and headed to the tube station. As you made your way through the crowded streets, you heard your phone ringing. You dug through your bag to find it as you walked. You saw Sherlock’s name on the caller ID and answered it. Your ears were immediately assaulted by electronic dance music.

You heard Sherlock’s voice first “Shut up John, I’m calling her.” He shouted over the music

“Who?” you then recognized John’s voice.

“Her John, I’m calling her!”

You struggled to hear the call over the booming music “Hello?? Sherlock? Why are you calling me?”

“Oh! It’s y/n! Hello!” John shouted into the phone. You winced at the volume.

“John? Where are you? Are you drunk?”

“Stag night! Sherlock tried to measure my piss. Then he got into a fight.”

“Give me that back” Sherlock’s voice “Y/n meet us back at Baker Street. It’s an ‘mergency”

“What did you say? Sherlock? It’s really hard to hear,”

“Baker Street. Now!” He shouted then hung up.

For a moment, you stood in the street, dumbfounded. It was only 8 pm and both Sherlock and John were piss drunk at some club. You couldn’t even begin to process the rest of the information. So much for Sherlock’s plan, although it did seem like they had “maximized their enjoyment”. You weren’t about to miss this.

——————————

You arrived at Baker Street by 8:30 pm. You opened the door to find Sherlock and John laying across the bottom of the stairs. “Hello boys, I’m here.” You announced.

At the sound of your voice, Sherlock and John scrambled to sit upright. Sherlock fell down a step in the process. You tried your best to suppress your laughter. “So, I’m here. What’s the emergency, Sherlock?”

“Right, you,” He said, raising his arm to point at you. “Upstairs.”

You watched Sherlock and John slowly stand up. John lifted one foot to climb the stairs, then stumbled backward.

“Do you need help, John?” You asked.

“Nah,” he said, “‘s alright, I’m fine. I can do it myself.”

You slowly helped Sherlock and John up and into the flat. Sherlock tried to take off his coat, but his arms got stuck behind him. You giggled and gently pulled his coat off him and hung it on the coat rack. You lead Sherlock over to his chair and he flopped down into it.

You went into the kitchen to get some water for him and John. You figured they’d need it. You searched the cabinets, but there wasn’t a clean glass in sight. You resorted to the clean beakers on the countertops instead. You poured two 250mL beakers most of the way with water and walked them back into the living room. When you returned, Sherlock was sitting in his chair. He was drinking from a glass of scotch.

“Sherlock,” you groaned. “Where did you get that?” You attempted to reach for the glass, but he pulled his hand away, spilling it all over himself.

“It’s okay, this is fine,” he said, staring at his scotch-soaked shirt. “Oh,” he started. “I almost forgot,” Sherlock leaned over the side of his chair to grab something off the floor “You left this,” Sherlock said and handed you your copy of Emma. You hadn’t even realized it was gone.

“That was the emergency?”

“I still don’t understand how you could read this 3 times,” Sherlock slurred. “It’s so- what’s the word? Incorrect? ‘There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.’ What an absurd thing to say” He contorted his face into an expression of disgust and took a sip of scotch from the glass in his hand.

“You read it? Today?” The fact that Sherlock had gone out of his way to read your favorite book made you unnaturally happy. You knew not to read into the things with Sherlock, but sometimes you couldn’t help yourself.

“You left it behind and I was so bored. Besides, I had to understand why you liked it so much. I still don’t know.”

You leaned over and snatched the glass of scotch from him. “I don’t think that’s the best idea, do you?” You handed him the beaker of water.

“Thank you,” he said with a goofy grin. In all the years you’d known Sherlock, you had never seen him like this. It was odd to say the least yet decidedly hilarious.

“Where’s John?”

Sherlock didn’t answer but pointed in the general direction of the bathroom. You decided to take the seat opposite Sherlock. As you sat down, Sherlock put his water on the floor. He then leaned forward and put his head in his hands, staring at you.

“What are you doing, Sherlock?” you asked.

“You,” he said, pointing at your face “are so hard to figure out sometimes, you know that?”

“Me?”

“It’s soooooo annoying. I can tell what almost everyone is thinking all the time, but not always you.”

“You think I’m hard to read?”

“Yes, you. Y/n L/n.” He waved his hands around while he slightly slurred his words.

“Okay then, how about this: I tell you what I’m thinking right now, and you do the same. Then, for one moment, we can understand each other completely.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow “You first.”

“I’m thinking… that I’m glad you called me.” Sherlock smiled and nodded. You giggled, “Now it’s your turn, and don’t lie to me. What are you thinking in this moment?”

Sherlock paused. “I’m thinking that my shirt’s all wet,” he said with a slight frown.

“That’s your own fault,” you said, putting one hand over your mouth to contain your laughter.

John re-entered the room holding post-it notes and a sharpie. “I’ve just had the best idea,” he said with a sloppy grin.

-----------------------------

The three of you all had post-its stuck to your foreheads, each with names written down. John sat in the client’s seat with the name MADONNA scribbled on the piece of paper stuck to his forehead. Sherlock, much to your enjoyment, had SHERLOCK HOLMES sloppily written on his forehead. As per the game, you had no idea what was written on yours. Sherlock was lounging back in his chair, resting his head on his hand.

“Am I a vegetable?” asked John

“You? Or the thing?” Sherlock asked smiling. The two of them snickered.

“Funny!” said John.

Sherlock looked down and smiled. “Thank you,” he choked out.

“To answer your question, John, no,” you said.

“Your go, Sherlock,” said John.

“Erm…. am I human?” he asked, turning to you.

“Sometimes,” you said with a smirk.

“No, no, it can’t be sometimes, can’t have that…”

“Fine. Yes, you’re human” you confirmed. “My turn. Am I a man?”

“Yeeep” answered John. “Sherlock, you again,” John said, forgetting it was his turn.

“Am I a man?”

John nodded. Sherlock kept going. “Am I a tall man?”

John looked at you and started laughing before he even spoke “Mm, not as tall as people think.” John’s head flopped to the side as he let out a hiccup

“Nice?”

“Ishh,” John said skeptically.

“Clever?”

“I’d say so,” you interjected.

“Do people…” he made air quotes as he spoke the word ‘people’ “... like me?”

“Not really,” you said, chuckling “You tend to rub them the wrong way.” If you had to babysit your adult drunk friends, you might as well have some fun.

“Hm,” Sherlock nodded intently. “Am I the current King of England?”

You and John immediately burst into laughter. “Good guess, Sherlock. But you do know England doesn’t have a king?”

“Don’t we?”

“No,” John said. “Y/n, you go now”

“Right, okay. Am I a friend of ours?”

“Ehh, yes?” Sherlock said.

“Yes, yes they are Sherlock,” said John “Jesus.”

“Well, that narrows it down significantly. Am I Greg?”

“Who’s Greg?” Sherlock asked.

You rolled your eyes and took the post-it off your forehead. The name “Gavin” was written on it in Sherlock’s handwriting. Of course.

“Hey!” Sherlock yelled, “Cheater, that’s cheating. John, did you see that? Y/n’s cheating.” Sherlock got up and took the post-it from your hand. He leaned forward and stuck it back on your forehead. “There. Now it’s John’s turn.”

“Am I a woman?” asked John. He slumped in his seat. Sherlock immediately started giggling. “What?” John asked.

“Yes,” confirmed Sherlock

“Am I a pretty woman?”

“Er, beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models.”

“But am I pretty?” John asked again.

“Yeah, Sherlock? Is John a pretty woman?”

“I don’t know who you are. I don’t know who you’re supposed to be.”

“What?! You picked the name,” John said.

“Ah, but I picked it at random from the papers,” Sherlock said, flailing his arm over to the stack of newspapers in the corner.

“I don’t think you understand the point of this game, Sherlock,” you added.

“So, I am human, I’m not as tall as people think I am ... I’m-I’m nice-ish ... clever, but I tend to rub them up the wrong way.”

“That’s correct,” said John.

“I’m you, aren’t I?” Sherlock asked, pointing to John.

“Ooh-ooh!” Mrs. Hudson chirped as she knocked on the door. “Client!” Behind Mrs. Hudson was a woman wearing a nurse’s outfit with a cardigan over it. You scrambled to take the post-it off your forehead as you stood up.

“Hello, I’m sorry, but this really isn’t a good time—”

Sherlock immediately stood up and interrupted you. “It’s not a bad time, no, no Y/n. We always help a person in need.”

“Do we?” you said with a forced smile and looked over at John for help. John just stared back blankly at you with a goofy drunken smile.

The woman beamed “Thank you,” she said. “Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?”

John imitated a slide whistle, and pointed to Sherlock’s post-it on his forehead. Sherlock flashed a wide toothy grin. You put your head in your hands in defeat.

----------------------------------------------------------------

A few moments later, you’d made the woman, Tessa, some tea, and you John and Sherlock were sitting on the couch. Sherlock was sat in between you and John. Tessa sat in a chair opposite the three of you.

“I don’t ... a lot ... I mean, I don’t ... date all that much ... and ... he seemed ... nice, you know?”

You looked over at Sherlock and John hoping they could keep it together. John was blinking slowly and heavily while trying to stay awake. Sherlock was listening to Tessa’s story intently.

She continued. “We seemed to automatically connect. We had one night – dinner, such interesting conversation. It was ... lovely. To be honest, I’d love to have gone further ...”

Beside you, Sherlock closed his eyes and began to lean into your shoulder, dozing off. You subtly elbowed him, and he straightened up abruptly.

“But I thought, no, this is special. Let’s take it slowly, exchange numbers. He said he’d get in touch and then ... Maybe he wasn’t quite as keen as I was ...”

You looked over at John who was practically asleep with his eyes open. He had a blank stare and his mouth hung slightly open.

“But I – I just thought ... at least he’d call to say that we were finished,” Tessa concluded, tearing up slightly and looking at the floor. Immediately, Sherlock’s face contorted into an expression of sympathy as he dramatically brought his hand to his mouth. You stared in disbelief and handed Tessa a tissue. “Thank you,” she said to you. “I went round there, to his flat. No trace of him. Mr. Holmes…”

Sherlock leaned forward and rested his head on his hands.

“I honestly think I had dinner ... with a ghost.”

You and Tessa waited to hear what Sherlock had to say. You leaned forward to look at Sherlock and John’s faces only to discover they had both fallen asleep.

“With a ghost, Mr. Holmes!” Tessa repeated, louder.

You sharply elbowed Sherlock in the ribs much harder than before, and he sprung awake. “Boring, boring, boring,” he mumbled, then turned to you and put his hands on either side of your head. “No! fascinating!” He exclaimed, his face right up close to yours. Sherlock then turned to John “John – John! Wake up!” John finally stirred awake.

“I’m up,” he mumbled.

“Apologies about my ... you know ... thing,” Sherlock said, pointing at John. “Rude. Rude!” he yelled straight into your ear. You grimaced at the loud noise and put your hand on Sherlock’s forearm to settle him.

“Yes, that’s enough, Sherlock,” you whispered. “Uhm, go on, Tessa.”

“I checked with the landlord, and the man who lived there died. Heart attack. And there we are, having dinner one week on.” She turned and began to rummage through her purse. She pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper and handed it to Sherlock. You grabbed it before he could take it. It was a print-out of an online chatroom. “And I found this thing online, sort of chatroom thing for girls who think they’re dating men from the spirit world.”

You nodded. This actually seemed like a decent case. Too bad Sherlock and John probably wouldn’t remember one word of it tomorrow. Sherlock tried to stand up next to you, wobbled, and then put one hand on the top of your head to steady himself. You groaned and struggled to untangle his hand from your hair.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find him in ten minutes,” Sherlock said confidently. Tessa smiled in relief. “What’s your dog’s name?”

You facepalmed and stood up next to Sherlock. He leaned over to wake up John. “John! Wake up! We’re meant to ... The game’s ... something” he said, waving his hand around.

“On!” yelled John.

“Yes, that,” Sherlock said, walking out the door. “Come on, Y/n.”

“Wait, Sherlock. Where are you going?” You protested, following him down the stairs.

“That’s a good question. Where are we going?” he asked Tessa in the foyer.

“Oh! Well, I suppose we ought to go to his flat,” Tessa said.

“Sherlock, no,” you said, “You can’t leave...” you looked off the the side awkwardly “…like this.” He ignored you and dragged John out to the sidewalk by his sweater sleeve. He stepped out into the street and hailed down a cab.

“40a, Jasmine Grove,” interjected Tessa as the cab pulled up.

“Are you coming Y/n?” Sherlock slurred.

“No!” you yelled. “And neither are you.” Before you could reach him, Sherlock climbed into the cab after John and Tessa and slammed the cab door in your face. The car drove off.

“Come on, really?!” you yelled in frustration. Now you had to follow them. You ran to the edge of the sidewalk and decided to call a cab for yourself.

--------------------------------------------------------

You finally made it to the apartment to see Tessa and a man you presumed to be the landlord standing by the door. It was a rather modern apartment with exposed brick and abstract furniture. John was standing in the corner with his hands crossed over his chest and his lips pursed. He was swaying slightly, trying to keep his balance. You pushed past the landlord to see Sherlock kneeling on a shag carpet holding his pocket magnifier. As soon as you walked in, he face-planted into the carpet and passed out.

“He’s clueing for looks” John announced, proudly.

“Oh god,” you said, scrambling over to Sherlock. You grabbed his upper arm and tried to pull him up. God, he was heavy.

“That’s it, I’m calling the police.” The landlord pulled out his cell phone.

“No, no, please, that won’t be necessary,” you protested.

“This is a famous detective. It’s Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Hamish Watson,” Tessa clarified.

You finally managed to get Sherlock to straighten up. “When did you get here?” Sherlock asked, looking up at you. Then, he bent over and immediately threw up on the carpet.

“Ugh why?” you groaned and plugged your nose. Sherlock wiped his mouth on his sleeve and then clicked his magnifier shut.

------------------------------------------------------

The next morning…

The landlord had called the police and the night ended with you watching Sherlock and John being driven away in the back of a police car. You’d immediately called Greg hoping he’d let them go. Greg had said the best he could do was try and let them off with a warning if they spent the night in the drunk tank. When the station opened, Greg sent you a photo of Sherlock and John asleep in a cell with the caption “Come and get ‘em!”

You walked into Scotland Yard and Greg was there to meet you. “Thank you, Greg,” you said, handing him one of the 4 coffees you’d brought.

“God, what on earth happened to them?” Greg asked, taking a sip from the coffee you gave him.

“Stag night got a bit out of hand,” you said. “Afraid I lost control of the situation.”

“You can say that again,” agreed Greg as the two of you walked through the station to the drunk tank.

“Rise and Shine!” Greg bellowed as he swung open the door. John was awake and sitting on the floor. He had his hands on his head while Sherlock was still fast asleep on the bench.

“Oh my god,” John said, grimacing in pain. “Is that Greg?”

“Get up,” he said “Y/n’s come to collect you. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant.” John painfully and slowly got up. “What a couple of lightweights! Y/n said you couldn’t even make it to closing time!”

“Yeah, could you whisper?” John asked.

“NOT REALLY!” Greg shouted straight into his ear. Across the cell, Sherlock jolted awake, mouth wide open in shock. He tried to stand up, then fell backward back onto the bench. You walked over and helped him up.

“There you go, Sherlock. Nice and easy,” you said quietly and handed him one of the coffees. He took it and stumbled out of the cell, head down. He looked like hell, not to mention the way he smelled. You caught up to John and handed him one of the remaining coffees, leaving the last for yourself. You took a sip of your coffee and continued down the hall.

“Well, thanks for a ... you know ... an evening,” John said to Sherlock.

“Oh, it was awful,” Sherlock said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I was gonna pretend, but it was, truly,” said John. He then turned to you. “Y/n, I am so sorry, that was—”

“It’s okay, I had fun,” you said with a smile.

“At least someone did,” said Sherlock. “That woman, Tessa, dated a ghost. The most interesting case for months. What a wasted opportunity.”

“Really? That’s your takeaway from this?” you asked. He shrugged. “Come on, boys, let’s get you home.”

A/N: Stag night! I love this part of the episode, so I hope I did it justice. Funny story. When I was writing this, I was trying to find real book titles for Sherlock to read and I came across a real book titled “Surrounded by Idiots” I wanted to use it in the story SO BAD but it was so perfect, that it sounded cheesy and made up lmao. I��m 100% certain Sherlock would have it in his bookcase though.

Taglist: @the-chaotic-cow @amoeebaa @scorpios-echos @sad-bitch-h0ur @drifting-away-in-space @that-thing-in-the-graveyard

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock imagine #sherlockxreader #sherlock x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock x you #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #sherlock holmes x you #the sign of three

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makeste · 4 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 291: The Endeavor Pamphlet

Previously on BnHA: Dabi showed up atop Gigantomachia’s back and was all “you’ll never guess who I really am!” and the readers humored him and were all “who?” and he was all “TODOROKI TOUYA” and we were all “WOW └(・。・)┘ OH MY GOSH I WOULD NEVER HAVE GUESSED”, except for Shouto and Enji who were GENUINELY SHOCKED. Anyway so Touya was all “and guess what I’m doing right now!” and before anyone could even try, he was all, “STREAMING MY EMMY-NOMINATED MINISERIES ‘HELLO, I’M EVIL BUT ALSO TRAGIC AND SEXY, NOW LET ME TELL YOU ALL ABOUT MY DAD WHO SUCKS’’, THAT’S WHAT.” And everyone was all “oh my god” and Touya was all “ヽ(⌐■_■)ノ♪” for basically the rest of the chapter, and that’s pretty much it! Oh, wait, except for the part where he also doused himself in bleach in a fit of pure theatrics, which is actually pretty much the main takeaway from the entire chapter really because it was just wild af. ANYWAYS.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi introduces Baby Touya, the world’s most enchantingly sweet character, and is immediately all, “I sure can’t wait to tell you guys all about how his fucking jaw burnt off.” Thankfully he doesn’t (YET), and we cut back to the present pretty quickly, where Dabi explains how he took all of his brain cells that should have been used to stop him from pouring bleach over his head, and instead put them all toward his big brain plot of releasing an elaborate video detailing Endeavor’s various abuses and crimes, and even throwing Hawks under the bus as well because WHY NOT. He then leaps off of Gigantomachia’s back (like I said, no brain cells) all set to blast them with a Prominence Burn, only to be stopped by none other than THE LEGEND HIMSELF, MOTHERFUCKING BEST, PRETTIEST, NICEST, MOST OUTSTANDING MOTHERFUCKING JEANIST. Who’s no doubt outraged by the crime against hair he witnessed only moments earlier. GO GETTIM JEANY BOI.

so I haven’t had time to answer any of them because this has been the stupidest week, but I just wanted to tell you guys that I received no fewer than nine asks about Dabi’s hair. which, in a week filled with election memes and tumblr’s most cursed fandom briefly rising back up from the dead, is a pretty impressive feat for him if you ask me. like, I know I was making fun of it basically nonstop, but it sure did generate a lot of discussion so maybe I should rethink my opinions on Dabi’s PR strategies now, idk

anyway. it’s Saturday. time to catch up on this shit. let’s see how fucked the Todorokis are

OH NO HE’S CUTE

HOLY SHIT THIS IS TOO MUCH TO FUCKING PROCESS. I’M JUST TRYING TO ENJOY MY DAY HORIKOSHI, ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO TRAUMATIZE THIS POOR CHILD RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY SALAD

“thanks for being all right” the fuck

who allowed this child to be so cute. I’m serious. who signed off on this

how could a child this adorable possibly want to murder his equally adorable baby brother. please, your honor. there must be some mistake here

guess how prepared I am to read all about Touya’s tragic past. mm. that’s right. zero ready. none ready

anyway. TWO THOUSAND DEGREES LOLOLOL. NO TRACE OF A CORPSE HOW CONVENIENT. A PIECE OF HIS LOWER JAW BONE FFFFMSGHKLSh. LOVELY. LOVELY

LMAOOOOO

listen you guys. I just want to take a moment to appreciate that Horikoshi Kouhei did one of two things here. either (1) he planned it out FROM THE VERY START that Touya would be born with red hair Because Fire Powers, but would then have his hair turn white due to trauma, thus making the Dabi/Touya connection very slightly less obvious, although Let’s Be Real Who Are We Kidding. OR, (2) the anime got it wrong and gave him red hair, and rather than allowing this plot hole to continue to exist, Horikoshi took it upon himself to concoct this elaborate storyline and pretend it was never a plot hole at all! in which case I sure hope someone at Bones is sending him a VERY nice Christmas card this year. got this man sweeping up all your messes for you. you’re just lucky he has some sort of wild compulsion to address these things

anyways!!

FATHER AND SON. how sweet. :| still zero percent ready for any of this btw

STOP BEING CUTE

THIS IS RIDICULOUS. I’M SO MAD RIGHT NOW. HE IS THE SINGLE CUTEST CHARACTER IN THE ENTIRE SERIES, and do you even know how many other baby characters I’m betraying in order to say that?! baby Kacchan, baby Deku, baby Ochako, baby Shouto, Eri, baby Hawks. I’M LOOKING YOU DEAD IN THE EYE RIGHT NOW AND TELLING YOU THAT BABY TOUYA IS CUTER THAN ALL OF THOSE PLEBS. AND YOU’RE LOOKING BACK AT ME RIGHT NOW ALL “YEAH IT SURE IS A PITY ABOUT HIS JAW MELTING OFF THOUGH.” THAT’S IT, I QUIT THE SERIES

and Enji’s smiling at him. he’s so proud of him. but then Touya won’t be able to do it, and Enji’s gonna stop training him, and Touya’s gonna feel like a failure and keep pushing himself in order to try and win his dad’s affections back, because that’s all kids fucking want, all they want is just love, that’s fucking it, you couldn’t just give him that?? and then he’s gonna immolate himself fflkdlskfh THERE YOU SEE HORIKOSHI, I KNOW THE WHOLE STORY ALREADY, YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THE WHOLE “SHOW THEM THE DEAD DOG” THING YET AGAIN YOU PIECE OF SHIT

OH SNAP THERE GOES THE TWIN THEORY. R.I.P.

BABY FUYUMI. PRETTY CUTE. NOT AS CUTE AS TOUYA THOUGH. HEY LOOK, NO REASON TO GET MAD AT ME I’M JUST STATING A FACT HERE

YEAH THIS IS GONNA GO REAL WELL OH BOY

I keep pressing the emergency stop button but this industrial tragedy machine just keeps on chugging along anyway, I’m pretty sure this thing is not up to code

:| I am so sorry sweet boy, Horikoshi is only getting started with you

FUCKING HELL WITH THIS NARRATION

but he wasn’t actually a child to you, he was just a little puppet child for you to live vicariously through!! and then you went and did the same fucking thing with Shouto afterwards and never learned your lesson until just six months ago!! fucking hell, Enji

so now he’s all “Touya is dead, that’s an unforgivable lie” fflkdhflk motherfucker does he look dead to you. if you really think that, tumblr and twitter have got a little over five years’ worth of archived theory posts to show you

oh shit Touya’s countering with “it’s an unforgivable truth”, which, damn. I actually think Horikoshi’s dialogue is one of his weaker points as a writer a lot of the time, but that comeback was snappy as fuck

actually guys, now that I’ve seen how ridiculously fucking cute baby!Touya was, I can almost understand why Shouto and Enji never put the pieces together before lol. any passing similarities would have easily been dismissed on account of he’d need to be at least 10x more adorable in order to get the full resemblance

OH MY GOD

NOW YOU SLEEP??? SO YOU POINT BLANK REFUSED TO PASS OUT WHILE YOU WERE BUSY MAIMING ALL OF MY FAVORITE CHARACTERS, BUT NOW THAT THERE’S AN OPPORTUNITY TO SEE YOUR REACTION TO THE “YOUR LIEUTENANT WAS SECRETLY RELATED TO ONE OF YOUR WORST ENEMIES THE WHOLE TIME” BOMBSHELL, YOU FINALLY DECIDE TO GET YOUR FORTY WINKS. I SEE

WOW DABI

I’M SURPRISED YOU DIDN’T ALREADY HAVE YOUR ANCESTRY.COM RESULTS PRINTOUT READY TO FOLD INTO A PAPER AIRPLANE AND ZOOM ON DOWN TO HIM

LOL NEVERMIND

gotta say, so far The Endeavor Pamphlet is just about as spicy as I could have hoped

(ETA: Natsuo’s face as he watches his beloved dead brother come back to life only to literally and metaphorically set everything on fire in one fell swoop is :/. why must you do this to me Natsu. can’t you see I’m trying to throw a Welcome Back Jeanist party here.)

HAVE YOU READ THIS?! TODOROKI ENJI ABUSED HIS OWN HEIR, AND DABI WROTE IT DOWN RIGHT THERE

WELL HE’S NEVER GON’ BE NUMBER ONE NOW / NEVER GON’ BE NUMBER ONE NOW / THAT’S ONE LESS THING TO WORRY ABOUT / THAT’S ONE LESS THING TO WORRY ABOUT

btw I neglected to mention this last week, but yes I do recognize and appreciate that this is Can’t Ya See-kun himself whom Horikoshi has chosen to be the face of this existential crisis which the general public is about to experience. rip CYS-kun

OOF

excuse me. putting aside the implications of Dabi sharing this context-less murder video of Hawks with the entire world for a moment, I just have to pause for a sec here, because when exactly did he get a chance to edit this all in?? complete with voiceover that seamlessly ties in with the prerecorded footage of him with DNA test results sans shirt?? you’re telling me this motherfucker, with all the smoke that was in the room thanks to his own quirk, somehow got a PERFECT SHOT of the PRECISE MOMENT when Hawks drove his feather knife into Jin’s back, using his MAGIC CAMERA THAT HE I GUESS HAD THE ENTIRE TIME IN THE POUCH RIGHT NEXT TO HIS BLEACH BOTTLE, and then immediately somehow got this very next shot as well FROM AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT ANGLE

ALL THE WHILE IMMEDIATELY RUNNING THROUGH SCRIPT REVISIONS IN HIS HEAD, WHICH HE THEN PROCEEDED TO RECORD... WHERE, EXACTLY?? WITH SKEPTIC, WHILST RIDING ON MACHIA’S BACK??

AND THIS IS ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF???

and this after I just wrote that whole long paragraph positively GLOWING about this man’s ability to plug up a plot hole. jfc. just scratch out every damn word I said lol. just forget all of it

are you fucking kidding me, the footage was from the cameras Skeptic planted on Hawks??

that’s... actually... okay you know what, it still doesn’t make any sense in the slightest, but the determination to address it nonetheless... just, dammit... I feel like I’m constantly at war with myself over whether or not I want to shake this man’s hand or slap him lmao. whatever, then!!

anyway, since Shouto and Enji can’t actually see the damage that Touya is dealing to the hero industry even as they speak, Touya is taking it upon himself to give them the highlights

I think it’s a testament to how much Endeavor cares about Hawks that he managed to zero in on that comment even amidst all the craziness of his eldest son returning from the dead to announce how he’s been carefully plotting their destruction for years and years. like, he heard “Hawks” and his face immediately went like that. you think he’s worried that Dabi did something to him? because he’d be right to worry lol

so the Endeavor Pamphlet narration is now explaining all about how Hawks totally killed the Number 3 Hero Best Jeanist as well! yep... he sure did... totally...

OH MY GOD WE’RE CUTTING TO HIM AHHHHH

Hawks, that is. lol. not Jeanist. NO, JUST MY POOR HALF-DEAD WINGLESS BABY SON

NOOOOO HIS LITTLE WING STUMPS. BUT SOMEHOW HIS FACIAL HAIR IS STILL INTACT. OH TO BE AN ANIME PRETTY BOY BEING SET ON FIRE. “HEY, TAKE IT EASY, WATCH THE FACE”

EXCUSE ME WHAT

interesting! we suspected as much, I think, with the clues that Ending dropped, and the little flashback right after the name reveal. still not clear how Dabi found out about it though!

looooool okay here we go, breaking out the heavy-handed holier-than-thou shit now

you know, I do find it interesting how trying to model themselves after All Might’s noble Symbol of Peace image has kind of ended up being the heroes’ undoing here. like, I could write a whole essay on this, but what it basically boils down to is that they were all trying too hard to be perfect. All Might went out there and did his thing and was amazing, and so the powers-that-be built an entire system centered around this seemingly-infallible person, and they acted like the system was infallible as well. and so most of the population ended up becoming complacent over the years, and meanwhile the people who were unfortunate enough to fall through the cracks understandably wound up disillusioned and perceiving the heroes as these false idols

anyway, but I think one positive takeaway from this is that the new up-and-coming generation of heroes represent a breakaway from that system. like, imo what we’re witnessing is the downfall of the Perfect Hero, and the rise of the imperfect hero. and this new generation doesn’t shy away from their failures or pretend like they never happened. they pretty much can’t pretend, because their failures are all right out there in the open for everyone to see. Bakugou Katsuki, just to name one example off the top of my very biased head, has had his own personal character journey basically play out right in front of the media’s eyes. his humiliation at the sports festival, his kidnapping by the League, and all of the fallout afterward. this isn’t someone who can ever go out there and convince the world that he’s perfect. but what he can do, instead, is show the world that he’s trying. that he’s trying with everything he has to do his best, to be the best. rather than this untouchable godlike image, it’s instead the image of someone painfully human who is nonetheless striving with everything he’s got to keep moving forward, flaws and all, and work his way to the top

and ultimately I think that’s going to be a much more positive image to send out to the world when all’s said and done. because rather than merely inspiring awe, heroes like that inspire people to take action themselves. or at least that’s what I hope! and not just Bakugou, but the others as well. we’ve got Shouto, whose own personal trauma is being aired in front of the whole nation even as I sit here ranting. we’ve got Deku, who cries at the drop of a hat, and who fought to become a hero despite being quirkless (and I think it’s only a matter of time before that eventually becomes public knowledge as well). tl;dr because I’m getting way too long-winded here, but these kids have effectively been humanized in a way that the old generation never was, and I think that’ll go a long way towards building trust between them and the people they’ll someday be protecting, and inspiring the next generation in hopefully a much healthier way

anyway so where were we. ...oh yes, Dabi was explaining that heroes only protect themselves, and is presumably building up to his grand conclusion of “therefore you should all just let the villains take over and burn down the world”

omfg. YOU GUYS

DOES CAN’T YA SEE-KUN’S SHARK FRIEND ACTUALLY CALL HIM “CAN’T YA SEE-KUN.” HE HAS A NAME YOU KNOW!! UNLESS HE LEGALLY GOT HIS NAME CHANGED TO CAN’T YA SEE-KUN. OH MY GOD

ALSO, IS THAT CAN’T YA SEE-KUN CRYING IN THE BOTTOM RIGHT THERE OMG. GIVE THIS CHILD A HUG. EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING RIGHT NOW AND HUG HIM

BAKUGOU IS BARELY HANGING ON THERE LOL. GOTTA STAY CONSCIOUS... SO MUCH TEA BEING SPILLED... FOCUS... CONCENTRATE

IIDA’S ANGLING HIS HEAD IN A WEIRD WAY, LIKE DUDE. LOOKING SUSPICIOUSLY SNUGGLY THERE. MMM THESE IIDABAKU CRUMBS

HADOU IS ALL “WHAT EVEN IS ACTUALLY GOING ON” LMAO

LASTLY, POOR SHOUTO OMFG. WHEN YOU’RE ALL FINISHED HUGGING CYS-KUN THIS CHILD NEEDS YOUR ATTENTION!!

so now Dabi’s leaping off of this ninety-foot-tall gargoyle man like that’s a normal, smart thing to do. unless he can fly too now? saw his dad doing it back at Fukuoka and was all “hmm”

OH MY GOD SOMEONE TELL ME RIGHT NOW WHAT WORD SHOUTO IS USING TO ADDRESS ENJI, THESE TRANSLATIONS LOVE TO MESS WITH MY HEAD

ENJI GET MOVING DO YOU NOT SEE THOSE TEARS!!! SNAP OUT OF IT YOU BIG TREE

AHHHHH

OH KACCHAN YOU WOKE UP A LITTLE MORE THERE, HUH

lol he and Deku both look so determined but they’re basically sitting ducks. their “oh shit” faces do look remarkably like their “TIME TO SWING INTO ACTION” faces but don’t be fooled, they have one good arm and about six pints of blood left between the two of them. looks like this one’s all on you Shouto

-- AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH --

BAH GOD... WHAT’S GOING ON HERE... THAT’S BEST JEANIST’S MUSIC

y’all. can’t even talk right now, my brain has completely shut down lol. just. ...

°˖✧◝(￣▿￣)◜✧˖°

#bnha 291 #dabi #todoroki touya #endeavor #todoroki shouto #best jeanist #hawks #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #you guys know that scene from the end of the lion king #the part where simba is walking up to the top of pride rock #and he lets out that roar as zimmer's score soars to a crescendo #yeah baby #that's the mood rn #welcome back king

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polyboros · 3 years

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bug fables roleswap au!

hi thank you @cyanopicacyanus most beloved i would LOVE to! fair warning to anyone reading the text under the cut that this au explanation will have spoilers for the entirety of bug fables! so if you’re someone who wants to go in entirely blind and hasn’t watched/played bug fables yet- don’t click!

similarly, this covers similar things to the original bug fables stories, including the themes and plots of the requests. so watch out if any of those bug you! (Bug You haha)

the central focus of the au is the swap between the three main characters: leif takes vi’s place, vi takes kabbu’s place, and kabbu takes leif’s place. however, it gets a little more funky from there, in the nature of telling a fun and fresh story AND preserving major & important parts of their original personalities and backstories!

this explanation will go over the characters, and then specific moments & such that i think would change as well! ft. vi & leif getting to do crime, as they deserve

VI AS KABBU

vi, her sister jaune, and a currently unnamed friend of theirs are from a hive outside of bugaria, beyond the wild swamplands. they all decide to go to bugaria to explore - vi for money and exploration, jaune to see the art there. on the way there, in the same fashion as kabbu’s master and bit, vi and jaune’s friend dies to the beast to protect them while they run away.

vi and jaune, fueled by grief and anger at the loss, have a VERY LARGE blowout fight that ends in jaune leaving the swamplands for their home hive, and vi continuing on to go to bugaria! wooooo

what you get here is. vi largely keeps her desire to prove herself and get rewards from exploring, but there’s an added layer of: “if i can just prove myself as an explorer, i can kill the beast, and show jaune that she was wrong and trying to go to bugaria was worth it all along.” (even if vi doesn’t fully believe herself that the loss was worth it! character nuance my beloved)

KABBU AS LEIF

HERE’S WHERE THINGS START TO GET FUNKY! stick with me here folks, because ghosts are going to be real and in your home (and in bugaria.)

it all starts with a change with what the roaches in snakemouth labs are researching - instead of trying to achieve immortality with cordyceps (which is relegated to another lab, which is a special tool that’ll help us later), the roaches in snakemouth were attempting to achieve immortality by finding a way to bind spirits to exist after death, subsequently to re-enter their bodies. snakemouth was chosen for this for the high concentration of magic that allowed this to be possible - magic that permeated beyond just where the labs were. however, no corpse fit the conditions for spirits to re-enter them, leaving tens of spirits lonely and wandering. eventually, they all ganged up on the roaches who left them this way and killed them!

enter: kabbu, his master, and bit, who entered snakemouth den during the reign of elizant the first to find the artifact! the same beat as leif and his exploration team in canon. they get ambushed by a spider while investigating, and kabbu wakes up decades later when leif & vi rescue him!

what happened in snakemouth den was this: all three of the exploration team that entered perished, including kabbu. due to the experiments going on in snakemouth, and the roaches’ adjustment to the area and its energy, all three of their spirits sustained after death, and All Three Of Them Went Into Kabbu’s Body! kabbu is fully unaware of this until his request is done, in which the final battle of snakemouth labs is not a zommoth, but an amalgamation of lost ghosts that kabbu (and master and bit) refuse to acknowledge any similarity too.

instead of using the royal we and slipping into “i” during his request, kabbu uses “i” most of the time, and slips into using “we” when he sees the amalgamation and realizes the truth about what happened to him and his old family. i have given the kabbu ghosts both metaphorical AND literal this time!

tl;dr: the theme of snakemouth labs is ghosts instead of zombies, and kabbu is very, very haunted.

LEIF AS VI

remember when i said that the cordyceps being in another lab would be my special tool that would help us later? yeah! so. the most important part of this is that both leif & muse are still alive! it hasn’t been decades, for him - he’s been around during elizant ii’s reign.

leif and muse were an explorer (muse) and scientist (leif) duo exploration team that was sent by elizant ii to study the lost sands and find clues on the roaches and the everlasting sapling. they were pretty good at it! and one day, near the sand castle gate, leif finds a cordyceps colony that acts a little weird, has some sort of magical ability. so he takes it back to his lab for isolated study!

while he’s studying it, bandits from the lost sands attack while muse is gone, hoping to find research, etc. to hand over to the wasps. the cordyceps’ tube keeping it temperate and lively is shattered, leif is heavily injured, and it isn’t looking good for him or the cordyceps. so they reach out to each other, and fuse into each other, and the cordyceps “patches up” leif. both of them are still kicking around in there! it’s a very confusing case of identity for a while, but in a similar case to canon, the cordyceps Wants to care about muse and the people leif cares about. this time they’re just aware of what they are!

HOWEVER. muse comes back! and leif fills muse in on the situation, but neither him nor the cordyceps are particularly interested in studying himself or the effects it could have on his body, or any form of self-preservation related to it - they’re mostly just content to take their blessings as it is. This Does Not Sit Well With Muse! they argue about it for a while, it causes a rough patch, and they both agree that it would be better if they took a while to think about it by themselves. for context, this happens about six or seven months before the bug fables canon Starts.

leif is also SUPER banned from the explorer’s association & science groups for unethical science practices, particularly when the queen herself condemns his actions (mostly after he refuses to share the information he gained about what this could mean for the everlasting sapling. the cordyceps’ dislike of the roaches and what they did to it sustains post-fusion!)

leif’s request, then, centers around him coming to terms with the idea that he can be both kind to himself as he is (him and the cordyceps, him-and-the-cordyceps) AND make sure that this fusion is healthy for him AND continue his work in some form. it’s all about accepting that although his response was reasonable for when he had it and his experiences, muse was also very right about the fact that he needed to take care of himself after that! and it’s also about reconciling with muse herself. they do NOT get divorced i promise they’re happily married and have a kid

OTHER FUN THINGS TO THINK ABOUT

this is longer than i thought it would be! but hey, here’s my favorite part - getting into some of the major/minor plot changes that result from the changes in the roleswap!

all of the characters keep their attack types! for the reasons explained (gestures above) in their plot. however, kabbu gets a ghost-related TP skill after his request is completed!

leif & vi don’t have a legal explorer’s permit until AFTER snakemouth den. vi isn’t allowed to get one by herself, and when leif offers to be her partner, he’s reminded that he is SUPER BANNED from doing that! so they both sneak into snakemouth den illegally to find the artifact and prove that they can be an exploration team, and along the way find kabbu. inside your local fucked up cave you will find a free moral compass and friend

also: both kabbu and leif have a SUPER weird reaction to areas with heavy magic/the artifacts/roach technology! in this thread, they also have a super fun reaction to seeing each other for the first time, while vi is Literally Just Sitting There. sorry vi you’re on a team with not one but TWO fucked up guys (affectionate) on it

vi’s request is similar to kabbu’s with setting up the gravesite in the swamplands, but team snakemouth also helps her write a letter to jaune! i think in a post-canon world jaune eventually comes to bugaria to see vi and they (after a very long talk and bribery via vi getting jaune into this hive’s art gallery) reconcile too.

muse is HERE and i like her SO MUCH. this isn’t much of a plot thing but she’s alive in this au and everybody gets to see how like. Much she definitely made the first move, etc. i think her and elizant ii are friends they have tea on saturdays

if you made it this far - thanks for reading!! this is an au i love dearly and have put a LOT of thought into and i hope to write some fic for it sometime!!

#kbitycus art #bug fables roleswap #<- this'll be my tag for it lmao #whew this was a lot #bug fables

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gammacousin · 3 years

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Okay. I’m ready to real talk Black Widow. I don’t want to but as an activist there’s an obligation I have to share and educate. I nerd to forget but I suppose it shows the power of this movie if it brings something real into the light.

*Spoiler Warning. Trigger warning for everything.*

There are some things I want to say that could potentially spoil aspect of the Black Widow film. I also would advise you to skip this post if you have a darker past, if you aren’t interested in getting serious, or wish to skim by, I’m sincerely not judging! I come on here to avoid the universe as well. You do you, I totally still love you if you don’t read this and want to move onto something nerdy or more fun. This isn’t the post for you.

It’s taken me a while to process and organize my thoughts. Skip if you don’t want to hear deep, raw stories.

Okay. Nerd review first.

The level of girl power and any and all glass ceilings… There is SO much left to do. So much that needs to still be addressed. But seeing 3 women run this show: Yelena, Natasha, and Melina was an absolute joy to observe. This isn’t the end of some hard waged war, it’s the beginning and I beg you; Disney/Marvel. Please give us more of this? It’s so important for young girls to see other girls kicking butt and winning. Quick summary of nerd feelings; Losing Nat still burns. Yelena is a boss.

Okay…Real talk.

I have to get a little deeper here now. My personal story absolutely played into how I felt about this film and I wish I saw some trigger warnings about the material covered. Do I know Black Window’s story? Yes. In and out. I can read it, I can write my FF on it. However. Little to no one knows my story and so absolutely no one is to blame for not warning me. I was not expecting to come out this shook.

I’m sharing this because it’s happening now, today. In the real world. I doubt the film makers had this mind over other social issues, but after feeling like it’s irrelevant, that my pain is somehow less than, I’m realizing through my activism it’s not.

I grew up in a cult where women are not relevant. You matter up to a point. You are useful, to a point. If you’re giving 24/7, you’re not giving enough. If you’re not smiling as you’re doing cult stuff, you’re complacent. In addition to why I’m about to share, my house growing up was not a safe space which is a story for another time. So it’s a stack…this janga-ish game that eventually just comes crashing down.

My trigger started moments after the film started the handing over of the kids. When Alexei chooses the job over the welfare of the girls. Alexei put his two “daughters” in danger to save ‘face’. To put the job ahead of two children…it hit home. In the group I’m from, fathers, mothers, grandparents, siblings will absolutely choose the group over blood. You are nothing and you mean nothing if you ‘defect’. If you break a rule. If you complain. If you say ‘no’. If you put in a bad review for a leader, if you have anything bad at all to say about the organization as a whole. You can confide something deep in someone you trust and it absolutely will come back to hurt you.

The title song shook me completely. This collage of video and images of brainwashing, treating these girls like absolute objects is disgusting in itself. But when you’re raised in this other world, there’s a level of brainwashing that is absolutely unmatched. Videos, books, quizzes, 12 hour lectures, weekly meetings.

People are unified to the point where you lose your own identity. There’s a language- a literally language- words you start to misuse. Verbiage only people in the cult use. Kids of any age will watch any rated film. Frequently the themes are about obedience and or cooperation and the consequences if you do not cooperate/obey. Death is a such a common theme that either you become petrified of your own shadow, petrified of breathing wrong, or turn completely numb. In sharing these videos, the goal is to instill this fear that you will never be enough. That you will die- turn into a charred hot dog of a figure if you do not obey 8 white men - the leaders, in New York. That your friends, classmates, neighbors, family will die if they don’t believe what you do. That you’re held accountable if you can’t bring them to your side.

The song for the credits hit me. I cannot listen to it. I have no idea what it was about.

When I watched the film, I couldn’t focus at this point at gosh barely 15 minutes in. I had already checked out. I heard keywords. “Entertainers,” “I feel stupid and contagious…”

In my world, I did not matter. What mattered was, what was presented to the public. To your group. Meeting some checklist of this perfect family at any cost. You’re not an individual, you’re a number. Literally. Your records are documented by men in the back room- your actions, your track record. But ultimately? You’re part of a numeral equation reported to headquarters. And if you’re a woman, you do not have a say in how you look, dress, act or in what you say. You are as the title song says, …“Entertainers”. You smile. You do your job, and you are ‘happy’ about it. Your job is to dedicate x amount of hours cleaning the room you gather in, and in recruitment of other members…

There’s a ‘job’ in the cult called a “pioneer”. Okay. No, we might not have been trained assassins. But you are trained to manipulate emotionally. To prey on the weak. You get books, magazines, movies, speeches, lectures- you rarely get a free Saturday. Oh and the job isn’t paid. So make sure you’re working (part time because full time secular work isn’t acceptable) at a desk job (because college and getting an education is not allowed). Don’t make friends with the people who work with you, they’re out to get you. Back at the club; You answer questions like it’s some schoolastic quiz every week and quote what your reading. It’s a brainwashing tactic. If you say something enough times, you remember it. You start to believe it. You spend hours reading these things, training… Your job is to target people who have lost- and have lost a lot because they’re vulnerable. You learn to go to cemeteries, and literally stalk people who are grieving. Like Val. If you can catch someone when they’re weak, senses are dulled. They’re desperate. And you bait them with this false promise. This idea that all THEY have to do is change all that they are, join you, and they’ll see their dead loved ones again. That they are doomed if they don’t change. Most pioneers draft 2-4 people per lifetime. If you’re a great saleswoman, you can draft more into this horrific world. And I regret the hours I spent lying, torturing people. For some cult that doesn’t give two cents about me.

I 100% believed of I didn’t convince my classmates, neighbors, to join my side they would either turn me in or they would be killed by a divine being. From 2 years old I was supposedly handing out pamphlets. The doom is not a quick painless death, no. You have visuals. You have men getting up to talk in detail about what your ‘friends’ will look like as corpses. Visually descriptive to the point where I still feel a bit numb to it all. That you will have to bury their bodies after the whole divine destruction. That you will have to “clean up” the earth. You are numb- convinced- bullied to the point where you believe this is true.

If you’re hurt as MANY WOMEN AND CHILDREN ARE, and you don’t have two people to testify and say they saw it- it never happened. Abuse is the norm. And if you speak up about it? You’re called a liar. Your friends cut you off. They think you’ll die along with everyone else if you put in a ‘bad review’ or leave. You’re bullied into submission and taught from a young age that you are not in control of your own decisions. You relinquish yourself under the pretense that the men you have such reverence toward are under some divine being’s control.

Your parents hurting you is acceptable. And don’t you dare speak against your father if he’s deeply involved. Don’t even think about approaching if he’s on a phone call. If you’re hit you take it- because you “deserved” it. And you smile. You shove that pain deep down. You hide the bruise, the cut lip, the depression, the bottles of pills you’re swallowing the whatever….You’re screwed if you faint, throw up, pass out, because you’ve missed a meeting. You better be dying for that to happen…

The idea that is portrayed in the movie (IMO) is that you can forgive family who hurts you. I see people forgiving Alexei and what’s her name. Look- that’s great. It’s a fun film. Alexei is funny. Here’s what I saw; it’s a toxic man- nay- father who can’t accept responsibility. He takes pride in what the girls have become- monsters. Not in who they are at their core. He has no idea who they are. And the mom has this photo album…I’m tearing up. She remembers this a certain way, a wishful thought. I’ve confronted my own mother about our past and had an album thrown at me, “We were happy. You were happy.” The fact is I was told the smile. You’re forcing this perception that everything was normal. That it’s okay to go back. (I’m not taking away Yelena’s view that everything was real to her, that’s fine for the sake of the story, and sweet. The moment between her and Alexei..fine. Milena turns and takes their side at the end, great.) The problem with how I saw this, is that’s not how the real world works. I don’t owe my parents forgiveness when I didn’t mean shit to them. When people leave the cult they’re cut off. Treated like they’re dead. I didn’t find these moments cute, I found them horrific. Hugging me, saying he’s proud of me is the toxic sh** my father would pull. Ignoring the holes in the wall, in my skull, the phony impression he gives to the rest of the group. Hugging me…after sweeping everything he did not only to me, but countless others under the rug because the cult…because 8 men in NY will protect him. Legally. Or otherwise.

I don’t need to forgive my parents. If you’ve been mistreated, you don’t owe anyone anything. They can “try” to do the right thing, that doesn’t somehow block out years of mistreatment. Years of trauma. Sheetrock only patches the surface of the broken walls. Wounds heal but some scars stay with you forever. Metaphorically or otherwise.

‘Entertainers’ was a trigger word because if you’re high enough in the ranking system you’re asked to “testify” or share a story. It’s in front of a couple thousand. It’s an “honor”. What it really is, is a three ring circus. You will only see women on the sidelines reading from the cards while only men stand at the main podium. They’re reading what they have told them to say. Stories are manipulated, cut, changed to fit a narrative that better suits the group of a couple thousand members.

Dreykov. I hate this. But I have to go there. I’m neck deep already, might as well. I think the worst part of all of it is that you can’t touch the person who made you this way. Those 6-7-8 leaders are untouchable. It doesn’t matter what you try. What legal entities, ex groups have tried. There’s a term for us and we are considered ‘mentally diseased.’ Members are told to avoid us. And in case you were curious, no, they can’t just break their nose on a table to be free- if only it were that simple. Gosh that got me. I would cut a limb, split my skull open, if it meant I could just cut a chord. It takes years of therapy and I still have nightmares. Urges to just, go. I’m OKAY. But most escapees are not. If you manage to escape with your life and don’t end it because the pressure, guilt, abuse that comes with leaving is too much. (This is sadly the fate of MANY LBGTQ+ members.)

The only hope is either the group eventually runs out of money or they’re taken down legally. Both of which are impossible since many older members will leave all they have to the group rather than to their family. It’s a complex billion dollar publishing company that plays monopoly with people’s investments, homes, and lives.

If you speak up, you’re the liar. So you cannot free your friends, who have turned on you, already cut you off, and discarded you the day you walked out and didn’t come back.

Watching Natasha, and Yelena free their sisters made me think of every woman who is stuck in this cult. For every woman, child, currently being sexually/physically abused and can’t say sh** because they literally believe god will kill them. If I say anything to them, they block me. If I expose what’s happening they will lie in court. That’s what is happening. And it’s not in the news, it’s not talked about. Because you can’t. You’re forced into silence. There’s a block. A literal legal force field that you cannot penetrate. They have their own lawyers. You can’t break into it. You’ll lose every, single, legal battle you try to fight.

Was this a decent movie? Yes. Was I expecting to share this days after release, no. I’ve been forced into silence for so long, told that people have it far worse and that I shouldn’t talk about it. But just today I saw a grown ass couple in an escapee group, talking about how one trigger word sent them into a depressive spiral. Wondering if some god damn lightening will come out of the sky and knock them dead. And we frickin struggle in silence. People will just shrug and go “oh it can’t be that bad,” while my gay best friend can’t catch an effing break. While someone else suffers at home because god wants it that way. Someone else will bury their kid today, maybe not even hold a funeral for them if they were ‘mentally diseased.’

For people like that couple I met today, like me, if you don’t just see a fun film but a darker past or maybe it’s brought up some memories for you, I’d honestly love to chat!!! Message me! I feel like for as painful as this is to hash out not too many people know about what goes on behind a group of smiling, well dressed woman who come knocking on your door. “It’s just a religion.”

I guess I didn’t realize…the criminal aspect of what happened to me. You’re so ingrained to keep quiet. To smile. To ignore, to suppress. I can smile, joke laugh, but visualizing…inadvertently seeing this mirror was so unbelievably uncomfortable. I would always rather help someone else because it takes me out of my head. Live in a bubble where I can call my trauma a ‘fantasy’. What’s real is when someone like me has a bad day? Lol! Look, my husband literally checks his phone to make sure a conversation never touches a couple hundred trigger words that will absolutely send me into the closet with a gallon of ice cream or a bottle of whiskey. I can’t imagine what someone else, what some other traumatized individual goes through. (Maybe that’s why the Bucky stuff makes me all angry She-Hulk too..)

Look, talking people ex members of this group, out of suicide is a daily endeavor to the point where it’s borderline on autopilot. But having this, I suppose, brilliant, piece of cinema turn the camera around left me raw and writhing and angry. Not for me, but for everyone else still stuck. With every year you spend in that cult, add ten more to therapy.

If you feel like me at all, you’re not alone. Not anymore. We were raised to feel alone in the world. That the universe is somehow out to get us and that’s simply not true. You don’t need the people who raised you if they were absolute shit bags. And you DO NOT have to forgive them for keeping you in that environment. Family isn’t family if they’ve hurt you. You owe them nothing. It is healthy to feel your feelings (and you and your feelings are valid. )

Anyways! I hope to be able to talk about more fun Marvel topics soon. But this felt important so thanks for listening. I’m really not hating guys, this is just…it’s heavy. And I beg you to do your research into cults and to help out where you can.

Love and light,

-M

#black widow film #black widow #cult #cult life #cult escapee #ex jw #apostate #mcu #jw #jwfamily #jwfacts #marvel

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screamhole · 3 years

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MY DATE WITH DEATH: A TRUE MEMORY & STORY

Did I ever tell you about my date with Death? Well, it’s a pretty horrible day where I’m at, so what better way to kill it than by spinning up one of my famous stories? And let me tell you, this one spins like a Beyblade in Hell on acid!

Folks, let me tell you about the time I died, and all the fun I had along the way.

It all started in the bathroom, as so many classics do. I was brushing my teeth in the shower, as I am wont to do (note to reader: this means ‘as I want to do’; it looks dumb written out, but it’s actually smart as hell). Shower-brushing is a small time-saving trick of mine, which I never fail to apply on the daily. This day was no exception. I was all over those holy molars of mine when suddenly, I lost my footing on a bar of soap that I stand on (another of my time-saving manoeuvres) and I came tumbling down onto the slip mat. Slip is right, I thought, and would have made a note of that zinger had the toothbrush not become stuck in my windpipe. Choking, as I recall, I scrambled out of the tub and, knowing the house was empty because my wife Angie was at work, I rushed over to the neighbours’ apartment. Maybe they had air at their place, I thought. Sadly, I wasn’t quick enough; I was inches from their door when my body just couldn’t go anymore, and I collapsed on the landing floor. Luckily, I wasn’t naked; I had paused on the way to put on several pairs of pants.

So that was it. Dead. Me. Me = Dead. Except it wasn’t how I expected. I mean, I wasn’t seeing all-nothing, or even all-black. In fact, I got up and saw myself, lying there, all-dead-and-all-soapy. “Ghost!”, I said. And I was right. I was a ghost. A ghost who got to hang around and see it all, as it unfolded over the next few hours: the neighbours finding me, the two police officers standing over my stiff, sud-ridden corpse. “What do you think, Sarge?” said the young one. “Another shower-sex hallway suicide?” “Don’t be stupid, kid” said the sergeant. “This guy’s wearing pants. I think we can chalk it up to a classic toothbrush-in-the-neck life hack gone wrong.” “Good think I put on all those pants” I quipped, realising immediately that it was pointless because they couldn’t hear me. They couldn’t hear me! Damn, that was the deal, wasn’t it? You have to get all of the talking out of the way while you’re livin’. But there was so much I still needed to say about dyin’! This chin could be wagging forever, let me tell you. That’s some deal, huh? The one thing we all want to know about and here I am in the middle of it, with lips too stiff and dead to flap about it. How’s that for ass blastwards? So there I was, with a hell of a story to tell. And I knew there was only one person I’d be able to tell it to.

Whoopi Goldberg.

My grandma was dead. Is dead. She was dead, and now she is dead... again. Am I making sense here? She told me about the first time she died, back in the 90s. She was sucking on a Werther’s Original when it went down the wrong way and got stuck in her toaster and burned her house down. Lying on that hospital bed, she was legally dead for a good 27 minutes before they realised and resuscitated her (I think they were too busy watching some dumb Patrick Swayze movie on the communal television to notice). Thinking back, we all felt like she had gone crazy while she was dead, but now it seems there might have been some true-speak in all that wack-talk of hers. “If you ever die,” she once said to me as a kid, “If you die and you have to say something to a loved one, go to Whoopi Goldberg. I saw it. She helped me tell your grandfather he had soup on his good pants in the hospital, it was driving me crazy and was probably what set me off dying in the first place. I know it will work, son. If you need her, she’ll be there for you”. With those words in my ear, I packed a bag and headed out in search of Whoopi.

I made it to the airport, and was having trouble scanning my passport with no corporeal form, when out of nowhere the whole room grew dim. People froze in motion, and there was an icy chill which took over the whole space. And then, a small light, like from the end of a tunnel, grew from behind the baggage claim. A screeching whistle came with it, before a train of bones roared past my face. The brakes braked, and as the bones ground to a halt out stepped a cloaked figure from the carriage.

“Hello” he said. “You’re dead”.

“I’m dead?” I asked.

“You’re dead” he said. “And I’m Death.”

“You’re dead too?” I asked.

“That’s right, I am Death” he said.

“Me too” I said.

“I doubt it, kid” he said. “Anyway, sorry I’m late. There was some protest at Limbo station. All the staff walked out right after this demon... you know what? Not important. What is important is that you kicked your bucket. So hop on in, pup, next stop is your new forever home: Hell. OH. OH! That is, unless you want to play chess?”

I turned away from the stranger. “Sorry, I don’t play that game… not anymore, that is.” I was kind of hoping that he would dig into my deep dark past relationship with the game of kings.

“Suit yourself, friend” said Death. “Half the pieces are missing anyway. The one chess set on this hell train, you think these devil freaks are gonna put it back neatly? Fat chance. Anyhoodle, let’s get moving, up you come”.

“I’m really going to Hell?”

“Yeah” said Death. “Frickin’ Hell City, USA. And unless you wanna effin’ play chess, kid, I don’t wanna hear any more fuckin’ back talk. Hop the eff on”.

I couldn’t believe it. I had to escape; to re-live, and tell the tale of what death is like, and also what Death is like (note: make clear very handsome in second draft). A plan formed in my head, just like the plan to do a checkmate on the other guy forms in the head of a grand master chess player. “Oh, but Death,” I said “I really do want to play, but like you said we can’t play on that old set. It has no bishops”. “That’s how we like it in Hell,” said Death, “it’s really more of a drinking game. Anyway, I take your point, kid; this chess board sucks. But where do you suggest we find a decent travel chess set at this hour, in this realm of existence? You got one in your great coat?”

“No” I said. “But I think I have an idea. Let’s make a stop in… New York (maybe?)”

Luckily, my plan worked out. I had managed to guess Whoopi Goldberg’s exact location: a Starbucks on 6th Avenue (note: check real place). I had also tricked Death into taking us there on the promise there’d be chess, and also he wanted a coffee. The train of bones crunched through the coffee shop window, shattering the glass and grinding the tables beneath it. Thankfully, this all played out in the dead dimension so it was totally fine. No one noticed. No one, that is, except Whoopi.

“What the hell?!” she cried, jumping back from her table.

“Whoopi,” I said climbing down, from the bone train, “you’ve got to help me. I’m dead and I know for an absolute fact you can send messages to the living.”

“Oh I get it,” said Whoopi, “you think just because I played a medium in that movie that I can really talk to dead people?”

“Listen Whoopi, I’ve never even seen Sister Act, so please don’t assume I would be so irrational and quick to judge people like that. Instead of accusing me of stuff, how about you accept that you’re talking to a real ghost right now, and so therefore I am right.”

“Oh my God” said Whoopi. “I guess I can speak to ghosts. I guess all my years on The View have made me capable of speaking to anyone”.

“Yeah: you, Jimmy Kimmel, Graham Norton… all supremely cursed folks. Talk-show hosting is a real double-edged sword. Back to me, though. Whoopi: can you call my wife and tell her I loved her? Oh, and also I won’t be able to make it to our Saturday UNO game for obvious reasons. Oh, oh, and that the obvious reasons are that I’m going to Hell on the bone train with Death. Sorry, so much has happened today, I forget to bring people up to speed.”

“I guess I don’t have much of a choice” said Whoopi. She closed her script for Sister Act 3 and opened up Skype, making a call to the account details I gave her. The little jingle played before a familiar voice answered.

“Angie?” said Whoopi. “This is Whoopi Goldberg”

“And?” said my wife.

“Angie, I’m calling on behalf of your departed husband.”

“Oh my god,” Angie said. “What has he done now?”

“He’s dead, actually,” explained Whoopi, “choked on a toothbrush before you got home. The police must have taken him away but stopped for lunch, so they’ve not gotten a chance to let you know about it. He wants you to know that he loves you, Angie. You were the best thing in his life. Doesn’t sound like tough competition for a man who loved toothbrushes and chess, but all the same, he wanted you to know.”

“Cool, good to know” said Angie. “Hey, one second: does this mean that he’s talking with you right now?”

“Yeah,” said Whoopi “his spirit is here. Right now he’s looking at his hair in the window, even though he’s literally invisible.”

“Well, if he’s really there,” said Angie, “I’ll ask him something only he would know and that will prove ghosts are real. What’s my favourite colour?” “Shit…” I said. “Uh, I dunno, green maybe”.

“Uh, I dunno, green maybe” said Whoopi.

“Wow, that’s spooky”, said Angie. “It’s actually purple, but that idiot always thinks it’s green. He even painted the house green for our anniversary. What a dunce. Ok, cool, tell him no worries. If he can make it home tonight for UNO, great, but I’ll not be holding my breath.”

“Don’t worry, my wife,” I said. I have a plan”

“Don’t worry, his wife, he has a plan,” said Whoopi.

“I’ll definitely not wait up then. Thanks Whoopi. We loved you in Sister Act by the way” said Angie, and hung up.

“Ah, guess I have seen it,” I told Whoopi. “Well, thanks for your help. I guess there’s only one option left: I’m gonna have to kidnap and murder Death”.

“Why don’t you just beat him at chess and win your life back, like in that movie?” asked Whoopi.

“For the last time, Whoopi, I don’t remember Sister Act at all!” I said. “More to the point, I don’t play chess. Not after… that night.” I was kind of really hoping someone was gonna ask about the deep dark past thing. It’s not often I get to tell these stories.

“Suit yourself, kid” said Whoopi. “I guess you’re going to Hell, then”.

The bone train door slammed open.

“Ok kid,” said Death, “it’s been 50 minutes now. Do they have my mocha frapp or what? Are we gonna play chess now, or what? Honestly? I kind of feel like you’re using me for some kind of plot thing that’s going on for too long, and I just want to play some games to take my mind off the fact that my job sucks forever. You + Me = Hell, RIGHT NOW.”

Think fast, I thought, at a normal thought-speed. Suddenly, it hit me.

“Alright, Death. Time to play, for my very soul.”

“Sweet,” said Death.

“But not at chess.”

“Ah, Jeez!” Death groaned.

“No, I could never play chess again. It’s actually a really cool and dark story that I haven’t had a chance to tell, but maybe I could tell it if…” “Yeah, yeah, what’s the game, kid?” said Death, doing the wrap-up-the-story hand gesture with his bone-fingers.

I pulled a pack of cards from my great coat pocket (as in, the coat pocket is really great, it’s just a regular modern fashionable coat).

“UNO?!” cried Death. “Kid, you really are going to Hell.”

“Not if I can help it,” I said. “I was taught by the best: my wife. She made me the player I am today. And she takes no prisoners. So yes, Death. I’d wager my life on the back of her teaching”.

Death pulled up a table, and leaned his scythe against the coat rack.

“Whatever, dude. Just deal ‘em out.”

I played Death best of three. Best of three is right, I thought. More like the best three games of my life, let me tell you. They had to be, given what was at stake. We tied one-to-one. Death learned the game so fast, and he was soon a worthy competitor. It was down to the knuckle, which was unfair given his were so much more visible. We were down to two cards each, and it was his turn. I had to pull it out, but these last two cards were the worst I could have had. He slammed down a green 3.

“This is it, kid. This next card’s a ticket to Satan’s ass. STANDARD CLASS.”

I flipped a yellow 3.

“UNO,” I declared, “and guess what, Death? You were so busy sassing me, you forgot to say UNO yourself, so you have to PICK UP.”

Death shuddered realising his mistake.

“What?! No!” he cried. “Ah, fuck this game! Why couldn’t we have played Demon Party Drunk Chess anyway. Oh my god, these cards suuuuuck!”

The last card was one of those wild cards you can write on. “I’m done, Death. And my custom rule is that you have to give me my soul and my life back.”

“The game’s over kid. Also, I don’t think that’s a real rule you can make anyway. But a bet is a bet.” He waved his hand, doing cool Death magic or something. “Now get back to living before I do something I regret”.

I felt my spirit form fading as I regained my life inside my body. It looked kind of like that scene with Marty McFly in Back To The Future where he’s almost erased from existence.

“Wow,” I said. “This is just like that movie”.

“Yep.” said Death, walking away sulkily. “Just like Sister Act.”

“Thanks for everything” I said. “So long.”

“You know, it is a shame. I would have liked to play with you again. But I don’t have friends much anymore. Things have been a little tough since the whole… incident.”

“Suit yourself, kid" I said, vanishing into the air.

“Oh well I guess I could stop by now that you mention it, ok thanks, see you and your wife tonight at 8??”

Damn, I thought. My body had left that realm, but his words followed me. I guess it wouldn’t be the worst date I had in my life! I thought (man I gotta write these zingers down). “See you then, Death” I whispered, my voice going all ethereal. “See you then.”

I woke up in the ground, soil trickling onto a cheap coffin the cops had stuffed me in. Weeping, some folks were throwing handfulls of dirt into the hole where I was lying. I didn’t recognise them, I think they just wanted a day out at the graves. I bust through the lid of that thing like it was cardboard, and climbed out. “Come on guys” I said, pushing off the coffin lid. “You gotta throw more dirt on than that, I haven’t got all day. If you give me a shovel I’ll get it done much faster.” And I did. And when I was done filling my own grave, I walked home, knocked on my door, and was met by my beautiful Angie. “Boy, did I miss you” I said, shaking her hand in a friendly manner.

“You have soap in your hair” she said.

“I know. And soil in my shoes babe, it’s a weird combination. But there’s also love in my heart. And if you’ll have me, I am ready for UNO. Speaking of which, I may have invited a friend along…”

So there you have it. That’s how me and my wife Angie got ourselves a weekly dinner date with Death, of underworld fame. And you know what? It’s a lot of fun having him round. It can be hard to make friends as a couple, and he’s a good guy. Even though I sometimes worry a little too much about our fate beyond this lifetime, every time I hear that screechin’ bone-train a-comin’, I smile knowing it will all be ok. In fact, I think I hear it coming now…

…ok never mind, it was just my wife screamin’ at me again.

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schrijverr · 4 years

Text

An Insightful Picnic

Will and Tom look after Mary and Jane while Polly and Mrs. Blake are away. They go on a picnic and musings about the future and what that means for them come to light.

From the Being Home series that starts with Returning Home and the Joe’s Letter.

On AO3.

Ships: Blakefield

Warnings: WW1 mentioned and period typical homophobia mentioned.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was summer in 1918, almost halfway through June in fact. The weather was lovely and the fields around the small town where the Blakes lived alongside the Schofield siblings. There would be some races with horses up near Birmingham and Mrs. Blake had decided to take Polly for a fun day out, she had wanted to invite Tom and Will as well along with the two little girls, but the two men had declined saying that they had seen enough horses in the war to be cured of any curiosity, the rotting horse corpses still fresh in their minds. With only two adults and a goal to relax it was also decided that the twins would be better off staying with Tom and Will.

The two girls had been pretty disappointed to miss the races, so in order to make it up to them Tom and Will had planned a fun picnic in the forest. This delighted them to no end, Jane hadn’t been able to stop chattering on about it with a happy Mary on her trail. They had been even more excited when Tom had announced Saturday evening that they got to stay up a bit later to help him bake a cherry pie for the picnic the next day.

Jane was allowed to help with rolling out the dough and Mary with preparing the cherries. Tom did the measuring and most of the kneading, although both girls wanted to try, making it into a small competition. Will had watched them from the kitchen table with a fond smile. He had offered to do the clean up while Tom tucked the two girls in and told them a story.

When Tom came down again he wordlessly picked up a towel and started drying the dishes Will was washing. Will asked with a smirk: “Did they go to bed smoothly?”

Tom laughed: “They put up a good fight, but it’s late and I’m much stronger.” he paused his drying to flex his arms, making Will laugh. Indignantly he asked: “Oi, what are you laughing at?”

Will bit on his bottom lip to stop the smile, but it didn’t work. He gestured vaguely with the sponge at Tom and said: “Just, just you, dumbass. Very heroic, winning against two seven-year-olds.”

Tom pouted for a second then he couldn’t help, but laugh as well. He jokingly tried to save his pride by saying: “Hey, your nieces can be menaces. I don’t know how Polly, does it every night.”

“Don’t involve me into it, they’ve adopted you as an uncle, they’re your nieces now too. And I feel you are the bad influence out of the two of us.” Will said.

A burst of warmth went through Toms chest. Will had come so far from the lonely, quiet and sad chap he had met out on the fields of France. He was more happy now and it made Tom so proud that he was part of Wills family and vise versa. They probably could never have anything public or official, but these feeling they were real and that could never be taken from them.

Will noticed his silence and raised a concerned eyebrow at him, not saying anything as well. Tom smiled at him to reassure him that nothing was wrong and quickly leaned in for a kiss. There was no one else in the house, Mrs. Blake and Polly had already gone further North and Jane and Mary were in bed.

The kiss was soft. It was quiet, but said a thousand words. It said I love you, I’m proud of you, I’m glad to have you in my life. It said never let go of me, because I will never let go of you. They didn’t need to say those words, because they already knew them, but it was nice to let the warm feeling flow between them in that small kitchen on that summer eve.

The next day they were pulled out of bed by two excited young ladies, who had burst through the door and jumped on the bed startling the two sleeping ex-soldiers. It spoke volumes about their progress that the only physical reaction they had to the sudden intrusion was startling into an upright position, with they fists up. Jane and Mary didn’t notice it, just pulled on their hands as they complained that it was morning and they wanted to go.

After telling them to go downstairs, the two got up and started to get dressed. It was a familiar routine. Tom got dressed completely, while Will got dressed as far as he could with one hand and made the bed, when both were done with that Tom tied Wills laces and did up his buttons, before heading downstairs.

They ate a quick and small breakfast, before preparing the last of their food for the lunch, packing it all into a basket and calling Myrtle. Then they were off, Jane wanted to hold the basket at first, but when Mary had stopped to pluck a flower and stick it in her hair, Jane had opted to hand Will the basket, so that she could do the same. Will had smiled at that and shared an amused look with Tom.

It was probably better that the basket was occupying his only hand, because it had been nearly habit to slip his into Toms the moment they entered the forest, but with Mary and Jane there they couldn’t risk it.

Soon they arrived at a small clearing in the middle of the forest. It was a quiet spot that not many people knew about, so Tom and Will found themselves there quite often. Normally they would sit on the ground, but to spare the girls light dresses from too many grass stains they’d brought a checkered blanket to sit on.

It was a pretty big blanket, but with the two girls and all the food on it Will and Tom had to sit on the ground. They didn’t mind, but Jane did. She said: “No, uncle Will, uncle Tom, you have to sit on the blanket as well. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a good picnic.”

Beside her Mary nodded seriously as Jane pouted at them. Will smiled at them and explained that they couldn’t fit on the blanket, but that it was alright, because they didn’t mind sitting in the grass. The two wouldn’t hear it. They started to rearrange all the food, until their was a small enough spot for both of them to sit on. And when they said small, they meant small. The only way they could fit was if one of them sat cross-legged and the other squeezed on right beside that with his feet and legs in the grass. After a small conversation with their eyes, Tom was the one sitting cross-legged.

Jane and Mary were pleased and the picnic could begin. Myrtle laid next to blanket and her tail wagging as she closed her eyes and rested in the sun. She had taken a liking to the twins and Will could understand why as he watched them pet her absentmindedly throughout the lunch and sneakily feed her some meat from the sandwiches when Tom wasn’t looking.

When they had sat there for a while Jane and Mary were starting to get bored, Tom picked up on it and suggested: “Why don’t you go play with Myrtle, while me and Will watch the blanket. She needs some exercise and I’m sure she would appreciate your company.”

At that the two lit up and sprinted off with Myrtle, before they could get too far Will yelled: “Stay in sight, don’t go too far!”

Jane gave a yell back while Mary waved at them to signal they had heard, neither of them stopping for a second. Tom smiled and said: “Children, I’ll always be surprised at the amount of energy they have.”

Will gave him a look and said: “Like you aren’t still a child as well.”

His comment earned him a shove and he allowed himself to fall backwards, using the momentum to roll onto his feet. He gathered the left overs to make space on the blanket, seeing what he was doing Tom helped until there was enough space to sit down properly together.

From their blanket they watched the two girls run around with Myrtle, laughing and shrieking in delight. If he squinted enough, he could almost picture a future like this. A future where he and Tom could have kids and live happily on the countryside with no war going on and no hate against them and people like them. He knew that future wasn’t going to happen, but he hoped that it at least could stay like this for a little longer.

Tom noticed his far off look and softly asked: “What is going on in that brain of yours?”

“Hmm?” Will locked their eyes as he processed the question, then he looked back at Mary and Jane and sighed: “Just, what could be, you know, if the world wasn’t shit. What our future could have been.”

Tom understood, when he had realized how much he loved his then friend, he knew what he would have to sacrifice to love him. But Tom also saw how much they could have. He knew Will and Polly were trying to make her dream of owning an inn a reality and he knew that it would be hard if they ever wanted that small home for just them, yet he was hopeful. He believed that a long and good life wasn’t that far out of reach if they tried. So, he said: “Our future can still be something, love. Maybe not kids and marriage, but Mary and Jane need us and I know that we don’t need formalities to be happy, right?”

He gently bumped his shoulder into Wills and gave him a tranquil and inquisitive look. Will bit his lip and frowned a bit as he thought, then he said: “You’re probably right and I do want to be here for them and Polly and Mrs. Blake, but I can’t understand how you’re so certain of this hope for the future. After everything we’ve seen, after we felt first hand how easily life slips away.”

Toms eyes saddened a bit with Will words, but he knew where his boyfriend was coming from and if he was good at something, it was talking to cheer Will up and give him hope. So he leaned back on his hands and stared up to the sky as he said: “I think that’s what gives me hope. Life is so fragile, but we made it this far and until it slips away you need to make the best of it, you know? Maybe our future won’t be all that we dream to be, but if we give up before we try we might never see how close we can get. I practically died out there is France, all I’m living now is extra and I’m going to make the best of it.” he looked back at Will and finished: “And I hope I get to do that with you.”

Will blushed from the sudden eye contact along with the words and he struggled with a reply. In the end he settled on giving Tom a quick hug and a pack on his cheek after he had quickly glanced at Mary and Jane to see if they were looking, the two were still wrapped up in their own fantasy world and didn’t notice. He whispered: “Thank you.”

Tom petted his hair and said: “No need, did it with love.”

They enjoyed the rest of the afternoon in the same fashion, until it was late and they needed to head home. This saddened the twins, but they still followed after them. They were tired after a day of fun and the prospect of a bed and dinner didn’t sound so bad, although neither would admit that if asked.

Will made a simple soup with the help of Tom, which the four of them ate while sitting on the porch and watching the sun lower over the fields.

Then it was time for bed. Will and Tom escorted the girls upstairs and helped them get ready for the night. Tom tucked in Jane, while Will tucked in Mary. They wanted to leave quietly, believing the girls close to sleep, but a tug from Mary and a soft protest from Jane stopped them. They wanted a story, a real story, about France, not a fairytale.

Tom shrugged and settled down at the end of the bed while Will did the same. Tom started: “This is a story that begins with a sad ending.”

“How can that be?” Jane asked.

“Well, it starts with me getting badly hurt.” Tom told her.

“What happened to you?” Mary asked.

“Me and your uncle Will had been send out on a mission. We were well on our way, when we saw three planes flying over. We watched as one om them crashed down, the man inside still alive.”

The girls gasped as Will frowned, he could understand which story Tom was telling, but he didn’t understand why he would tell that one. It wasn’t one of the happier stories, certainly not, it also wasn’t very fun to listen to, especially if you were a child. Still Tom went on: “We saved the man, but it was too late, he was close to death and he used the last of his strength in attacking me, hurting me badly, which is where I wanted to start.”

Will appreciated that Tom left out that Will had been the one to kill the German soldier. And listened closely to try and figure out where Tom was going with this.

“I couldn’t go on and told Will to leave me and finish our mission, because it was very important.” Tom said, “He didn’t want to, but he had to. Not soon after he had left me to find on his way back, a medical team found me.”

The end of that was just plain false, but Will liked this version of what happened much better than the real one. The one where Tom had nearly died and had lain there for hours in pain, just waiting for anyone to help, the one where he didn’t go back for him.

“Did they help you?” Jane asked.

Tom smiled: “They did, they got me back home.”

“That’s good, right? It’s not sad anymore now.” Mary added.

“It is good, I got the help I needed, but Will couldn’t find me anymore.” Tom said.

Mary interrupted again: “But that is not good at all!”

“But it’s going to end well, don’t worry.” Tom reassured her, “It was indeed quite sad that me and Will couldn’t find each other again. We thought that maybe we never would and we both hated being separated from a good friend.”

Will nearly snorted at Toms description of their relationship, but kept his mouth as he absentmindedly stroked Marys lower leg as they all listened to Tom, who went on: “We didn’t see each other for a long time, but then suddenly I get an answer to the letter I send Will. It had arrived with him and he had send a letter back. Suddenly we could find each other again.”

Jane cheered and Mary smiled. Tom continued: “We met up again and although it had taken hard work to get there, we could now be friends once more. The end.”

Jane yawned and said: “That was a good story, I like it.”

Mary nodded as well and soon both had drifted off to sleep. Quietly Tom and Will left the room and went downstairs. Once they were out of earshot and didn’t risk waking them up Will softly asked: “That story was more for me, wasn’t it.”

“If you think you needed to hear it, sure.” Tom replied with a wink.

Will would’ve been mad to be treated like a kid, but honestly it was nice to think Tom was so sure of their survival and their future. It gave him hope too, so he just smiled back and asked if Tom wanted some tea.

They sat in the living room, just enjoying each other company until it was late at night. They slept in each others arms and comforted the other when the dreams weren’t kind.

The next day Mrs. Blake and Polly returned and were nearly overrun with two excited girls, who chattered on about the picnic and how fun it had been. Polly told them: “How nice of your uncles, we might have to hire them full time to babysit you two.”

The girls pouted and told their mother that they didn’t need to be babysat, because they were already old enough to look after themselves. Polly just smiled at that, but didn’t comment. She did look up in surprise when Tom said: “We’re happy to, just say the word when you need the helping hand.”

From the living room Will looked at Tom, who was standing in the hallway, and smiled. He heard Polly backtrack, saying it was just a joke and that he didn’t have to, really. Will stuck his head around the corner and said: “It isn’t a bother, Polls.”

He and Tom smiled at each other and he thought that they were going to be alright.

#RR writing #1917 #1917 movie #tom blake #Tom x Will #will schofield #Wills nieces #tw: mentions of war #tw: war mention #tw: homophobia mentioned #blakefield

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jeonsduck · 4 years

Text

Smoke and Mirrors pt 4

WARNINGS: gore, graphic imagery.

a/n: im so sorry

Since getting permission from your new supervisor to work in San’s office, you’d fallen into a bit of a routine. You woke up, got ready, fed Noodles, and San picked you up from your building because it was on his way to work. On some mornings he’d come upstairs instead of calling yo he got there, bearing gifts of a breakfast sandwich (for you) and canned tuna (for Noodles). By now, your elder landlady recognized San and he blew her a kiss when he picked you up in the mornings.

When you arrived at the office, you’d hole yourself up in the file room until lunch. Keran or San would occasionally come by to check on you and bring you a little styrofoam cup off coffee and remind you to take a break. Sometimes Byul would break in and walk all over your papers and laptop keyboard until you scratched her behind her ears.

At 11:45, San would slip a leash on Byul and the three of you would go on a walk to pick up lunch for the whole office. You all ate in the front room, Keran and the bodyguards included. This was of course, if San didn’t have a lunch meeting, which you were learning were reserved only for his most important clients (read: Hongjoong and company). You caught glimpses of them when they came to see San, but you had yet to be introduced to any of them. You were thankful for that because just from what you’d heard about them from Agent Heejin they were men to be feared and taken very seriously.

After lunch it was back to the dungeon to try and make sense of what the hell San’s friends were doing with their money.

If he wasn’t too busy in the afternoons he might pop in and help explain something to you. As the person who oversaw all these transactions, he was your best bet at explaining some of their more convoluted financial practices. Like Jongho claiming farm exemptions on his martial arts school. Except it WAS a farm, and a school, and apparently Jongho was very dedicated to the fact that his students live seperated from society to focus on their sport or something like that. Either way it was a really complicated way of saying, yes, his 35 acres are eligible for educational and agricultural exemptions. There were at least 5 cases like this for each of them, and your head was pounding from the explanations. The information dump you were going through on this case was worse than college.

San drove you home after he locked up for the night, or if he was staying late, he’d send you home in a car with the guards. After you’d started at ledgers until your eyes burned, you had to go talk to Agent Heejin. Sometimes she called you, other times she visited your apartment. You’d talk for as long as she deemed necessary, sometimes for upwards of two hours. Occasionally, you had something suspicious to report, but it was a rare occurrence. Usually you ended up chasing the same half a million dollars around in circles for the whole day across different accounts until there was no where else for you to follow it. It was exhausting. And so far, there was nothing groundbreaking to report, which meant you just got to spend a couple extra hours being grilled every night.

Fun daily routine, right? Not in the slightest.

Well, that wasn’t completely true. It was a little fun. Especially when you saw San dressed like a trainwreck with his glasses off, frowning down at a stack of papers. Or when you caught him looking at you from the doorway with a pencil held behind his ear. Or when he rolled his shirt sleeves up so he could go get you a document you couldn’t find. Or when he smiled at you in the cutest way, or well, any time San was being cute. Was that kinda super unprofessional? Yeah, but you’d be done with this case eventually and maybe after that something could happen? It wasn’t as though it was completely one sided. Someone didn’t just start picking you up and taking you to work just because you lived in the same direction. And you’d heard the guards gossiping around the water cooler about how they could never convince their boss to let them choose what to eat for lunch, but he always asked you before making a decision nowadays. And then there was that time you‘d turned your head too fast when he was leaning over your shoulder, and you’d both been trapped in that moment with your noses nearly touching for way too long. San had finally blinked and cleared his throat and you’d both awkwardly avoided each other’s eyes for the next hour.

Your mildly flirty and mostly boring routine was broken when your new supervisor asked you to come in for a status report. San dropped you back off at your office, and told you to call him once you were done so he could send a car to take you home, since you’d left yours at your apartment. You went back up to your floor for the first time in weeks, and made an hour long presentation on your progress with this case (which was miniscule to say the least). Your boss thanked you for the update, told you you were doing a good job, and let you know he’d be sending the notes you presented to the administration.

After you left his office, you stopped by your cubicle to tidy something’s up, grab some extra supplies you needed,

“Y/N! How’s it going?” Jacob said, catching you on your way out.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him, and you gave him a hug. You had missed your cubicle neighbor.

“Slowly. I don’t know if I’ll ever be done with this case.” you sighed.

Jacob chuckled and patted you on the back.

“You got some time? We could grab dinner, maybe a couple drinks?” he offered.

You checked your phone for messages from San, only to find that it was dead. Ah, might as well.

“Yeah I could do dinner. You had somewhere in mind?”

Dinner with Jacob was…. Nice. You didn’t realize until halfway through the meal that maybe Jacob thought this was a date. But you still weren’t sure. You were sure that Jacob was more than a little nervous, stuttering over a lot of his sentences and fidgeting. But he wasn’t overbearing or making you uncomfortable. He was nice. Jacob was nice.

He drove you home after the meal, walking you to the front door of your building. You told him you had a nice time. He smiled at you and said the same. Then he awkwardly scooted back into his car and drove away.

You headed up to your apartment, putting your phone on charge the second you got in. You fed Noodles, got ready for bed, and put on some TV to watch before you went to bed. When your phone turned on it started buzzing wildly, startling Noodles.

“Who was calling me like that?” you wondered out loud.

Flipping your phone back over, you saw you had 50 text messages, 34 missed calls, and multiple voicemails. All from San. Begining from the time you were supposed to call him, the messages increased in frequency and worry even through your dinner with Jacob. Your phone buzzed to life again suddenly, San’s name and picture flashing on your screen.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Oh, my god Y/N! I thought you were dead in an alley somewhere or something! You were supposed to call me when you finished at the IRS. ” San said, sounding relieved.

“Oh gosh, I didn’t mean to worry you. My phone died and then I went to dinner with my work friend Jacob. Besides, I told you, I could Uber home or something.” you said.

“Yeah, but you would have at least answered my call from an Uber. I didn’t know what had happened to you.” he huffed.

“Well, I’m fine and I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ll buy you lunch tomorrow to make up for it.” you offered.

“Fine. But letting your phone die can be dangerous. What if something happens and you can’t call me?” he says.

“Shouldn’t I be calling the police if I’m in danger?” you counter with a chuckle, but San is serious.

“No, you should call me. So, promise me you won’t let your phone die, and you’ll answer me when I call.” he says.

You sigh and agree.

“Fine, I’ll watch my phone battery and I will always pick up if you call. Are we cool now?” you ask.

San chuckles, “We are, but you still owe me lunch tomorrow.” he says.

“Of course. Good night San.”

“Goodnight Y/N.”

You shake your head and look at Noodles.

“He’s such a character isn’t he?” you ask him, and Noodles just meows in response.

You chuckle and turn the TV off, falling asleep.

The next day it’s back to the same grind. It’s like that for most of the week. On Thursday you get an email from your supervisor, asking if you know where Jacob’s gone. You reply that you don’t know, but you’ll reach out to him. When you call him after lunch, Jacob’s phone goes straight to voicemail. Weird, but you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, so you’re not really worried about it.

You see Jacob again on Saturday, but not in the way you were expecting, or ever wanted to see him. You got a call from the police station early that morning, asking you to come in about something. You thought it had something to do with San or the case you were working with the IRS. You never thought that they’d be calling you down to help identify Jacob’s waterlogged corpse.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. Whoever had done this, had been angry and well versed in the art of murder. His right hand was broken, shattered more like. So were both of his legs, one at the femur, one at the shin. He’d been garroted, a sharp wire choking him and cutting into his neck until he either asphyxiated or bled to death, whichever came first. That the coroner wasn’t quite sure of. What they were sure of, was that Jacob’s body had been beaten and mutilated before he’d been killed. His heart had been carved out of his chest cavity after the fact though. They’d found the charred remains in his car, which had been pushed deep into the woods and set on fire. Jacob’s body had been found in a lake not far from there, only because the killer had messed up when puncturing his lungs to prevent his body from floating.

You didn’t process this all at once though. You’d walked into the morgue, noted the awful smell, and the coroner had asked you to peel back the white sheet. You had, and nearly fell over in shock. That was your friend on the table. You stumbled back a couple steps, your ears ringing. You faintly heard the officer who had walked you here asking if that was Jacob on the table, and you nodded absently. You’d been handed a file on Jacob’s autopsy and then ushered out of the room by the officer who brought you there. You stumbled along like you were in a dream, not realizing that the cop was leading you to an interrogation room.

“We have reason to believe you were the last person to see Jacob alive, so we have a few questions for you…”

You sat there, shell shocked and more than a little traumatized, while the police questioned you for hours about the last time you saw Jacob. Nervous, but happy. A little excited, like an overgrown puppy. Different officers came to ask you the same questions, and you knew what they were doing. Trying to get you to crack, to admit something that didn’t happen, to find some flaw in your relationship, and easy out, a motive. But after you’d sobbed for three hours, you were too tired to even keep crying, and eventually they released you, emotionally numb and exhausted.

The sun was still shining outside the precinct, like the day had the right to be happy. You looked at your car, unwilling to drive, and on impulse, you called San.

Y/N?”

“Yeah, San can you come pick me up? I’m at the police station, I don’t think I should drive.” you said.

“What? Why are you at the police station? I’ll be there soon just hold on.” he said.

“Okay.” you sighed and hung up. You sat down on a bench outside, and after a few minutes, it began to sun shower. You snorted, but just sat there, getting soaked as other people ran around you for cover. You only realized San had pulled up when the rain stopped and you heard him fussing over you.

“You’re gonna catch a cold, sitting out in the rain like this. Come get in the car.”

You let San basically manhandle you into his car, realizing that you were about to get in his expensive Italian sports car sopping wet.

“Sorry, send me you upholstery bill.”

“One, no. Two, you can’t afford it. Three, the leather was getting kinda worn anyway. Do you want to tell me why you were at the police station?” he prompted.

You just shook your head, gazing out the window.

“Later. Just take me home please.”

You zone out as San drives, watching raindrops slide down the car window.

“Y/N, we’re here.” San said, snapping you out of a daze.

“Will you come up with me? I don’t want to be alone right now.” you ask.

“Of course.”

San parks his car in your spot, and follows you up to your apartment. Noodles comes trotting out when you open the door, avoiding you when he sees that you’re wet and rubbing uo against San instead.

“Go take a shower, put on some dry clothes. Should I order food?” San asks, scooping Noodles up in his arms.

You don’t want to eat, but you say yes anyway. You leave San to his own devices in the living room and go to take a shower. Maybe you’re crying again, but there’s no way to be sure. You end up standing under the hot water for nearly an hour. When the food he ordered arrives, San knocks on your bathroom door, letting you know that you should get out and eat while the food is hot.

You towel off and get dressed in pajamas, trudging back out to the kitchen, San is sitting at your island with a large pizza in front of him. You sit down next to him and take a slice, chewing slowly. It’s good pizza. You say as much. When you finish, San puts away the box and stands infront of you, cupping your face in his hands.

“Do you want to keep processing, or do you want me to distract you?” he asks, looking into your eyes.

You answer without even thinking, wanting to stop feeling so awful.

“Distract me, please.”

San smiles sadly, bringing your faces together and connecting your lips gently. You’re trembling a little, and San feels solid and real pressed against you.

“I’m sorry.” he says.

“It’s not your fault.” you mumble.

San doesn’t reply, just kisses you again, and again, and again.

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