#truth exposer 1: uncovered

[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Truth Exposer 1: Uncovered — Ch.1

PAIRING — Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki/Vigilante F!Reader RATING — Explicit CONTAINS — heavy angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), mutual pining, slow burn, eventual smut, moral ambiguity, cheating (not between katsuki/reader), unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief/mourning, dark themes (past abuse, stalking, kidnapping, torture, quirk trafficking), violence, swearing, open but hopeful ending, dual pov (mostly reader), no use of y/n ◆ married bakugou katsuki—not to reader—and has a daughter too ◆ characters are in their late 20s SUMMARY — Running away would be the sensible thing to do. Getting as far away as possible from him, the one person who’s your ticket to losing your freedom. Not searching for him out of stupid curiosity and showing up at the last place you should: his house. They say curiosity killed the cat, but yours seems to always end up as the key unlocking doors that should probably stay locked. Because when you open the door to Bakugou Katsuki’s life, it’s not a loving marriage, not a happy family of three you find, but falsity, forced duty, and a dark secret that threatens his very own life. Bakugou Katsuki, the pro hero tasked with catching you and your downfall. And you, the vigilante exposing ugly truths for a living—his salvation.

➥AO3 LINK // ➥ AO3 CHAPTER LINK // ➥ TUMBLR CHAPTERS LIST

CHAPTER WARNINGS — n/a

WORD COUNT — ~3.6k

a/n: Hi! Welcome to the start of my Go-Big-or-Go-Home project! After one year of toying with the idea, outlining, drafting, rewriting, and suffering, part 1 is finally leaving the box. All I'm gonna say is...this isn't a light read and the ride will be long and bumpy as hell, but I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did writing it (many tears were shed).

Enjoy!🧡

BREAKING: Truth Exposer returns! Is Nakamura Yui done for? In a shocking revelation, Truth Exposer shatters the carefully curated image of rising fashion designer Nakamura Yui. The vigilante accuses Nakamura of being behind the poor working conditions of her employees and using blackmail to silence them. It doesn’t stop there. The designs Nakamura claims as her own appear to belong to her manager. As always, the known vigilante backs the allegations with evidence, including a detailed report outlining Nakamura’s actions and possible motivations. The scandal continues to shake the fashion industry. Stay tuned for further developments.

“Remember the guy I’ve been seeing?” the woman in front of you asked her friend, staring at her phone screen.

Her friend gave her a smug look and giggled. “Your police officer boyfriend? Oh, I remember him. Are you finally official?”

The woman’s cheeks flushed pink. “Sort of. But that’s not important. He told me something interesting the other day. A rumor.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Apparently, Dynamight is on Truth Exposer’s case. For two years now. Isn’t that strange?”

“Dynamight?” Her friend’s reaction was loud enough to draw attention, prompting the woman to hush her with a finger firmly pressed to her pink-stained lips. “Sorry. That’s just shocking. No way it’s true.” She shook her head in disbelief. “He’d have caught that vigilante by now.”

The woman pursed her lips. “Don’t be so sure. My, uh, somewhat boyfriend said his superiors are growing restless because…” She looked around as if she was about to impart the secret of the universe. “There’s no evidence, it seems. Almost as if…”

“Truth Exposer doesn’t exist?” her friend offered.

“Yeah,” she agreed, her expression shifting to one of concern.

You stifled a yawn as your attention drifted from the chatty women to the rest of the ice cream parlor and rolled your shoulders. The ridiculously long queue was killing you with boredom. What were you thinking? Coming here on a Saturday evening in the middle of freaking July. Summer was in full swing, and the chase for its sweet treats manic. Unbelievable how you’d ignored that simple fact and acted on your cravings, gleefully skipping past every single convenience store and making a beeline through half the city to reach your current location.

Your clothes stuck to your sweaty skin, making your eye twitch in irritation and sheer disgust, but that was what you deserved when you stubbornly refused to satisfy the cravings with simple ice cream. Picky tongue demanded artisanal. Rich, intense, creamy flavors.

Among the locals, the location was popular, open during the summer months, and closed for the rest. Each year brought a new theme, and this time around revolved around tropical islands. The seashell pillars from last year were replaced with artificial palm trees, their long, wide green leaves holding the baby blue shaded ceiling with splotches of white cotton. The intention was for the fluff to resemble the peaceful clouds of a sunny sky, but to you, it looked like something met its tragic end.

And then there was the floor, beloved by many, hated by you—sand. Actual sand. Points for the clever idea of upping the authenticity, but that was where your generosity ended. Minuscule pebbles invaded your shoes the second you walked in, and the constant sensation of something poking into your feet every time you stepped drove you mad. The beach was where it belonged, next to the ocean, not in your ice cream parlor.

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other and carried your visual exploration to the ice cream display. Fruity aromas escaped into the cool air, scenting the atmosphere with their sweet perfume. Delightful. If only your sense of smell was as average as everyone else’s. Your nose suffered from the notes of sweat, cheap cologne, and heated synthetic materials.

“What are you getting?” the woman from before asked her friend.

“One Tsukuyomi cup and one Pinky,” her friend responded, pointing at the mentioned pro heroes who were part of the lineup of themed ice cream flavors.

The woman’s expression turned judgmental. “Blackberries and bubblegum?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Your gaze landed on the two options when vibrant orange with black swirls tugged at your attention, and you could almost feel the arrogance of who was represented radiating off it. Your whole face scrunched up, because your silly stomach fluttered in anticipation of something you wouldn’t buy, even if the man himself paid you for it.

When it was finally your turn, the most pleasant smile slapped itself on your face as you pointed to the display, saying, “I’ll have everything you’ve got left of Dynamight’s ice cream.”

Everything stilled into awkward silence as the cashier blinked at you from behind the counter, his face flushing a faint shade of red. You blinked back, and smiled wider, confused about the reaction. What the hell was going on? Weren’t you clear in your wording? You said you wanted Dynamight’s ice cream.

Dynamight’s…ice…cream—

Shit.

“I mean, I’ll have everything you’ve got left of the Dynamight-themed ice cream,” you tried again, pretending your earlier request hadn’t sounded like you’d just asked for a different kind of ice cream. Although, if that was the color of his in-pants equipment, you'd probably book him an appointment with a doctor instead.

Defeated groans and whines saved you from the awkwardness, and you stole a glance at the group wanting a sweet piece of him as your fingers tapped to a random cheery rhythm on your thigh. Closing time was approaching fast, so restocking wouldn’t happen. You were terrible for robbing them of their dream, but pissing him off held much more appeal. So, so terrible.

“The ice cream comes with themed containers too?” you asked the cashier upon seeing your purchase stuffed into a container with the key pieces of his hero suit drawn on it.

“Yes,” the cashier responded, smiling back at you. “This year is special. The pro heroes themselves reviewed the products, and had the chance to participate in the process if they wanted.”

“Oh.”

Something told you Bakugou went all in. Put on the apron and the chef hat and the gloves, and dove hands first in the fresh ingredients. Checking the quality, tasting, and mixing, and probably swearing when things didn’t go his way. Images of him in a domestic role popped like inflated balloons in your head and sprinkled the authenticity of the situation over your synapses. Nothing about it was far-fetched, he was a married man and a father too.

Even though he kept his private life private, his wife had no problem sharing about it and praising him to the moon and stars for everything, including his incredible cooking abilities. Her husband this, her husband that. Your eyes rolled every single time you had the displeasure of hearing her. It was painfully obvious Bakugou didn’t appreciate her sentiment, but what was new?

So-called picture perfect couple, though not once did he publicly display a hint of affection. Not even one brief look full of love in her direction. You recognized fed up when you saw it, and he was already beyond that state.

Besides, he wouldn’t—

“Here you go, Miss.” The cashier interrupted the forbidden thought coming through. Forbidden for its smugness.

You paid for the ice cream and picked up the special bag it was packed in, designed to prevent the sweet treat from turning into melted mush. Then left the parlor, in denial about how satisfied you were with the purchase.

The street noise and its buzzing activity immediately assaulted your heightened senses, something you’d learned to appreciate in the past few years as it made the world much more interesting. Vivid colors, nuanced sounds, layered scents, pleasant textures, hidden tastes. Life was easier when you could sense the reminders of its worth in your experiences, just not in this moment. Your mind remained anchored to his existence and the dimming of the fire in his eyes with each passing month.

His last appearance, which wasn’t work-related but was clearly another PR move orchestrated by his wife, left you rather morbidly curious about the behind-the-scenes. It was a charity event, supposedly raising funds for research into the evolution of quirks, yet he looked like someone had blackmailed him into being there. You expected him to be interested, especially since his two-year-old daughter was slowly approaching the age where her quirk might manifest, but no—Bakugou’s expression remained frozen in a subtle scowl, his gaze vacant.

Trouble in paradise, maybe?

You scoffed. Who cared? Not you. It was none of your business.

The game was just that—a game. Disconnected from reality, impersonal.

Personal was finding a nice, quiet spot under the starry sky, preferably out of sight, where you could sit and satisfy your craving for something sweet and cold. That was what you needed, not putting Bakugou’s life under a microscope and critically examining it like a specimen.

He didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him. Not as two people living in the same world, under the same sky, breathing the same air, anyway.

Quickening your pace, you navigated the crowd, grimacing whenever some sweaty stranger brushed against you, and stopped at the crossroad, squeezing your way into the front row. As the green light ushering the cars by illuminated the moving traffic and the rancid smoke rising from the exhaust, you debated between going left or right once you crossed. The decision was quickly made upon spotting the small park tucked between the buildings lining the two side streets flanking it.

No bench was occupied, marking it the perfect spot for your little adventure.

Red turned to green for pedestrians, forcing the traffic to halt, and you followed the flow of the crowd when the back of your neck pricked with alert. Your fingers tightened around the bag handles, adrenaline kicking up a notch in your veins. The urge to swivel around and inspect burned at the edges of your instinct, but you resisted.

If you were indeed being watched, or worse, followed, the dumbest thing would be to let them know you knew.

You strode forward, pretending nothing was wrong. As if the inside of your skull wasn’t ringing like a cathedral from the brutal reverberations of alarm bells rising in volume, with the biggest Run. Run. Run! sign on its altar, bathed in divine light.

What more signs did you—

An arm seized your waist and yanked you into a hard body.

“Keep walkin’,” a deep voice spoke, and the blood drained from your head.

Impossible. This wasn’t happening.

Panic exploded in your chest, and your fight-or-flight instinct roared to life. Your unoccupied hand clenched into a fist and struck with every ounce of your strength into his gut. A low grunt followed your retaliation, drawing the attention of the crowd. You didn’t stick around for more.

You ripped yourself from his hold and burst into a sprint that would put him to shame, mentally cursing your luck. Or maybe it was fucking karma for buying that stupid ice cream. Speaking of, you hurled the bag in a random direction. Someone screamed as it flew through the air before hitting the pavement with a thud.

No indulging today—only running for your life to escape the hound currently hot on your heels.

Free of the dead weight, you skidded around the corner onto the side street, gritting your teeth as you sprinted faster. Your shoes pounded the ground, nearly drowning out the sound of his footsteps, which were closer than expected. You risked a glance over your shoulder and locked eyes in a brief, yet overbearingly intense connection with the red gaze fixated on you. Oh, joy. Your heart jumped into the first rocket and shot for the moon overhead.

Think. Think. Think.

“Screw this.”

In a moment of absolute recklessness, you bolted into the sparse traffic just as a car approached. Honks blared. Tires screeched. Death’s chilly claws scraped down your sweaty back. You hopped onto the hood of a car and slid over the heated metal to the other side, safely.

“Are you fuckin’ insane?!” His rage ripped through the humid air, bringing it to a paralyzing boil with a boom so loud you felt the shockwave shove you forward.

And then you were hauled off your feet and slammed face-first into the tall shrubbery fencing the park you’d wanted to enjoy that evil ice cream in. Heavy panting consumed your hearing as steely arms banded around your body, locking your arms in place, their muscles made of something that couldn’t be human. Rigid with power and strength.

“Goddamn it, woman. You’re a handful,” he panted in your ear, the rough rasp of his voice sending a very, very inappropriate shiver down the length of your body pressed against his front.

“Explains why your hands are so full,” you quipped, sarcasm the sin you shouldn’t have committed with the man who ate it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. His coiled arms constricted around your ribs, expelling a gasp from your lungs amidst the heaving breaths. “I didn’t peg you for a ribs-breaker, Dynamight,” you spat his hero name.

“You’re a slippery one, so gotta hold on tight, Truth Exposer.” He spat yours in return.

Laughter wheezed out of your mouth. “Who? Sorry, but you’ve got the wrong person.”

“That the card you wanna play?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. C’mon. We ain’t havin’ that talk here.”

“What? I’m not going anywhere with you.” You jerked in his harsh embrace, and squirmed like a worm on a hook, trying to escape the gaping maw of a hungry fish, growling, “Let me go. You can’t just randomly restrain someone. It’s power abuse, assho—hero!”

Despite your continuous protest he clearly didn’t give a fuck about, Bakugou dragged you away from the street, struggling and kicking, into the dead-end alleyway behind the park. He shoved you toward the wall, next to a dumpster buzzing with flies, and you managed to catch yourself in time before your face made contact with the filthy concrete.

Your hand flew to your mouth as you dry-heaved a few times from the rotting smell of garbage, having been under the scorching sun for more than a day. Whatever the hell was in there had been triple-cooked and extra ripened.

“Can punch, but can’t handle a little bit of stink?” he mocked, and you whirled on him, glaring fiercely.

“If I puke, I’m puking on you. How’s that for a little bit of stink?”

One side of his mouth quirked into a cocky grin that had your earlier panic morph into an irrational urge to wipe it off his face. Your hands clenched into trembling fists, nails biting into your palms.

“Don’t. You had your shot,” he said, his arms crossing over his chest, muscles flexing with the motion. “Be smart. Accept that you can’t win and let’s have a nice little chit-chat, yeah?”

Your brows lifted as you leveled him with a hard stare. Sweat slid down his temple, some dripped from that high bridge of his nose and onto his parted lips, and it was those beads you followed the descent of. They gathered on his chin and dripped on his veiny forearms before splattering on the ground at its feet.

Of course, the bastard was dressed to show off, even when he was out hunting... for you. Tank top and shorts so randoms could drool over his biceps and strong legs? Check. Custom-made cap to hide his identity? Check. Latest trendy sneakers? Check. You’d bet half your fortune his underwear was expensive too, probably tight over his ass and...

No.

No, no.

No, no, no.

Still, against better judgment, your eyes lingered on the cut of his body, taking note of everything that mattered. Bakugou could snap you like a twig if he wanted to. So could you—mentally, at least. One touch, poisoned with ill intent, and he’d drop like a felled tree. Brain stunned. Nerves fried. Unable to scream for help, or beg for death.

If only you could muster that intent toward him.

Gaze bouncing back up to his, you felt your composure stumble. His own roved over you, slow and deliberate, like a teasing touch. As if memorizing you was the sole reason he existed. Your heart skipped, tiny kicks against your ribs. Traitorous little bitch. Your senses too; they completely zeroed in on him.

Steps away, yet his cologne suddenly overpowered the putrid stench around you. Spiced heat, tangled in notes of something that was naturally him. He smelled…good. Good enough to cloud your judgment and weaken your knees.

Would he taste the same?

No. Stop. Your moral compass shuddered. He was your ticket to confinement. And a married man.

“Chit-chat about what?” You aimed for a steady voice; what came out was breathy.

He didn’t hesitate. “You’re Truth Exposer. The biggest pain in my ass for the last two years.”

Bakugou stalked forward. You stepped back. Forward. Back. Again and again, until the ridged concrete wall halted your retreat. Distance didn’t seem to exist in his mind where you were concerned.

Shouldn’t he be more cautious? He barely knew anything about you, let alone the extent of your quirk. Officially, it heightened your five senses to an overstimulating, terrifying degree—all of them, or whichever you chose. You never bothered to update the information at the Quirk Registry and had no intention of doing so.

“So you say. Proof?” You flicked your gaze to the alley opening, tracking the occasional passing car while listening for sirens. Nothing. A slow smile played on your lips. “No police?”

“Nah. Can drag your stupid ass to ‘em myself.”

“Then why aren’t you?” You snapped your fingers near his face, taunting. “Ah, right. Because there’s a difference between thinking someone did something bad and suspecting them based on proof. You, Dynamight, have a little problem with the second, don’t you?”

His palm slammed above your head as he leaned in, warm breath tickling your lips. “Backhanded admission?” He scoffed. “Cocky little shit. Think you’re gettin’ out of this?”

“Unless you can back up your assumptions, yeah.” You stepped closer, erasing the last bit of space between you, your voice fading to a whisper. "Breaking news: Pro Hero Dynamight detains a civilian on baseless suspicions. Has dropping four rankings finally pushed him to cross the line in hopes of climbing back up?”

Low, rumbly chuckles spilled from his lips and onto yours. You blinked, taken aback by the pleasant sound and his open amusement, barely registering his fingers grasping your jaw. “Like I give a shit about my ranking when I found you. Now all I gotta do is follow your scent and wait for you to slip. Once you do that, I’ll be right there punishin’ you for it. Wanna guess who’ll shoot up in the rankings after?”

You stared at him for another beat before you jerked your head away, grimacing. “Following my scent? What are you, a dog?”

“Worse.”

“A stalker, then?”

Bakugou never got the chance to respond. His phone rang, blasting the most obnoxious sound in existence. Clicking his tongue, he fished it out of his shorts, gaze locked on yours, daring you to move. He snapped at the caller.

“This better be important. I’m busy.”

Being this close made you into an involuntary participant in the conversation. Bless your hearing, or curse it.

“You need to come home. It’s about your wife. And Yua,” the woman on the other end urged. His mother?

He instantly straightened. “Is my kid okay?”

“She’s fine, but come home.” Her voice sounded exhausted.

“Can’t it wait?” he asked, and your expression shifted into surprise. Shouldn’t he be running already?

“I caught her with another guy. What do you think, Katsuki? Can it wait?” Her tone suddenly whipped at the air through the speaker.

Another guy? Your mouth dropped open. His wife cheated on him? That wasn’t something you ever expected to hear.

“On my way.” He ended the call, pocketing his phone, and the weirdest thing happened.

When someone learned of their partner’s betrayal, there’d be hurt, anger, disgust; neither was present anywhere on him. Bakugou was either an expert at hiding his emotions, or something else was going on.

“Have fun sleepin’ with one eye open.”

He flicked your forehead, then jogged out of the alley, leaving you gawking at his retreating form, hand smacked over the stinging spot.

What the hell? And was that excitement you noticed in his eyes for a second before they left yours?

Ridiculous. In what world would he be excited about—

Your breath hitched. Was Bakugou waiting for something like this? For a reason to…end his marriage? Why?

Curiosity wrapped dangerously around your racing heart, and you shook your head. “Not my business.” It wasn’t. What he did, with whom, where, how. His life, in general, was not your business. “Move on. Pretend none of this happened. You didn’t hear. You didn’t see. You didn’t feel.”

Silence descended over the dead-end alley like a heavy mantle, fabric made out of secrets and denied truths. Each gone moment was more oppressive than the last. Your defenses asphyxiated under the pressure. Cracked. Loosened your self-control.

Weakness clawed to the surface.

You slapped your cheeks lightly a few times. You needed to remember why you had to stay far, far away from him. Somehow, he found you, putting your freedom at risk.

Your options took priority, your life, not his. Never…his.

The reason you spaced out, staring at the alley’s entrance, at the spot you’d last seen him, wasn’t the foreboding feeling creeping inside you; it was the unknown of your next move.

[dark-moonlust]

Tentacle Trouble PART 1

Pairing: Tentacle monster x human f!reader

Summary: you decide to explore a cave that is surrounded by stories of a tentacle beast. You find exactly that, get pounded in all holes and bred.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, dub-con, dark monster smut, explicit tentacle smut, p in three holes, HEA. Don’t like, don’t read.

Find the series here.

The dimly lit cave echoed with the roar of the ocean.

You ventured deeper, drawn by the stories of the creature that dwelled within its depths.

You were determined to uncover the truth.

You didn’t expect to find a monster. These were baby tales.

But your were wrong. So very wrong.

The presence lurked and watched you and before you could escape, thick, slick tentacles trapped you. Your clothes were ripped and tossed away, slimy tentacles roaming your body, their weight keeping you a captive. You found yourself being lifted, suspended in the air while wriggling appendages wrapped around your wrists and ankles, keeping your limbs wide apart.

The creature emerged from the shadows, its body a huge round mass of tentacles, each one glistening with a strange slickness. A huge head, and at its core were three glowing eyes, deep blue, like the ocean sea. They seemed to reach into your soul.

“Holy shit!” You gasped, unable to believe your eyes. “I’m so fucking dead.”

A husky voice filled your mind, you realized it came from the monster. “No one shall hurt you, little human. You are here now, your life is mine, your little holes are mine,” it drawled. “I will mate and love you endlessly.”

“Fuck you, you perverted—”

“What a filthy mouth.” A sharp slap against your ass made you gasp in surprise. “Quiet, noisy human.”

You shrieked and moaned as he repeatedly slapped your ass, pausing a little to caress your sore bum before delivering more smacks. No matter how much you wiggled and screamed, you couldn’t be set free. The slimes moved on to slap you pussy, finding it delightfully slick and plump.

You thrashed at each blow, the slaps were light but awakened a strange pleasure inside you.

You hated your treacherous body.

The monster didn’t seem pleased with your thrashing so he pushed one thick tentacle into your parted mouth. It plunged down your throat, stretching your lips and causing you to gag. Moist suckling noises resounded as it fucked your throat, thrusting back and forth until you no longer fought the creature back.

Gluck… gluck… gluck… gluck.

The cave echoed with your lewd slurping sounds as you were forced to swallow the sweet nectarine liquid dripping from his tentacle. Each drop aroused you, invading your system and intoxicating it with desire. In seconds, you were soft and pliant, more than eager to let him have his way with you.

“That’s more like it,” you heard his voice in your mind. “Beautiful human. My little mate.”

“What—hmm,” you gulped down more liquid, “is it?”

The monster’s voice rumbled through you. “That, my little one, is my elixir. It shall make you immortal and prepare your body for me. It is an elixir that only I, the master of these depths, can produce.”

You struggled to speak, a shiver running down your spine. Immortal elixir? It terrified and intrigued you. You looked into the creature’s eyes, asking for answers.

“Only my mate is deserving of my elixir. Now hush, do not fear.”

More tentacles came out of his body, of various shapes and lengths. They travelled over your flesh, leaving trails of slickness wherever they touched. It made your shiver. One tentacle slithered up your inner thigh, brushing around your pussy before slipping inside your depths. Shivers of pleasure ran through you as it fucked you while another slithery appendage rubbed your clit round and round.

Two more tentacles snaked over your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to expose your pouting rosebud. You squirmed and cried out around the tentacle fucking your mouth when the pulsating appendages slipped past the tight entrance of your asshole. The fit was tight but the tentacles were incredibly slick. Slowly, oh so slowly, they filled you up, inch by inch, until they were buried deep in your guts.

“Mnn…mnhaa!" You breathed through your nose at the way you felt, all holes filled.

When the tentacles started to thrust, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. The tentacles were all over and yet, you felt no pain, just blinding pleasure. You willingly surrendered to the feral ravishmest. The cave filled with the symphony of your high-pitched cries and the furious plap-plap of tentacles filling your body.

The creature’s rhythm grew faster, the tentacles working in perfect harmony.

By now, you had two tentacles buried in your cunt and three more crawling up your ass. The one fucking your throat hadn’t receded and kept feeding you its delectable elixir.

The insistent fucking brought you to a shattering climax. Your body tensed and you cried out around the thrusting appendage in your lips as waves and waves of pleasure crashed over you.

The creature didn’t stop its pounding.

Your voice continued to echo through the cavern. The slimes in your ass pistoned fast and hard but the ones in your pussy stopped and pressed against the entrance to your womb. You tensed, the pressure causing you to wince. You felt a soft pop, followed by the heavy weight of eggs. One by one you felt them as they were deposited deep inside you.

“Ugh .. ungh—" you whimpered and came hard, the walls of your cunt contracting around the ovipositor. Your whole body spasmed as the creature bred you and made you its mate.

It felt like hours later when the slimes exited your holes. The intensity subsided, but your belly was bulging with his brood. The creature gently lowered you to the ground, its tentacles wrapping protectively around you. You lay there, spent and satisfied, your mind reeling from the unbelievable experience.

The creature’s glowing eyes regarded you with a strange, almost tender curiosity. “You did well, my mate. Took six of my eggs on the first try. I am proud of you. Sleep now, little one. I will take care of you. Forever.”

And you did, your eyes shutting as you let go in his embrace. You had found what you needed, a new world of pleasure and otherworldly love.

[luna-azzurra]

Character motivations for fictional characters

1. Revenge: Seeking vengeance for a past wrong or harm.

2. Power: Craving dominance and control over others.

3. Love and Relationships: Longing for love, companionship, and emotional connection.

4. Redemption: Seeking to atone for past mistakes and find forgiveness.

5. Survival: Striving to stay alive in dangerous or challenging circumstances.

6. Justice: Fighting against injustice and upholding fairness.

7. Exploration: Satisfying curiosity and a desire for discovery.

8. Ambition: Relentlessly pursuing success and achievement.

9. Freedom: Seeking liberation from oppression and constraints.

10. Knowledge and Wisdom: Thirsting for knowledge, understanding, and wisdom.

11. Family: Protecting and nurturing one's family and loved ones.

12. Acceptance: Craving acceptance and validation from others.

13. Friendship: Building and maintaining meaningful friendships.

14. Escape: Seeking to break free from a stifling or undesirable situation.

15. Truth: Uncovering the truth and exposing lies or deceit.

16. Creativity: Expressing oneself and bringing imagination to life.

17. Competition: Striving to be the best and outperform others.

18. Self-Discovery: Embarking on a journey to understand oneself better.

19. Healing: Seeking emotional, physical, or spiritual healing.

20. Faith and Belief: Holding strong religious or spiritual convictions.

21. Mentorship: Guiding and inspiring others to reach their potential.

22. Revolution: Fighting against oppressive systems and advocating for change.

23. Sacrifice: Putting others' needs above one's own and making difficult choices.

24. Fear: Overcoming fears and finding strength in the face of adversity.

25. Fame: Desiring recognition, acclaim, and celebrity status.

26. Identity: Discovering and understanding one's true self.

27. Empathy: Understanding and connecting with others' emotions and experiences.

28. Tradition: Upholding cultural or familial traditions and values.

29. Rebellion: Resisting authority and challenging the status quo.

[ruinofchimera]

Regulus Black.

The boy who cracked Voldemort’s secret, turned against the Dark Lord, and gave his life to strike a decisive blow for the greater good. Sounds impressive, right?

But don’t let the fanon fever dream—or the Chalamet cheekbones—fool you.

1. The Fanboy Who Bought His Own Propaganda

How did Regulus get into this mess in the first place? He wasn’t dragged kicking and screaming into Voldemort’s inner circle. He wanted it. This was the boy who looked at Voldemort’s genocidal cult and thought, “Yes, this is my moment.” Voldemort wasn’t just a leader to Regulus—he was an idol, a pure-blood messiah, promising everything Regulus had been raised to worship.

His parents weren’t even Death Eaters themselves. Walburga and Orion preferred to clink their glasses from the sidelines, content to watch the chaos from their pure-blood balcony seats.

But Regulus? He wanted center stage. For him, the Death Eaters weren’t a prison—they were a playground. He signed up for the dark glamour, the exclusivity, and the chance to be on the frontlines of Voldemort’s “vision.” Regulus wasn’t coerced or manipulated—he was all in, fully convinced he was playing for the winning team.

Until, of course, Voldemort stopped being the star of Regulus’s dark power fantasy. And when reality set in, Regulus had a change of heart. But did he admit, “I was wrong”? Did he stand up and fight for the people he’d helped oppress? No. He folded.

2. The Master Plan That Wasn’t

Regulus was practically spoon-fed the truth about the Horcruxes. Voldemort’s most guarded secret was gift-wrapped and dumped at his feet, courtesy of a tortured house-elf.

And this wasn’t just any secret. This was the kind of revelation that could’ve turned the entire war around. But instead of responding with precision, foresight, or even basic competence, Regulus managed to botch it at every possible step.

Step 1: He stole the locket.

Stealing the locket sounds like a bold move, right? On paper, it’s the kind of Gryffindor-level defiance fandom loves to romanticize. But in reality, it was a tactical nightmare.

Regulus didn’t just take the locket from a location Voldemort’s obnoxious ego would’ve eventually exposed. No, he took it and hid it in Grimmauld Place.

Instead of leaving it in the cave, where someone might’ve uncovered it, Regulus thought, “You know what? Let me stash this in my creepy ancestral house, where only my guilt-ridden, traumatized house-elf knows it exists.” Revolutionary thinking, truly. Because when dismantling a Dark Lord’s immortality, the best plan is obviously to make the Horcrux even more inaccessible, right?

The only reason the locket ever surfaced was because Harry inherited Grimmauld Place. If not for that stroke of luck, the locket would’ve sat there, untouched and invincible, for decades. Maybe centuries.

Or worse—as we saw happen in canon—it could’ve been stolen, passed from hand to hand like a cursed trinket, and lost forever. Voldemort would’ve cackled his way to world domination while the wizarding community fought a battle they couldn’t ever win.

Step 2: He didn’t destroy it.

Destroying a Horcrux isn’t easy—I’ll give Regulus that. But did he even try? Or did he just hand the locket to Kreacher with the world’s vaguest instructions, essentially saying, “Figure it out, sweetie,” before marching off to die dramatically?

Kreacher, bless his loyal, trauma-ridden heart, spent decades torturing himself trying to destroy an indestructible object with no tools, no guidance, and no real chance of success. He tried everything he could think of, punishing himself endlessly for failing a task that was never within his power to complete.

Regulus doomed him. Instead of empowering Kreacher to carry out his wishes, Regulus turned his act of “redemption” into a lifelong burden for someone who had no choice but to carry it.

Step 3: He told no one.

Now here’s where Regulus truly shines in sabotage disguised as sacrifice. Whether it was arrogance, misplaced pride, or a refusal to meaningfully contribute to Voldemort’s downfall, he ensured that the secret he uncovered—the one that could have turned the war on its head—was buried right alongside him.

Perhaps the poor boy couldn’t stomach the idea of contacting Dumbledore or joining the resistance. Maybe the thought of lowering himself to grovel before the Order, confessing his sins, and actually helping was too much for his delicate pure-blood ego.

But what, then, compelled him to entomb such precious knowledge alongside his corpse? Would it have killed him—again—to ensure Kreacher delivered the locket and its significance to someone who could actually do something about it?

Instead, Regulus left behind nothing but a moody breakup note to Voldemort that helped absolutely no one.

“I hope you will be mortal once more.” Oh yes, that glorified Dear John letter. Maybe he thought his scathing parting words would haunt Voldemort forever. Perhaps Tom was meant to reread it late at night, questioning his life choices.

3. What Could Have Been

Regulus had options. So many options. The fact that he chose the least effective course of action is almost impressive in its sheer incompetence.

He could’ve swallowed his pride and gone to Dumbledore. Say what you will about the man, but Dumbledore was Voldemort’s greatest fear for a reason. Armed with Regulus’s intel, Dumbledore could’ve started breaking apart the Horcrux network years earlier, crippling Voldemort before Harry was even born.

He could’ve warned the Order. Regulus could’ve shared this revelation with his brother. He could’ve even scrawled a quick, anonymous note: “Voldemort made Horcruxes. Here’s one.” That alone could’ve shifted the entire war.

He could’ve destroyed the locket himself. With access to cursed objects, forbidden magic, and centuries of pure-blood knowledge, Regulus had the resources to figure it out.

If Regulus had simply done nothing—if he had left the Horcrux untouched in Voldemort’s lair, waiting for someone more competent to find it—it still would’ve been a better choice than what he did. At least then, it wouldn’t have been stashed in a location even less traceable than Voldemort’s own cursed lake.

4. The Fallout of Failure

Regulus didn’t just fail—he left behind a colossal mess for others to clean up.

Kreacher suffered for decades. The loyal house-elf blamed himself for a failure that was never his fault. Regulus didn’t just abandon the locket—he abandoned Kreacher to a lifetime of guilt and self-inflicted punishment.

The Order fought blind. Deprived of any knowledge about Voldemort’s Horcruxes, the Order spent years floundering in the dark, waging desperate battles against Death Eaters while the true key to victory—Voldemort’s immortality—remained untouched.

The Trio cleaned up his mess. Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent months hunting down a Horcrux that could’ve been destroyed decades earlier. Their entire mission to find and destroy Voldemort’s Horcruxes was prolonged and made infinitely harder.

5. Fandom’s Saint of Aesthetic Suffering

In the end, Regulus was just a boy who stumbled onto a world-shattering discovery, fumbled it completely, and left behind a legacy so utterly useless that it took sheer dumb luck to untangle long after his dramatic exit. Regulus’s actions didn’t just delay Voldemort’s defeat—they actively sabotaged the resistance.

But none of this matters. Fandom doesn’t love Regulus for his actions—it loves him for his aesthetic.

A brooding boy with tragic eyes, a flair for melodrama, and three vague lines of backstory ripe for fans to twist into epic sagas of angst and redemption—and to demand the rest of us bow down in worship of their self-styled martyr.

[hitodamaoftheforest]

Title: Is horror the beginning of eroticism? || the summer hikaru died: an analysis.

Hi cuties, at the hike of my anticipation for the anime adaption of my favorite horror manga, I decided to re-read it. Having been struck by a particular panel this time around that truly left me gagged.

The above scene is from volume 1 // chapter 4 of the summer hikaru died^^

Description: "Hikaru" suggests to Yoshiki to explore his insides, piqueing his curiosity. They now find themselves in an evidently arousing situation where Yoshiki's hands rest on "Hikaru's" stomach, slowly uncovering his body.

Analysis: This scene sets the foundation for the relationship shared between Yoshiki and "Hikaru." They find themselves in a fairly erotic situation acknowledged by "Hikaru" in chapter 4 soon before he exposes his body to Yoshiki. "Hikaru," who is unfamiliar with human emotions, stands vulnerable before another, setting an uncomfortable but enticing premise for the viewer. The courage it takes to expose yourself before another human being is almost daunting but "Hikaru" allows for that to happen, because it's Yoshiki, the only one who has the right to see "Hikaru" in his open, most vulnerable state is Yoshiki for he's the only one to "love" him despite the truth of the evident monstrosity that finds shelter in his late friends body. Before, Yoshiki "Hikaru" doesn't ask to be clothed, differing from his interactions with other characters in the story. Yoshiki was horrified at the revelation, highlighting the unfamiliarity of the young boy with such unnervingly intimate experiences yet, later in the manga (chapter 10) he allows himself to explore "Hikaru's" insides once again. I view this craving to explore the insides of another being as an attempt to seek closure, the evident longing for intimacy that can not be brought by mere intercourse. "I wish to devour you for the sacredness of love that is all-consuming."

__________________☆.▪︎•▪︎.☆___________________

This was written with reference to the author's words as shared in an interview^^

[neonovember]

Deceit

Mafia!au x Steve Rogers

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

summary: your escape to Brooklyn was harboured by secrets and a harrowed past, left abused and betrayed, you accepted your destiny of being swallowed by the crowd. Until the King of New York showed up in front of you and wanted a piece of you for himself.

divider by @firefly-graphics​ !

Taglist 🏷️ (send an ask to be part of my taglist for this series!)

@tinkerbelle67 @patzammit @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory@nomadstucky @nessie2183 @shamelessfangirl-3 @namelesssav @marvel-phoenix @euphoric-goddess @roseeatta @abschaffer2 @louderfortheback @stupendouslovegardener @wandamaximoff-simp @thedonswife13 @hpsimpspot @samsgirl93​ @cynic-spirit

Bucky is quiet the ride over, dark steel greys surveying the road eagerly, like he was waiting for someone, or something to give him a reason to jump out and spill blood. 

The wheel wains in his grip, and his dark hair falls over in waves, pushed back behind his ears and smelling of pine nut and mint. There's a hint of a smile on his face, he knows you're watching him.

You avert your gaze quickly, looking towards the mountain trees on either side of the asphalt road ahead.

The relief you had thought would fill you as Bucky pulls into the potholed road of your apartment is blank, and your chest fills vacant without the heat of it. Your mind is restless, and the entire ride over had given you ample time to think over everything that had happened earlier. 

You had folded and unfolded every piece of information Bucky had told you about Steve and all it had done was make you feel like you were intruding, like you were given privy to something you had no right knowing. Like peeking through the cracks under closed doors as a child listening in on their parents.

Where your street had once been busy with loitering huddles of gaunt faced men, a quiet murmur settles over the ground floor of your apartment complex, all the way up to the hallway to your place. 

And as you pass by a few stragglers who blanch when Bucky shifts his hard gaze towards them, stuttering over their own feet and rushing back to their alleyways, you have an inclination that it was all Steves doing.

His reach was absolute.

You didn’t know what to feel, you’ve known displacement for too long. 

Separating from your betrothed, separated from the life you had been half folded into, separating from the very syllabus of your name. 

The spaces between the letters get further and further as the years go by. Until you can hardly remember if your namesake is really yours, just a frightening sound that came out of your husband's mouth.

This is different though. Until now, your instinct has always been right. And yet, when you think of Steve? When you try to find footing in your gut it comes up wobbly and unsure.

Was he something more than he let on? Did he only uncover pieces of himself for his own benefit? 

Bucky had told you he had lost his own wife, and young too. Forced to be exposed to the brutality of the world before he could even get a chance to indulge in youthful recklessness. 

You feel a sense of empathy for him, but also, also surprise. It isn’t the murder, or your own husbands doing that causes a slight slip of your heart. The truth is much more foolish instead.

There was a time Steve was ready to forsake this entire life, live forever looking over his shoulder, turn back on tradition that was as deep as marrow, all for love.

You could laugh if you had remembered what that felt like. The thought outright unnerves you. Steve? The gluttonous leader who held sanctions of New York with an iron fist? 

It drives a pit in your stomach when you think too hard about what it means. 

There’s a fiery jealousy that swarms you, you had never understood the wielding power that love carried all your life. It was a feeling, just like any other was it not? 

Yet it had men like Steve falling to his knees!

And all that swarms your mind is how it’s so unfair, that you’ve never experienced such a thing. That you may never will. Forced to succumb to the life that was only half yours, down a path so far the ground had changed beneath you.

What did it feel like to give in? To show all your misgivings with unabashed apprehension? To let yourself, all of it, to another person?

Anything close to a love like that had come from the faded memories of your father, his warmth and deep gritted protectiveness over you. And that had been stripped from you quicker that you were able to forsake it.

You suppose that wasn't meant to be dealt in your cards, which you had come to understand were drawn years ago. You lie to yourself, but during some nights the aching desire to feel something, to taste the deep gripping love that had caused even Steve to lose focus explodes deep in your gut. 

Your longing for connection was something you hid well, and god didn’t you get awfully good at hiding these years? Fit yourself in nooks and crannies that were too small, smoothed out your jagged edges to click into the puzzle pieces.

And yet, the empathy you had silently shared, the intimate conversation you had had with Steve in your mind is stamped out with swiftness as Bucky walks you to your door.

That was then, now Steve had made it perfectly clear where he stood. The cool indifference and hardening this life caused had stolen any shine or hope that Steve may have held those years ago. Everything he did now was calculated, for the betterment of broadening his kingdom. 

He might as well have died along with her.

Bucky leans against the hallway, eyes surveying the decrepit halls lit by overexerted linoleum lights. You hesitate a moment, before popping your keys into your door, twisting it this way and that to get it to open.

You flinched as the door opened wide, almost like you were expecting someone to be standing right behind it, waiting for your arrival before pouncing. You’re a child, waiting for the ghoul in the closet to jump out.

Yet all that is there is the same peeling walls of your small entryway and some shoes and a coat strewn to the side in your haste to get to the diner early those days before. 

You’d much prefer the monster.

Days, it had only been days, so why did it feel like a lifetime since you stepped foot into your home? 

You don’t know what you were expecting, for your apartment to change when you had been kept away from it unceremoniously? For someone to have cleaned out the dishes lying in the sink, and ruffle the pillows lying on your old sofa? 

You had craved mundanity for so long, craved consistently at a time where you didn’t know which face of your husband you would meet those days. 

When the monster living underneath your husband's skin would jump out.

But now, you crave something more. It simmers right under your skin, deep within your chest and its shadowy fingers flutter over every inch of you.

Your apprehension is evident by the way Bucky shifts his way towards you stuttering frame.

“Hey, I wouldn't be so keen on coming home to this place either. Those carpets don’t look that inviting" Bucky replies, there is a sight lilt in his voice as he drags his eyes across your depressing furnishing.

You cut your eyes towards him, narrowing your lids.

“Not everyone lives in an exorbitant palace you know” You gruffly reply, shuffling into your door in a way that was more spite than eagerness.

Bucky breaks out in a grin that takes up half his face, his hand stuffed into his suit pockets as he rocks on the balls of his feet.

“Talking like a woman who hasn’t done just that half her life” Bucky replies, cocking his head to the side.

Oh right, your husband's estate that took up half of the city. One that was never, and would never be in your name.

You drop your handbag onto one of the hooks attached to the hallway, turning towards Bucky with a sigh.

“That’s different” You reply evenly

“Oh yeah? How so?” Bucky murmurs, eyes shining with a smile

“I was never welcomed in that home- house. God it would never be a home no matter how many architects and designers dressed it up. You think I escaped ‘cause it was my safe haven?” You cock your head to the side and Bucky’s face evens out. The smile adorning his features morphs back into his face as a look passes through his eyes.

“You don’t have to worry about that with Steve-”

“Oh yeah? Because he is the most upfront person to talk to. Right. This place, as depressing as it looks, is solely mine. It’s the only thing I have on this goddamn earth that hasn't been mauled and changed with my husband's fingers. Or the life he leads. You might not understand it, how important that is but-”

“I do. Trust me” Bucky replies, cutting you with and he offers you a nod that was more understanding than half the world's he promised to you.

Can I? You wonder thoughtfully. Was this just a part of some elaborate plan that Rumlow had clued you on? You were everywhere all at once, topsy turvy and turned inside out. This was the life you had to live now.

“Good” You say instead, wringing your fingers as Bucky’s phone begins to buzz from his pants pocket.

You wait for him to reach for it immediately, but he doesn't, just remains quiet as he taps his foot against the hardwood floor. There seemed to be a look of understanding that passed between you when he had racked his fist against the wall adjacent to your door. 

The blues of his eyes twinkled under the sun peeking through the hallway window, and you didn’t realize it then but it was trust that shined in his eyes. Like the words he had shared with you warranted the same secrecy he held with the other men he worked with. 

You had paid in flesh and blood for your silence, what more was another pound?

The ring runs through, and the silence soon returns between you both.

“I’m not going to the mouth off to half of Brooklyn that their most influential business man likes painting” You reply with a murmur, eyes darting left and right as if neighbors were listening in. Enough of them had watched you walk to your apartment door, eyes strained on Bucky and his shoes that shine too bright. Faces that had never even said hello had craned their necks as you passed, of course. Whispers of inquisition under their breath.

“I know you won’t” Bucky replies instantly. “Just- let him explain the rest of it, yeah? ‘S only fair you hear it from him” 

“Fair?” You raise your eyebrows, “You’re talking about fairness now? Bullshit. If you were guided by some moral compass I wouldn't have been forced into this, you wouldn't even be in this life” You snark unconsciously.

Where does this all come from? You hadn't even raised an eyebrow at your husband, and now you were bad mouthing a man with a gun poking through his waistband. You look down, staring at the unusual stain in the hallway carpet you never quite knew what was. The anxiety and timidness you were used to coming back tenfold.

Bucky doesn't retaliate, just looks towards you with a feather-like smirk.

“I was wrong about you, y’know?” Bucky whispers, leaning in as if he were divulging in a secret he couldn't let be spoken in the open air.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re everything like Steve.” Bucky replies thoughtfully, a far away look taking over his dark features. 

He’s miles away, reminiscing about parts of Steve that had been left in the dark. He looks younger than, when you notice the way his eyebrows scrunch and his locks fall flat over his face. 

But it's enveloped back into Bucky in a second, a sad smile replacing his grin.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call” 

Giving you one last nod, he turns back towards the hallway entrance and it takes you a few moments before you realise.

“But I don't have your number!” You call out, leaning out your door

His brown locks shift as he turns back to you

“You sure about that?” A raise of his eyebrows at the ping of your phone, waving you with two fingers.

You don't have to pull it out to know it's him. And you can't help but let out a chuckle before turning back and shutting the door firmly.

You find yourself accompanying your time scrubbing down the floorboard and yellowed walls of your home, filling your hours since Bucky had left with meager tasks. It helps you think, concentrating on little chores around the house so you don't have to think about the thoughts that rattled loudly in your mind.

It’s still well into the morning, and as the sun filters through your drapes you lean back on your heels nodding accomplished at the glint of the shining floors. The walls were an impassive yellow, never yielding no matter what cleaning products you threw at them, but beyond the old entryway carpet the apartment was lined with pristine hardwood floors that shined with a little elbow grease.

Not that shitty huh Bucky?

Wiping the sweat that had grown increasingly uncomfortable above your brow, you make way to your small enclosed kitchenette, swiping a cup from the drying rack before you watch the water fill to its glass edge. You gulp half of it down, before your much needed break is interrupted by the faint buzzing of your phone emitted from somewhere in the living room.

You forage for it quickly, searching till you find it wedged between the cracks of your couch. You pause for a moment, considering whether it might be Bucky, or Steve calling but as you see the vibrating screen of your manager's face you slide the receiver across the screen.

You brace yourself for the inevitable screech of her voice, you haven't been to work in days, an irregular for you considering the mountain of bills that left your bank account squandered each month. You needed this job, and now Steve hand upended your life, you fear it’ll slip through your fingers.

Manager calls, you pick up, she’s very quiet and apprehensive and is all sweet in a a way you remember she never had been before. She’s almost scared to talk to you, asking about a shift you could cover and you say yea without thinking. You need a distraction. Even if Steve had made it clear you no longer needed to worry about work.

“Hello?” You reply, eyebrows furrowing at the beat of silence that fills the space usually used up by ** loud un yielding demands.

“Y/N? Hey, how are you doing” Replies carefully, as if choosing her words.

“What?” You blurt out

You can’t help the confusion that puzzles your voice, who was this person? In the months you had spent working at that dead end job not once has she ever asked how you were. Not when you had spent half your break with your head in your toilet the first few months you had escaped. A cat on edge, nerves frazzled by even the slightest heavy stamp of a dress shoe.

What had changed?

You don’t have to kid yourself, you know the answer deep down. Him, it always goddamn is.

“Sorry, uhm I’m been doing good” You reply “I apologise for kind of just disappearing on you and the Diner”

“Oh that? That’s totally fine, once your friends cleared that up” 8 gulped, the sharp exhale of breath filling the receiver at the mention of this friend of yours.

“Friend?” You reply

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad your doing alright. Uh-, so uhm ’s sister dropped her kids off at 4am last night at hers, she cant her shift. And * got SAT prep. Can you fill in if possible it’s totally okay if you can’t, I needed to stay back a few anyway-”

“Sure” 

You needed the distraction, you felt stifled in the walls of your apartment. It wasn’t meant to be a prison, and yet the only time you felt truly free now was when you slammed the door behind you.

“-oh, Oh thank you! Thank you so much. If you could come in at 12, it’s just the afternoon shift. And if you need to leave for whatever reason it’s totally fine you don’t even have to tell me-“

“Mare?

“Yes?”

“Relax. I miss the diner and it’s crappy linoleum lights anyways”

Mare snorts into the receiver “The teams missing you too”

After passing a few more instructions on the wave of Russian tourists coming through Brooklyn this time of year you let your phone clatter onto the coffee table.

Sure, your manager could be a pain in the ass but being passive aggressive didn’t warrant a mob leader holding you at gunpoint.

You wonder what Steve had said to her to cause her to be this shaken up, she was the most stubborn woman you’ve ever met. It couldn’t have been easy to have her yield, at least not without some sort of real threat.

Especially in New York.

You rifle through your bag before grabbing your work uniform. The musty smell of old oil and grease makes you throw it haphazardly into the laundry basket before reaching for a clean shirt.

You try to look presentable, washing your face with the bathroom tap that never not juts out cold water. You avoid your reflection when you pay your face dry, which is interestingly enough, hard to do since it’s well..your face.

Drawing the wisps of coils that spring free you pull your hair back into a bun. You don’t bother with makeup, it never quite sat right on your face when you did it. Reaching for your bag and throwing your phone and the rest of your miscellaneous, you hurry down the steps of your apartment complex. 

Popping in your earphones as you step into the train carriage, you memorise the dock and pull of the train ride till you feel your stop. Your music swims through your veins, and you breathe it in before opening your eyes to the tram doors opening.

[theresattrpgforthat]

THEME: RPGs for Accessible Gaming

The RPGs for Accessible Gaming Bundle is currently live, and it's raising some money for a great cause: DOTS Braille Dice, which makes tabletop gaming more accessible for blind gamers. Here's a few great games that you can find in this gigantic bundle!

Arkyvr, by Alewood Games.

ARKYVR is a multimedia MOTHERSHIP 1E setting & toolkit to play documentary filmmakers in space for 1-4 players and 1 GM.

Equipped with only their camera gear, ARKYVRs will attempt to document life in space and expose corporate client atrocities while surviving the void’s unspeakable horrors. Players will make ends meet through corporate media contracts but with each assignment they will also find horrible truths hidden just under the surface of their mission. If the ARKYVR crew survives their film shoot, they must then decide how to distribute their footage. Some clients will pay a handsome price to cover up their atrocities while others will use it to lead a revolution. How will players use their recorded stories to shift the balance of power? Will they even live long enough to tell the story?

Created by and in collaboration with industry filmmakers! ARKYVR is a 60 page zine that brings a unique vision to deadly space adventures through the lens of a camera!

ARKYVR only works if you have a copy of MOTHERSHIP to play with it with, but since the core rules of MOTHERSHIP are free to access, this shouldn't stop you from being able to pick up the game and enjoy it's film-making twist. Each character concept comes with duties: elements of the role's job that help you define your character and give them some bones to build a personality off of. The core rules of the game are re-contextualized around missions that involve capturing footage, rather than investigating jobs gone wrong.

I feel like ARKYVR has the potential to combine the horror of space with the lovely irony present in horror movies that involve artists getting in way over their head for the pursuit of the art that they love. How much will they sacrifice for the perfect shot? What kind of art does their team want to make? What kind of art can their team afford to make? What dark secrets will they uncover in the process?

Fang, by Joel Happyhil.

You’re a Fang, an ageless super-powered being living among humans, you live in city that doesn’t matter surrounded by people who won’t live to see a fraction of your life, yet you can’t help but be intrigued. You are driven by your desire, an ever-growing thirst that has the power to reduce you to something less than human, but who knows how long that could take.

Here's a game for the vampires and their human companions. FANG has a lot of common hallmarks when it comes to what you think about ttrpgs: stats with ratings attached (in this case in the form of dots), playbooks that define your character type, and a method of advancement, to show how your PC grows over time. Similar to Blades in the Dark, there's dice pools and staggered resolution levels. There's also a thirst track that increases and decreases as your vamp experiences the visceral parts of life, like physical harm, strong emotions, or the thrill of victory.

What I love in games like this is when you see what happens when you hit your character's limit. In FANG, this limit is Starvation - when your Thirst track hits 12. Your character has an outburst, or breaks down, pushing you closer and closer to getting taken out of the scene. On the other side of the coin, Human characters have a Passion track, which is less powerful than Thirst, but also exempts them from the consequences of Starvation.

If you want a game about a desperate character having a terrible time, you'll likely find some really satisfying moments in FANG.

Be Seeing You, by Tanya Floaker.

This roleplaying game contains dangerous levels of dystopian science fiction, social allegory, and psychological drama.

Influenced by fiction in the vein of The Prisoner, Stalker, and Utopia, and real struggles against mass surveillance, the Hostile Environment, and the alienating effects of capitalism.

Be Seeing You is a game about surveillance and dystopia, but it's also a collaborative world-building exercise, building a story through a series of short vignettes. No character is controlled by one single person; each player will pick up the role of the Prisoner throughout the story, focusing on how this central character is treated by the village and its residents.

The game itself is diceless; things change in the story based on the kinds of choices you make when it comes to answering the prompts and following the parts of the story that are interesting to you. This is a game that thrives with a group that feels comfortable in the dystopian genre and loves hitting thematically resonant story beats.

Pretty Beastly, by Em Hubbard.

Calling all disaffected furniture, oppressed appliances, and humble housewares ready to rise up against monstrous monarchists! You were once simple servants in the household of an overbearing oligarch. Years ago, you were victims of an unfair curse and now you really are objects - dishes, chairs, mirrors, and ornaments. The time has now come to rise up against your Prince, defeat the vile sorcerer, and fight back against an oppressive social system!

Pretty Beastly is a collaborative roleplaying game for 2-5 players. Players work together to create a story of cursed household servants struggling against their oppressive social system. A deck of cards will help determine your challenges, successes, and failures.

Taking inspiration from animated musicals and dramatic historical epics, a fantastical (problematic) fairy tale collides with the French Revolution. Quirky and political, this game will take you on a wild anti-establishment musical adventure.

Welcome to the story of Beauty and the Beast, from the furniture's point of view. Set firmly in the setting of 18th century, this is a game of rage and revenge; working as a group to escape, defeat, or break the chains you find yourselves under as the servants of cursed and cruel monarch. The game is played over a series of scenes, using playing cards to provide inspiration for challenges as well as the means by which you can overcome those challenges. There's also a hilarious addition of musical numbers, where your characters break into song if you draw a low-enough card.

Corporate Fae, by ryland.s.

You’re a really weird fae, as far as everyone knows, you’re the only one who’s got an obsession with human corporate work life. Fortunately for you, you can stand in as someone’s secretary, manager, or the barista across the building. Unfortunately for humans, they don’t remember you before and after you temporarily take up someone’s position.

A close human friend asks you to attend some company galas and parties to do some corporate espionage and learn some gossip your friend can monopolize.

All you need is a deck of standard playing cards without the jokers, a way to record, and some time to play.

Hello solo gamers, I haven't forgotten about you! Corporate Fae is a prompt-based solo game that uses a deck of cards to generate details that allow you to imagine a story about a fae trying to commit corporate espionage.

The game is rather simple; you draw to determine the role you've taken and the kind of party you attend, and then continue to draw various juicy pieces of gossip that your fae will overhear. I think it might be interesting to try and piece the bits of gossip together, to paint a portrait of a slowly unraveling secret being pieced together from the various bits of information you gather while socializing at the party.

The only criticism I have for this game is that there isn't a great way to wrap up the game in a neat little bow at the end - I think I would have loved some kind of tension underneath getting found out, or perhaps a timer that gives you a hard limit on how much time you have to gather information before you need to leave the party - maybe like a clock-strikes-midnight situation or something like that.

Darkest Hour, by Emmeryn.

Here, a night like any other.

Rays of sunlight slowly recede over the wilds, the cabin, the steeple, the mausoleum. A gathering of friends, allies, comrades, hunters, united in their cause. They may not yet realize the danger they are in, but a cruel eye turns upon them. Something cursed awakens, stirring to life with the fall of dusk. A hunger claws free from the pitch black.

In the darkest hours of night, hearts tighten as untold horrors bear down. Fangs, claws, the glint of rusted steel and the scrape of bone. Howls and screams resound in the darkness, creeping ever closer.

Will you live to see the light of day?

Darkest Hour is a horror tabletop game designed for one-shot horror sessions. It can be played as a GMless game or with a GM, and can accommodate 2 to 5 players (with or without a GM) for one to two play sessions totaling 2 to 5 hours. It can be played with as little as the book and three six-sided dice.

Say hello to a one-shot horror game that can provide multiple sessions of fun, thanks to the various settings and horrors you can combine for a different theme each time. Your characters are hunters, pursuing a monstrous and terrible haunt that has trapped them somewhere. You use six-sided dice to try and overcome the challenges this story throws at you, each obstacle becoming harder and harder to overcome the longer the story goes.

The author refers to the work of Avery Alder, but I feel that in some ways, there's also a little bit of Ten Candles hidden in the roots of this game, especially with the rising doom the further into the story you go. That being said, the Haunt does have a weakness, and defeating them is much more likely to happen than in a Ten Candles game. If you want a game that's dripping in monster vibes, you probably want Darkest Hour.

Other Games I've Recommended in the Past…

Teenagers With Attitude and Post Apo Calypse, by CardboardHyperfix.

A Witch, A Gallows Bird, by Jellyfishlines.

Protect the Child and Copper Shores by me!

Wrath of the Undersea, by EfanGamez.

If you like what I do, you can always leave a tip at my Ko-Fi!

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RICH KIDS OF SK ( HYUNJIN X READER (Y/N) X BANG CHAN PART 11

chapter 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7.1 CHAPTER 7.2 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 11: exposed.

TAGS: CHEATING AND BETRAYAL

summary: Y/N's world turns chaotic when her crush dates her former friend-turned-foe. In a circle of rich kids filled with fake friendships and leaked secrets, she struggles to trust anyone. As new faces complicate things, Y/N wonders where she fits in. Will she find love with her crush, or discover it in unexpected places?

Y/N once believed that Bang Chan was the one—her safe haven, her happiness finally within reach. But she was wrong.

After three months of their relationship, Y/N’s father, determined to protect the family’s reputation, hired professionals to uncover those threatening their name. The truth surfaced—Bang Chan and Seungmin’s identities were exposed. However, given their youth, barely in their early twenties, Y/N’s father chose not to take legal action.

Then came the revelation that sent shockwaves through the public. Seo Y/N was not who she seemed. She was, in fact, the daughter of Changbin and Y/N’s father’s elder sister—an infamous figure behind one of the largest financial scams in Korea, a woman who had ultimately been imprisoned. With the truth laid bare, Changbin’s father had taken Y/N in as his own, raising her away from the sins of her birth mother.

Y/N sat across from them, her hands clenched into fists on her lap. The air was thick with tension, the kind that suffocated, that made every breath feel like a struggle. Bang Chan sat rigid, his jaw tight, eyes cold and unreadable. Seungmin, on the other hand, leaned forward, his glare burning holes into her.

"My parents invested in your mother’s company," Seungmin spat, his voice sharp as a blade. "They lost everything. I lost everything because of your mother’s scam."

Y/N’s heart pounded against her ribs, but her face remained still, unreadable. She had anticipated this confrontation, but she hadn’t expected the venom in his voice to cut this deep.

"So you decided to ruin my life for someone else's mistakes?" she asked, her voice dangerously low.

Seungmin scoffed, his lips curling into a bitter smirk. "Your mother’s mistake, Y/N."

Y/N’s hands trembled slightly, but she clenched them tighter, digging her nails into her palms. "She is just my fucking birth mother! I have no relation to her, no connection! I am not her, Seungmin!"

"And yet you exist because of her," Seungmin shot back, his voice laced with unrelenting bitterness. "Her blood runs through your veins. You’re a part of the family that destroyed mine."

Bang Chan finally spoke, his voice eerily calm. "You lived a life of privilege while others suffered. Do you even know what it feels like to lose everything? To wake up one day and realize your entire life is gone because of someone else's greed?"

Y/N’s eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears fall. "You think I haven’t suffered? You think I haven’t spent my whole life being reminded of who she was, of what she did? You think I haven't felt the weight of sins I never committed? I had no say in my birth, no choice in where I came from!"

Seungmin let out a cold laugh. "And yet, here you are, still standing, still breathing while my parents—while so many others—live in misery."

"And ruining me was going to fix that?!" Y/N’s voice finally cracked, her mask slipping for just a moment. "Hurting me, exposing me, humiliating me—was that your justice? Did it make you feel better? Did it bring back what you lost?!"

Seungmin faltered for a second, but his pride wouldn’t let him waver. "At least now people know the truth."

Y/N let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "The truth? The truth is that you took out your anger on the wrong person. The truth is that you wanted someone to blame, and I was just convenient. The truth is that you became no better than the people you hate."

Y/N looked at Bang Chan, her vision blurred with tears, her chest tightening with unbearable pain. "I really loved you," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Why did you hurt me, Bang Chan? Why did you break me like this?"

Tears gathered in Bang Chan’s eyes, his lips quivering as he struggled to maintain his composure. He watched the love of his life shatter before him, knowing he was the reason for her agony. But before he could even try to speak, Y/N's voice cracked through the silence like lightning.

"Did you ever fucking love me, Chan? Or was it all just a lie?" Her voice was raw, pleading for a truth she already feared.

Bang Chan exhaled shakily, guilt crushing him from the inside. "Initially… I didn’t," he admitted, his voice barely holding together. "But I did end up falling in love with you. I swear, I did." He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "I can’t ask you for a second chance, Y/N. I don’t deserve one. We’ve only been together for a few months… maybe it was just an attraction, a phase we’d both move past. But still, I… I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry."

His voice broke at the end, his heart screaming for her to stay, to forgive him, to tell him it wasn’t too late.

Seungmin let out a hollow, bitter laugh as he stepped forward, his expression void of any sympathy. "If you’re done, leave."

Y/N didn’t move. She stayed rooted in place, her eyes never leaving Bang Chan’s face. The man she had trusted, the man she had given her heart to, was now standing before her, offering nothing but regret. A part of her had hoped—prayed—that he would fight for her, beg her to stay. But now, looking at him, she realized… she had been nothing more than a fleeting moment to him.

She swallowed the sob threatening to escape her throat. "I thought you would be desperate to apologize to me. That you’d fight for me. That you’d want me, even after everything. But I guess… I was the only one who truly loved in this relationship."

Her voice wavered as she reached into her bag with trembling hands. She placed a cheque on the table, her fingers brushing against the cold surface. Her chest felt hollow. "Seungmin, this is the amount your mother invested, along with compensation. Every single won. It’s yours. I’m sorry."

Then, without hesitation, she bent forward into a deep, full 360-degree bow. A bow of sorrow, of loss, of goodbye.

When she straightened up, her eyes, filled with unspoken pain, met Seungmin’s. "If you had just told me the truth… I would have apologized. I would have given you everything you lost."

Her lips quivered into a broken smile, one that barely held against the tears spilling down her cheeks. "But now, there’s nothing left to say."

She turned away, each step she took feeling heavier than the last. The door shut softly behind her, sealing the fate of everything they once had.

The room was silent. Seungmin and Bang Chan stood frozen, the weight of her words suffocating them. A dull, aching pain settled in their hearts, one neither could escape.

And for the first time, Bang Chan realized—he had let go of the one person who truly loved him, and there was no undoing it.

But it was too late. She was gone.

taglist: @lee-knows-cats@luvvvash@rockyhedgehog@chansbabygirlsstuff@nilas-posts@midsoulz@hynnnpic

SORRY FOR UPDATING AFTER SO MANY MONTHS. I WILL BE UPDATING REGULARLY FROM NOW ONE< 333

[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Truth Exposer 1: Uncovered — Ch.9

PAIRING — Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki/Vigilante F!Reader RATING — Explicit CONTAINS — heavy angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), mutual pining, slow burn, eventual smut, moral ambiguity, cheating (not between katsuki/reader), unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief/mourning, dark themes (past abuse, stalking, kidnapping, torture, quirk trafficking), violence, swearing, open but hopeful ending, dual pov (mostly reader), no use of y/n ◆ married bakugou katsuki—not to reader—and has a daughter too ◆ characters are in their late 20s SUMMARY — Running away would be the sensible thing to do. Getting as far away as possible from him, the one person who’s your ticket to losing your freedom. Not searching for him out of stupid curiosity and showing up at the last place you should: his house. They say curiosity killed the cat, but yours seems to always end up as the key unlocking doors that should probably stay locked. Because when you open the door to Bakugou Katsuki’s life, it’s not a loving marriage, not a happy family of three you find, but falsity, forced duty, and a dark secret that threatens his very own life. Bakugou Katsuki, the pro hero tasked with catching you and your downfall. And you, the vigilante exposing ugly truths for a living—his salvation.

➥AO3 LINK // ➥AO3 CHAPTER LINK // ➥TUMBLR CHAPTERS LIST

CHAPTER SUMMARY — Katsuki’s dinner from hell gets crashed by his own personal devil.

CHAPTER WARNINGS — n/a

WORD COUNT — ~3.6k

a/n: i looked forward to this day. his pov is finally here \o/

“That woman hates my guts. She’s not even bothering to hide it anymore,” the wife-on-paper snapped, yanking at the seatbelt like the spoiled brat she was. “When are you going to stand up for me, Katsuki?”

Katsuki rested his wrist on the steering wheel, sliding her a sidelong glance.

“I bet she’d throw a party if we divorced.”

“If my old hag goes for it, I’m all in.”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.” He slammed the gas, the engine mirroring his inner state as the car ripped away from his parents’ driveway. Loud. Snarling. “Hate champagne, but fuck if I wouldn’t pop a bottle with her. What? Thought a few weeks of play actin’ was gonna make this real?”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

"Can't. Livin' in one. Starrin' your crazy ass and my stupid one."

Her head snapped toward him, her icy stare trying to drill holes in the side of his skull. The truth was like acid, for him and her too. One drop and the agony started.

She reached across the console, claws trailing over his thigh.

Katsuki’s grip on the steering wheel turned crushing. “Get your damn hand off me.”

She didn’t. His jaw locked, molars grinding. Angry heat rolled over his skin, sweat bleeding from his pores. Katsuki forced himself to breathe deep, but she was everywhere, and his car suddenly felt like a cage from hell. Smoke started escaping from his palms.

“Don’t make me say it twice,” he growled.

“Be nice,” she purred, fingers creeping higher. “You promised we’d try for Yua, remember?”

Promised? He didn’t have a fucking choice. More so when his lawyers told him to play along while they searched for a solution. If it weren’t for Yua, he would’ve pulled the trigger, gone through with it. Everything he worked for could go straight to hell if it meant being free. He’d take the win disguised as a loss and rebuild it all from scratch.

But he had a kid. Yua needed him. And damn it, he needed her too. He couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t fail at being her dad. That was unacceptable.

She’d be three soon. Which meant fifteen more years of this hell if his lawyers didn’t come up with something.

Fifteen years, huh?

Grabbing wife-on-paper’s wrist, he threw her hand off his leg, disgusted by her touch. She started whining, bitching, but he tuned her out, mentally withdrawing. Disappearing into that secret place where his fire burned, roared, fed.

Where you also existed. Proof of his sins.

The last time he’d seen you was the night he’d fucked up, looking like a stranger, but something in him still recognized you. And broke the second he realized you’d seen him kissing the last person he should’ve. 

Katsuki didn’t know what the hell possessed him. Public or not, he hadn’t touched wife-on-paper in over a year. She called, asked to meet, and he agreed, deviating from his patrol route, hoping to catch her with something shady. Why else would she be out so late?

What he got instead was a sweet, invasive scent that fogged his brain. It clung to her skin, her hair, her tight black dress. Got him hot. By the time it clicked that something was off, she was kissing him, and his body betrayed him.

Craving the way he did made him stupid. Fooled him that those alcohol-tinted lips were yours. Those cold fingers in his hair were yours. The soft, breathy sounds were yours. 

Until the illusion broke. 

His hands found curves that didn’t match the ones his eyes memorized.

Line by line.

Obsessively.

It was why he jerked back. Why his stomach balled up with nausea. Why his blood froze when he saw you standing there, not far off, lit up by the full moon like divine punishment, tears on your face and dripping to the ground. Resentment blazed bright in your eyes.

What the fuck were you doing there? How? Why?

Just…why?

He wanted answers so badly he nearly forgot wife-on-paper was there and tried to reach you, but she reminded him of her presence, questioning his weird reaction.

“What’s going on? Why are you suddenly acting like this?”

“Nothing.” Katsuki stepped between her and your retreating form. She couldn’t see you. She wasn’t stupid and would link his reaction to you and figure it out. “Go home. Got a patrol to finish.”

She didn’t look convinced, but headed for her car. Katsuki kept pace beside her, body angled like a shield, and only bolted once she vanished around the corner, straight toward where you stood.

He crouched, his gloved fingers brushing over the wet spots dotting the asphalt before snatching the crumpled shirt. The air thickened with that same sweet, invasive scent. Again, Katsuki didn’t resist the pull and inhaled it deep into his lungs. Your scent mingled with it. Intoxicating. Addictive.

Fuck, did it smell good. So good he buried his nose in the fabric, breathing it in like it was the only oxygen left in the world. No thoughts about what it could be or if it was safe. What he was getting high on might as well have been poison.

Each inhale stabbed his pounding heart, but the ache concentrated in his dick. Damn pervert. Damn anomaly. He got hard from smelling your shirt alone, but barely managed a semi from kissing his so-called wife.

Pathetic.

Though, better horny and fooled than confronting reality.

Or so he had thought. His brain couldn’t care less about his feelings and had gone ahead, dissecting every bit of that night, answering some of the questions. 

Wherever wife-on-paper had gone, you were there too. Your fitted, black clothes made it seem like you were out for some late-night walk or jogging, but black and fitted were his go-to for infiltrating places. Adding the disguise on top of it, and boom, he had the overview.

Truth Exposer was on the move.

“Park over there,” wife-on-paper said, pointing ahead as if he were blind. As if his awareness was zero when deep in thought. As if he wasn’t the fucking driver.

Katsuki pulled into the free spot opposite and was out of the car before she was done unbuckling the seat belt, huffing some of the irritation. Shoving both hands into his cargo pants pockets, he clenched the one holding the car key as he glared up at the rooftop restaurant.

Fuck his life.

Then fuck it again because she linked her arm with his, her hand possessively on his bicep.

She forced his steps into a stroll toward the entrance, and he scoffed at her pitiful PR move. People sure had no other hobby than to pull out their phones and snap pictures of them, slapping Dynamight and his wife spotted on a date on it.

Acrid bile coated the back of his throat.

When the hell did it all go so wrong?

The door to his many secrets creaked open. He slammed it shut in an instant, before anything could escape and mock him. He should put one, two, or five locks on it so it stayed shut. Off limits. Otherwise, how was he supposed to fight the noise screaming about who he was, what he’d done, and continued to do?

Katsuki was never a saint, rather someone who fucked up left and right, lately as much as his so-called wife. Maybe worse. He had married her because of Yua, despite checking out of the relationship. The goal was to somehow rekindle the spark, but you entered his life, poured gasoline, and ignited an inferno. Made him a traitor with no remorse.

“Don’t forget our no drinking rule,” wife-on-paper whispered to him as they entered the building. “I can’t drive.”

“You can, but ain’t gonna. Gotta show off to everyone how your husband takes care of you like you’re some fuckin’ queen.”

Her claws pinched into his skin through the sweater. “It benefits you too. God knows you need it.”

The way up to the restaurant was as irksome as he expected. Wife-on-paper gave him yet another pointless lecture about how he had to behave, toss a smile here and there, maybe even show her some affection to make them believable. 

Katsuki rolled his eyes and dragged her after him so he could give his name and head for their reserved table.

The place was mostly open air, covered by a straight wooden roof. Copper lights hung from the beams, casting a warm glow over the whiskey-colored furniture. It was packed, as always, but for damn good reason. Summer was almost over, and this was one of the best places to catch the last moments, where the sky felt close, and it felt like being on top of the world.

Too bad his company was shitty.

He kept his strides long, indulging in the uneven sound of her steps with near sadistic pleasure. Leaning down, he spoke close to her ear. “What’s wrong? Can’t keep up?” 

Bitter bile coated his tongue when she gasped, gazing at him from under her mascara-coated lashes. Pale cheeks reddening. Anyone else would’ve been over the moon to have this effect on their partner after years, but he was sickened by it.

“Want me to slow down for you?”

“You wouldn’t.” Her red lips pursed into a pout. “You’re too much of a jerk.”

“Damn right. I’m fuckin’ excellent at it.”

“If only you’d be that excellent as a husband,” she sighed.

Katsuki snorted and halted mid-step, shaking her hand off as he worked a lopsided, empty grin to his face, crowding her space. She served him that blushing face again, licking her lips. One cruel, hostile feeling flared up deep inside him. What the hell? She wasn’t seriously thinking he’d challenge that statement, drag her out of sight, and prove it, was she?

“Ever crossed your mind I never wanted you as my wife?” he asked, voice low and poisoned. “I married you ‘cause I proved Yua was mine. We broke up, remember?”

Her mask crumbled like this fucking caricature of a marriage would one day. Her clawed hand ripped through the air but stopped an inch from his face. Her chin trembled. Rage deepened and glossed her light blue eyes. 

“Smile, wifey.” He leaned into her palm like her touch kept him alive. Two could play the same fucked-up game. “Before they snap a pic and call it trouble in paradise.”

“How fucking dare—”

“Huh? Kacchan?” 

Katsuki’s head snapped to the voice. 

Izuku stood a few steps away, looking between him and wife-on-paper. Next to him–

Shock tore through Katsuki like a raging vortex, ravaging his mask. By his best friend’s side was you, all pretty, soft, and relaxed. Your eyes locked with his, widening slightly as your lips parted. Your lips that wore a subtle shade he wouldn’t have noticed on anyone else, inhaling a quiet, shaky breath he wouldn’t have heard if it were someone else.

His secrets mauled at the locked door.

“Who else?” Katsuki replied, standing up straight, and forced himself to stop staring at you. “Got yourself a date?”

“No. Nothing like that.” Izuku sneaked a timid glance at you. “We’re having dinner as, uh, friends.”

“What a coincidence. We’re here for dinner too. Would you two like to join?” wife-on-paper asked, snatching Katsuki’s attention.

He almost opened his mouth to fuck no the idea, but your voice lulled him into silence.

“I don’t mind. What about you, Midoriya?”

“I’m okay with it, if you are.”

“Well, how can I not be…” You trailed off, roping his focus right back to you. Your lips were temptingly curled into a poised smile. “Sorry, I’m a bit nervous.” You gestured to both him and wife-on-paper. “Being in the presence of such a power couple does that, I guess. You’re even more stunning in real life, Mrs. Bakugou.”

Fuck. His. Life.

Mrs. Bakugou? He wanted to throw up the protein bar he shoved in for lunch. One of the many—tons—you had gifted him to piss him off. The stash he had left should last until the end of the year, and he hated you for it. Forcing him to rent a place just to store the damn things, and sell the stupid truck because the company refused to take it back.

“Thank you,” wife-on-paper responded, hand to her chest, the other slithering over his forearm. “You look lovely yourself, Miss…”

Extending your hand toward her, you spoke your name in such a smooth, confident tone that it made his spine tingle. But when you shook hands with his so-called wife, the sight went straight to his dick. 

Not his the way he’d want, but the one he risked for. Unreal how easily you eclipsed her. Insane how pride blazed through his veins.

Maybe the night wouldn’t be hell, after all.

*

“How did you two meet?”

Katsuki resisted scoffing at the wife-on-paper’s question. As if she gave a damn, and he, personally, didn’t want to know, didn’t want to listen to the story. 

“Coincidence,” you said, gazing at Izuku, whose face flushed a shade deeper. “We bumped into each other during my night walk.”

On second thought, he wanted to know. 

Wife-on-paper mulled over your answer as she sipped her cocktail. “Isn’t that dangerous? I know I wouldn’t dare go for one. And, well,” her fingers glided over his thigh, “Katsuki wouldn’t allow it. He’s a bit overprotective.”

“Got no problem with that.” He clasped her hand and squeezed it in warning. “But you should probably learn how to kick ass. Want me to sign you up?”

You coughed in your fist and squirmed in your seat, your eyes crinkling a little at the corners. To the other two at the table, it could pass for whatever emotion, but not as what it truly was: provocation. 

Katsuki had claimed the chair opposite yours the second you moved toward one, becoming the sight you couldn’t escape. Something must’ve been on his side today; the draped tablecloth was long, covering everyone’s legs. Hiding the truth beneath it.

His leg willingly trapped itself between yours, tensing when your knee knocked against it, or your shoe nudged at his calf. The sensation fed his delusional hope.

“Why, when I have Dynamight himself at my side?” wife-on-paper scooted closer to him, moving her hand to his shoulder, squeezing it in sick affection.

Your delicate laugh filled the air, and it might just be his favorite sound after your voice. “You two are so cute. But to answer your question, Mrs. Bakugou,” you dragged your ankle up his calf. “It’s dangerous, but what do I have to fear? If something were to happen, it will. Plus, I’m confident in my ability to defend myself.”

Katsuki froze like a statue in his seat, his whole body stiffening as he fought the pinpricks of desire. He only had himself to blame. He got himself in this position. He should’ve known better, considering the shared history. From that first post-it you had sent him, it was obvious one part of you lived to piss him off.

But pissing him off wasn’t what you were doing right now.

Teasing.

You were teasing the crazy out of him, and it was working. He wanted to play this game with you so bad, he wished Izuku and wife-on-paper disappeared. He wanted to reach under the table, clasp your ankle—

Shit.

“She can pack quite the punch,” Izuku joined in with praise. “My jaw ached for a few days.”

Katsuki’s brows raised. “You punched this dumbass?” he asked, addressing you directly for the first time since this dinner had started.

“It was my fault,” Izuku responded instead, making his eye twitch. “I should’ve verbally insisted more.”

“Impressive. You must be quite special to catch Midoriya by surprise,” wife-on-paper gave her irrelevant opinion. “Is it your quirk or skill?”

Since when did she care about quirks?

Curiosity spun in his gut like a pinwheel, fanning both his want and the brutal conflict warring within him. You’d lie about it, Katsuki bet. Accessing quirk information about someone was a pain in the ass for a pro hero, let alone a civilian. He waited weeks after submitting his request.

“They called it hyper intuition. Pretty self-explanatory, I guess.”

Izuku’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he grasped your elbow. “That sounds cool. Is it always active?”

The war inside took a turn…for the worse. Something despicable plucked at his nerves, making his anger bubble up like lava. Katsuki snatched the soda glass off the table and gulped it down.

“Sort of. It’s hard to explain.” Your voice sounded somehow different as you explained to his best friend about your fake quirk. Warmer. Sweeter. “Imagine that feeling in your gut, but way more intense. The first time it happened, I felt sick.”

Izuku nodded, moving closer to you. “The intensity. Is it something you can adju—”

“Oi, Izuku,” Katsuki intruded, his tone opposite yours. “Quit nerdin’ out before you scare her away.”

He knew how much of an asshole he was right now, potentially sabotaging Izuku’s confidence to pursue something with you. But that was the problem—you. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t give a damn. He’d go as far as playing Cupid for his best friend without batting an eye.

Helping Izuku get with you? Not a chance in heaven or hell.

He wasn’t blind to the existing interest, at least from his best friend’s side. Hard to tell if you were on that same page when you’d been exchanging body heat with him under the table.

He tracked Izuku’s withdrawing hand, glaring at it like it was responsible for his shitty situation, his impossible desires, his troublesome feelings. That hand had done nothing wrong or out of the ordinary, its gesture harmless, friendly, but in his plagued mind, it was on you. 

Touching. 

Grabbing. 

Learning.

His fingers clutched the empty glass to the point of shattering as his leg pushed against yours, forcing it to open wider. 

“I should.” Izuku let out a short, awkward laugh. He gave you an apologetic bow. “I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

The stern glare you shot Katsuki plunged deep into the ugliness he felt before you poured acid on it by offering Izuku a smile that was too honest. Something you had never shown him, and probably never would.

“You haven’t. It’s natural to be curious, and if you ask me, I think it’s healthy to be,” you said. “When curiosity is gone, what’s left?”

Katsuki tore his attention away from you, focusing on the city sprawling far and wide. The lights were dimmer, the sounds muter, the night air colder, the reality crappier. 

It…fucking hurt.

He wasn’t supposed to fight, to throw internal tantrums that bled outside, but accept it for what it was—impossible. You were the impossibility he gravitated toward. His fever dream meant to end. The one person who could make the cat-and-mouse interesting. You hunted him even when he chased you, but slipped off the radar like prey whenever he closed in, restarting the game to repeat it.

And repeat.

And repeat.

And fucking repeat. Over and over. Again and again. 

Saw you on TV. You look like crap. Need a distraction, or maybe, a way out? I can make it happen. 

He dug his fingers into the edge of the table until his knuckles strained. Why the hell was he remembering that? That stupid message you had sent him weeks ago from an untraceable number while he was stuck at some charity party, courtesy of wife-on-paper. Message he had deleted from existence before he was tempted to answer, a mistake he’d made and never learned from.

Moments of weakness were the norm with you. Moments he let himself believe you risked for something other than provoking him. Like…the man behind the hero.

“Your order is here,” the waiter announced, pushing a metal cart toward the table.

Exactly what Katsuki needed to distract himself—forcing food down his throat. Not a night from hell? The joke was on him. This was ripped out of his own personal hell. The kind that dragged painfully slow to torture him, to let him stew in an agony of his making.

Katsuki dismissed any attempts at conversation from wife-on-paper and Izuku with a grunt or an unimpressed stare, his mood at rock bottom, rotting. Not even the perfectly cooked medium rare steak he usually enjoyed could erase the bitter taste on his tongue. Eventually, he withdrew his leg, leaving you alone. Your indifference strangled his heart.

You were too busy giving Izuku the time of day. Maybe the time of night afterward? With that attitude of yours, you’d have no problem convincing a guy to take you to his place. Strip you naked and—

Katsuki shoved away from the table and stood up, the chair scraping the stone floor. “We’re takin’ a cab,” he snapped at wife-on-paper. “Need a damn drink.”

“Wha—Katsuki?”

Two steps. Two goddamn steps was all he managed before you stopped him, the sound of your voice making his hands fist inside his pockets.

“Mind if I come with you?”

“I can get you one, if you’d like,” Izuku, ever the gentleman, intervened.

“I appreciate it, Midoriya, but I got it.” You rose from the chair. “Should I get you something?”

“No. I’m alright. Th—”

“Hurry up,” Katsuki bit out, his patience gone.

“Patience isn't your strong suit?” you muttered as you brushed past him, head held high.

His jaw clenched, and the urge to yank you back and tell you all about his damn patience had his legs filling with lead. How were you doing this? How were you able to pretend you didn’t know him? How could you be so calm around him when he wanted to slam his fists on the table and compromise both of you?

Pausing, you locked eyes with him over your shoulder. “Did you change your mind?”

“No.”

“Hurry up then.”

You were the reason he, one day, would go batshit crazy.

Deserved.

taglist: @lunaryasha | @tomiokasecretlover | @fiselle | @5oftkitty

[dertting]

A deep dive into USAID’s shady story: from “international aid” to “global disaster”, uncovering the U.S. black industrial chain

When Musk, the world's richest man, publicly accused the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) of being a "criminal organization," there was an uproar in public opinion. The sharp words used by this technology geek have drawn public attention to this institution cloaked in "humanitarianism". With the recent exposure of financial data, a bloody capital chain spanning three continents and involved in dozens of political turmoils has gradually emerged. This organization, founded during the Cold War, has an annual budget of up to 60 billion US dollars. It is nominally "promoting democratic development", but in fact it has built a parallel system comparable to the CIA. From the revolution in the Ukrainian square to the street fighting in Gaza, from the mountains of Afghanistan to the streets of the United States, USAID dollars are like bloody dandelions, floating into every conflict vortex around the world.

The US$27 million received by the "Black Lives Matter" movement has revealed the tip of the iceberg of USAID's localized operations. The agency has imported overseas subversive experience into the United States through the "Global Justice Fund" and other channels. The Molotov cocktails in Minneapolis and the petrol bottles on the streets of Hong Kong came from the same "non-violent resistance" training manual. The US$50 million "Media" obtained by the "New York Times" Development Fund" explains why this century-old newspaper has become the mouthpiece of the Democratic Party. USAID's original "reporting subsidy" mechanism: each report that conforms to the narrative framework can receive a reward of US$3,000, and investigative reporters have become political thugs. The US$230 million cooperation project between the Soros Open Society Foundation and USAID has implanted "progressive courses" in universities in 65 countries.

Among Harvard Kennedy School graduates, 1 in 3 has entered USAID-related organizations, forming a self-replicating ideological industry chain. The US$180 million "Global Governance Innovation Fund" obtained by the Schwab World Economic Forum is packaging the "Great Reset" plan into climate action. In the "Young Global Leaders" project funded by USAID, political figures born after 1985 such as Canadian Prime Minister Trudeau and former New Zealand Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern are prominently included. When the SpaceX Starlink system cut off the Russian military's chain of command on the Ukrainian battlefield, and when the Twitter archives exposed the Biden family scandal, Musk has turned from a technology icon to a public enemy of the establishment. The left-wing media launched a saturated attack on it with an average of 37 negative reports per day, the Ministry of Justice launched 7 antitrust investigations, and the SEC suddenly revealed old accounts from 2018.

The tragedy of this South African immigrant is that Twitter, which he built with his own hands, has now become a forklift for burying USAID’s shady story. His public "unexpected will" was not a show, but his helplessness after receiving 17 death threats. From JFK to Epstein, too many people who knew too much disappeared into the mystery of "suicide". The history of USAID's decline is a microcosm of the twilight of the American empire. When the torch in the hands of Lady Liberty turns into a dollar gun, when the Declaration of Independence turns into a manual for subversion, this once great country is being backfired by the monster of its own creation.

Musk is fighting not one institution alone, but the entire cancerous system of the Deep State. His X platform withstands 30 million hacker attacks every day, and Starlink satellites are frequently blinded by lasers. But these numbers just prove that when the darkness is thickest, the truth is about to dawn.

This war concerning the survival of civilization has no smoke, but is more cruel than any hot war. Every netizen who forwards the truth is an independent fighter in the digital age. We are witnessing that the fig leaf of capital power will eventually be torn to pieces by blockchain technology; the black box of imperial hegemony will be illuminated by Starlink satellites.

[untitlzd]

I got bored and made a imaginary debut mini album tracklist playlist for the World Class Sin group :3

I also tried making it sound consistent so I hope the order of the songs transition well

Everybody Get Down by Swi.T - Predebut Release

1, 2, 3 by NCT DREAM - Debut Title Track

Starry Moment by WJSN- Promoted Side Track

Angel Eyes by NCT 127 - Side Track

Destiny by Girls’ Generation - Side Track

Love Foolish by TWICE - Side Track

wait this is actually so good??? the order is tight, the vibe is tight—it feels like a debut that knows exactly what kind of group we are. love the emotional softness you layered into the whole thing. but okay, not to pit visions against each other, but i imagined something just a little different. so here’s my own version of a debut mini-album for the world class sin boys:

wcs debut mini-album (luke’s version)

< deadboys sleepover >

1. nights like this — the kid laroi (intro)

2. crash — rescene (promoted b-side)

3. roses — jaehyun (title track)

4. fever — enhypen (predebut release)

5. merry bad ending — the boyz

6. where does your spirit go? — the kid laroi

7. kingdom come — red velvet

8. uncover — loona (odd eye circle)

9. enhanced flower — tripleS (outro)

okay so picture this—our album starts with “nights like this” by the kid laroi, a quick and hazy intro that immediately sets the tone. it’s nostalgic in a low, aching way, like lying awake at 3am missing something you can’t name. from there, we slide into “crash” by rescene, which shifts the vibe into something brighter and groovier. it’s got this smooth funk bassline and dreamy r&b-pop texture, and the lyrics talk about crashing forward without fear, which feels perfect for a debut—like saying “we’re here, ready or not.”

the title track would be “roses” by jaehyun. it’s warm, soft, and mid-tempo—gentle r&b with emotional weight. the song compares memories to blooming roses, and it has that kind of timeless pull that makes it linger in your head for hours. after that, we drop into “fever” by enhypen, which gets moodier. the synths get darker, the tempo slows, and suddenly things feel more intimate, more mysterious. it’s that moment when the group’s image starts to crack just a little.

then comes “merry bad ending” by the boyz. it’s danceable and catchy, but the lyrics are bittersweet. like partying through heartbreak, smiling through chaos. it sounds upbeat but it hurts if you pay attention. that energy cuts sharply into “where does your spirit go?” by the kid laroi. here everything slows down completely—it’s stripped back and devastating. soft vocals, simple chords, and lyrics about grief and loss. it’s raw. and it hits.

we start to pick ourselves up again with “kingdom come” by red velvet. the vibe turns cozy and romantic. it’s sultry but warm, with jazzy harmonies and lyrics that wrap around you like a blanket. and then “uncover” by loona pushes us into something a little colder again. sharp, synth-heavy pop with just enough melancholy to keep you alert. it’s about finally revealing the truth—about yourself, your feelings, your fears. that moment where everything is exposed.

and finally, we close with “enhanced flower” by tripleS. it’s light and delicate, like a whispered goodbye. the lyrics talk about blooming, about becoming something more, and the whole track feels like a soft landing after a long emotional trip. it doesn’t scream—it exhales.

thank you again for sharing your version bff! it was such a fun ride seeing what you imagined for wcs. now i’m curious to see how other people would build their own album. so hey—if anyone else out there has a dream debut tracklist for the boys, i’d love to see it too!!!

[pxnsneverland]

Something Immortal | Biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 7)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

plot summary: In the gritty underbelly of a city ruled by werewolf biker gangs, Austin Butler reigned supreme as the ruthless leader of his pack. A man of unwavering ferocity, he lied, killed, and stole without remorse, living by a code of violence that defined his kind. Yet, even Austin harbored a secret weakness – his childhood friend Bonnie Barlow, the one woman he had loved in silence for years. Bonnie's father had once been part of Austin's gang, but after his death, she fled the treacherous world of the werewolves, unable to stomach the endless cycle of crime and brutality. For five years, she remained a fugitive from her own nature, until a fateful night when her life took an irreversible turn. Freshly released from a two-year prison stint, Austin returned to his pack, reveling in the debauchery of their den. But his revelry was cut short by a frantic call from Bonnie, pleading for his aid. Rushing to her side, he uncovered a grim truth – in a desperate act of self-defense against her abusive boyfriend, Bonnie had taken a life, awakening the dormant werewolf within her. As the next full moon loomed, she would undergo her first agonizing transformation, a fate she had always dreaded. Defying the pack's ruthless code, Austin sheltered Bonnie, guiding her through the excruciating metamorphosis that tore through her body each lunar cycle. In the depths of her torment, their bond rekindled, blossoming into a love they had long suppressed. Nights of shared laughter and reminiscence gave way to stolen moments of tenderness, their connection deepening with every passing moon. Yet, their newfound bliss was a fragile thing, forever threatened by the harsh realities that governed their world. For Bonnie was branded a deserter, her very existence a betrayal in the eyes of the pack. If Austin's treachery was uncovered, retribution would be swift and merciless.

pairings: biker!austin butler x oc

word count: 2838

warnings/notes: blood, murder, pain

Chapter 7: The Breaking Chains

Austin stood motionless as the shelter door slammed shut, the echo reverberating through the concrete walls. Victor's smirk and knowing words clung to him like the chill of the night air.

"He knows," Austin thought, jaw clenched. The secret he had fought so hard to protect now lay exposed under Victor's cunning gaze.

Bonnie's snarls permeated the tense silence, her wolf form still straining against the chains. Austin's eyes lingered on her a moment longer, taking in the wild fury that had replaced the gentle empathy he loved. She would come back to him, he knew this - but for now the beast ruled her mind.

With a reserved exhale, Austin turned to face Victor. His piercing eyes narrowed, ice-blue shards that cut through the dim lighting. This was an unforeseen complication, one he'd have to handle with care.

Victor's lips curled into a grotesque mimicry of a smile, his eyes alight with the kind of manic glee that sent shivers down one's spine. He circled around Austin like a shark scenting blood in the water, relishing the power he now wielded with the knowledge of a secret so destructive it could topple the alpha from his throne.

"Never thought I'd see the day," Victor taunted, his voice laced with venomous delight. "The great Austin Butler brought to his knees by a ghost. Oh, I almost wished Bonnie had stayed dead—or at least kept herself hidden away in whatever grave she crawled out of."

Austin's jaw clenched tight enough to crush stone, his hands balling into fists at his sides. The air between them crackled with tension, an invisible current charged by the looming full moon and the weight of unsaid threats.

"Careful, Viper," Austin growled lowly, the threat evident in his voice, though his words remained unspoken. "Some secrets are best left buried."

"Or what?" Victor stepped closer, his sneer deepening. "You'll unleash the big bad wolf? Please."

He danced just outside of Austin's reach, every word a sharpened dagger meant to provoke, to pierce through the cracks in Austin's carefully constructed armor.

"Bonnie Barlow, alive..." Victor mused aloud as if savoring the taste of each syllable. "The deserter, the weak link, your—what shall we call her? Your Achilles' heel?"

"Watch your mouth," Austin warned, his tone a low rumble of brewing storm clouds, a prelude to the violence he was capable of unleashing.

"Truth hurts, doesn't it?" Victor’s eyes gleamed with malice. "This is rich, really. Little Bonnie, back from the dead, and here you are, ready to throw it all away for her. What would the pack say?"

"Enough," Austin snapped, struggling to rein in the fury that threatened to spill over.

"Or you'll what, Austin?" Victor prodded, stepping dangerously close, within striking distance. "Lose control? Is she worth that much to you?"

"More than you could ever understand," Austin hissed, the muscles along his jaw working furiously. His piercing eyes, usually so steady and commanding, now blazed with an intensity that could set the world ablaze.

Victor's laughter sliced through the tension, a discordant note that spoke volumes of his disdain. "Is that supposed to scare me? Come on, Alpha. Show me what you're made of."

"Remember this moment," Austin said, his voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of an unsheathed sword. "It'll be your last mistake."

The lunar brilliance seemed to ignite an inner fire within him, casting a wild light in his eyes that danced like flames licking at dry timber. With each breath, Austin's chest heaved, betraying the effort it took to keep the beast within at bay.

"Listen to me very carefully," Austin began, his voice low and deadly, the words slipping between clenched teeth. "You will bury what you think you know deep down. Bury it so far it never claws its way out."

Victor, unfazed by the palpable danger emanating from Austin, cocked his head to the side, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned in, feigning a conspiratorial whisper. "Or what, Austin? You'll tear me apart? Right here, right now?"

Austin's hands curled into fists, knuckles whitening as if they were stones meant for crushing. His body vibrated with suppressed rage, the call of the moon exacerbating his struggle for control.

"Always the protector," Victor sneered, undeterred by Austin's looming threat. "But let's ponder this, shall we? Is a deserter worth the throne of the Alpha?"

"Enough!" Austin's voice thundered, echoing off the walls, a clear warning of the tempest gathering force within him. "Your life hangs by a thread. And I won't hesitate to sever it."

Bonnie's body thrashed violently, her wolf form a blur of sinew and fury. The chains that bound her rattled against the concrete wall with each ferocious jerk, the metal links screeching in protest. Neither Austin nor Victor noticed the subtle give in the ancient stone, the way fine dust whispered to the floor with each movement, portending the imminent rupture of her restraints.

"Even if I wanted to," Austin said, the words ripping from his throat like the snarl of an animal cornered, "I couldn't abandon her." His gaze never left Victor, but the intensity of his declaration seemed to stretch, to reach beyond the confrontation and envelop Bonnie in a silent vow.

Victor paused, his eyes flicking between Austin's rigid stance and Bonnie's frenetic struggle. "Your mate?" he echoed, the notion so incredulous it drew a half-laugh from him, a sound devoid of any true humor. "You bind yourself to a deserter, and you expect me to believe she is your destined other half?"

The muscle in Austin's jaw ticked as he suppressed the urge to lunge, his voice low and edged with ice. "Believe what you will, Victor. Cross me on this, and you'll find yourself prey to consequences you can't begin to fathom."

"Consequences," Victor scoffed, yet there was a glint of something sharp and calculating in his eyes. "I suppose we all have our chains to bear, don't we, Alpha? Or should I say, former Alpha?"

Austin's hands clenched, but his posture remained controlled, a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He could feel the pull of the full moon coursing through his veins, urging him towards violence, but it was the bond—the unyielding connection to Bonnie—that held him rooted in place.

In the background, the metal clink of the chains grew more erratic, more desperate. The wall shuddered with Bonnie's relentless attempts at freedom, the cracks around the anchor points widening, nearly imperceptible to the human eye, but a silent testament to the inevitable.

Victor's laughter echoed through the cavernous space, each chortle a sharp jab at Austin's resolve. "You cling to fairytales, Butler? I would've expected more from you."

Austin's piercing eyes began to shimmer with an otherworldly light, a clear sign of his barely contained fury. "Think whatever you like," Austin growled, his voice laced with a dangerous promise. "Lay a finger on her, and I swear, Victor, your end will come at my hands."

The air around them seemed to crackle with tension, the unseen energy of the supernatural world colliding with the gritty reality of their human forms. Bonnie's whimpers blended with the sound of weakening metal, a haunting melody to the standoff unfolding before her.

Victor's smirk was a slashed canvas of hubris, carved across his face as he squared his stance. "So be it," he hissed, the words slithering out like a challenge long-awaited. Muscles coiled beneath his skin, he launched himself at Austin, a viper striking in lethal silence.

But fate, it seemed, had a taste for irony. Just as Victor's shadow loomed over Austin, poised to eclipse him in combat, an audible snap cracked through the tension-laden air. Metal links once bound to stone now surrendered to ferocity incarnate. Bonnie, her form a blur of primal instinct, surged forward with a force that spelled retribution.

The impact was a symphony of snarls and flesh, a dance macabre choreographed by the wild heart of a wolf scorned. Bonnie, driven by raw survival, became the storm, the embodiment of nature's unchecked wrath as she collided with Victor. Her jaws found their mark again and again, the symphony reaching its crescendo as Victor's calculated bravado crumbled into cries lost within the cacophony of the struggle.

Austin stood, the alpha within him stirring, witnessing the untamed justice that unfolded before his eyes. Bonnie's ferocity was a testament to her strength, and yet in every movement, every desperate thrash from Victor, Austin saw the unspoken bond that tethered him to her—a bond that defied the very logic of their brutal world.

The scent of blood and fury filled the air as Bonnie, a tempest of fangs and claws, unleashed the full measure of her newly awakened power. Victor's taunts were silenced by the guttural snarls ripping from her throat, each snap of her jaws a sentence of retribution upon his flesh.

Victor's voice was shrill with panic, his words gurgling through the torrent of his own blood. He thrashed beneath her, his attempts at defense pitiful against the onslaught. Bonnie’s teeth, like daggers honed by nature's hand, sank deep into the sinew of Victor's arm, tearing through muscle and bone with the ease of a hot knife through butter. A symphony of cracks and wet rends accompanied the visceral chorus as she bit down again, her primal instincts dictating the dance of death. Victor's screams became a ragged litany of pain, the sound of his agony mingling with the thud of his body against the unforgiving ground. His fingers clawed at the floor, seeking purchase, seeking escape, but there was none to be found.

"Bonnie, enough!" Austin's command cut through the frenzy, but it was the thunderous growl that followed which stilled the bloodbath. It was a growl that spoke of ancient authority, that resonated with the primordial essence of the alpha wolf.

In an instant, the dynamics of power shifted. Bonnie's ears flattened against her skull, a whine escaping her as she backed away, eyes downcast. She slunk to the corner, her form shrinking under the weight of Austin's dominance. Her once ferocious energy now tempered, subdued by the spectral chain of hierarchy stronger than any forged by man.

Austin stood over Victor, breaths coming in heavy torrents, the beast within him pacing behind the bars of his human restraint. And though the alpha had roared, it was silence that fell upon the scene—a silence punctuated only by the labored breaths of the living and the soft whimpers of the subdued.

Austin's chest heaved, the rush of the fight still surging through his veins as he fought to cage the alpha wolf within. His nostrils flared, taking in the coppery scent of blood that now painted the derelict shelter with its grim strokes. The air was thick with it, a visceral reminder of the violence that had just unfolded.

"Bonnie," Austin's voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the ragged gasps that filled the room. He dared not look at her yet, not until he had fully reined in the beast clawing beneath his skin, begging for further release.

A shudder rippled through him, a final struggle before the beast acquiesced, retreating into the recesses of his soul. With every fiber of his being pulsating from the exertion, Austin turned slowly, his gaze falling upon the ruin that lay before him.

The sight that greeted him was grotesque—a tableau of carnage. Victor's body, or what remained of it, was a mangled mess of torn flesh and exposed bone. The once slicked-back hair was now plastered with blood, the silver tongue silenced forever amidst the garish red.

"Damn you, Vic," Austin muttered under his breath, a complex swirl of emotions churning within him—anger, sorrow, regret. He knew this moment would leave a permanent scar on the fabric of the pack, an indelible mark on his own soul.

"Should have listened," he continued, speaking to the lifeless form as if expecting some semblance of a response. "Should've known better than to corner a wolf."

He took a step closer, his boots sticking slightly to the pooling blood beneath him. Victor's eyes were vacant, a stark contrast to the maniacal glint they'd held just moments ago—a glint that had sealed his fate.

"Could've been different, brother," Austin said, the words catching in his throat. It was a title he had once bestowed upon Victor, one of kinship within the ranks of their kind. But that bond had been severed, cleaved apart by greed and ambition.

He turned away, unable to stomach the sight any longer. The silence seemed to swallow him whole, leaving a bitter aftertaste of the chaos that had reigned. This was the harsh law of their world—the unforgiving nature of pack life where only the strongest survived.

The stillness of the bomb shelter was oppressive, the silence a stark contrast to the chaos that had reigned moments before. Austin's breath came out in heavy gusts as he turned back to Bonnie, her delicate form lying crumpled on the cold concrete floor. Moonlight streamed through the narrow windows, casting an ethereal glow over her body, revealing the crimson stains marring her hands and mouth—the damning evidence of her violent passage into their world.

"Bonnie," Austin murmured, his voice a low rumble filled with a cocktail of emotions. He knelt beside her, his large, calloused fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her peaceful face. The sight of her like this—so vulnerable yet so inherently powerful—sent a twinge of protectiveness coursing through him.

He reached out, hesitating for just a fraction of a second, before gently scooping her into his arms. The warmth of her against his chest stirred something deep within him, but it was quickly overshadowed by the weight of the responsibility now resting on his broad shoulders.

Austin's jaw clenched at the thought of dealing with the fallout. Victor's ambition had been his downfall, but the consequences were now Austin's to bear. He'd have to move fast, cover the tracks, make the death look like another casualty of the gang wars that ravaged the streets above. But first, there was the matter of Bonnie and the truth she would have to face when she awoke.

"Can't hide this from you, Bon. Not this," he whispered, though he knew she couldn't hear him. His heart twisted at the thought of her eyes—those deep pools of innocence—looking up at him in horror when she realized what her claws had done. The confession loomed over him like a specter, a truth too gruesome for words, yet one that could not be kept in shadows forever.

"Should've protected you better," he continued, his voice thick with regret. The burden of leadership weighed heavily upon him; the knowledge that he had allowed her to be thrust into this dark reality pained him more than any physical wound ever could.

With a last lingering look at Victor's body, Austin adjusted Bonnie's light frame in his arms and moved toward the exit. The shelter, once a place of safety, now felt like a tomb—one he was all too eager to leave behind. As he stepped out into the night, the cool air hit his face, and he steeled himself for the journey ahead. There were miles to cover before they reached the sanctuary of his cabin—a place where he could shield her, if only for a little while, from the monstrous truth of her new existence.

His eyes roved over her features, searching for the girl he knew before the beast had awakened within her. She seemed peaceful now, a deceptive tranquility that belied the violence of her transformation. He allowed himself a small, pained smile. The torment that had racked her body, causing bones to break and reforge, was finally at an end. She was light in his arms, her head lolling against his chest as if seeking the comfort she was unconscious of needing.

The forest stood sentinel around him, an audience to the drama that unfolded under its watchful boughs. Austin moved with purpose, each step carrying Bonnie further from the horrors of her first transformation and closer to the sanctuary of his cabin.

"Sleep now, Bonnie," he promised into the silence, "I've got you."

The woods opened up to a narrow trail, the path familiar under his feet even in the dead of night. His cabin, hidden from prying eyes, awaited them—a haven where he could tend to her needs and postpone the inevitable revelations of dawn.

"Everything's gonna be alright," he spoke again, not sure if the words were meant more for her or for himself. The weight of her in his arms was nothing compared to the burden of the secret he harbored, but for now, he focused on the rhythm of his stride, the feel of her breathing, and the promise of safety found only within the walls he called home.

Stay tuned for part 8!! Click HERE to view!

[somebodys-nightmare]

What The Lifestream Scene Really Means

I'm cross-posting some of my Twitter threads here on Tumblr. This post has my thoughts on the Lifestream Scene and specifically, why it is a scene and moment that is reserved for Cloud and Tifa alone.

NO ONE but Tifa can help Cloud regain his true self in the Lifestream scene. No. One. Only Tifa Lockhart. She can’t be replaced in this scene and no one can join her or help her in this scene. This scene is for her and Cloud alone and there are reasons for this.

𝙎𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜: This scene takes place in Cloud’s subconscious. The Lifestream is a place of shared consciousness & by falling into it, Cloud and Tifa are able to share one another's. But bc they are alive & not dead, Tifa is lost when they first fall in, & calls out to Cloud whose consciousness finds her and lets her into his mind where she will be safe.

For that to happen, Cloud has to allow Tifa into his mind, which is a person’s most vulnerable and intimate space. I’d like you to ask yourself how many people in your life you would allow into your own subconscious, even in the most dire of circumstances. This involves an incredible & extraordinary level of trust. We know that Tifa is the person Cloud trusts the most. There’s no evidence to suggest he has that amount of trust in anyone else.

Which brings me to...

𝙋𝙪𝙧𝙥����𝙨𝙚: Why does the LS scene even take place? There's 3 reasons: 1. Uncover the truth of the Nibelheim Incident 2. Prove Cloud is the real Cloud that existed before the Nibelheim Incident 3. Rebuild Cloud’s identity by getting him to ACCEPT himself & his weaknesses.

The first two purposes, however, are unable to be accomplished without the last. We can't uncover the truth about Nibelheim and we can't prove Cloud's existence or memories until we resolve the issues at the core of his identity.

Which brings me to...

𝙈𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨: Cloud has three core memories that must be reconciled in the LS scene: The Nibelheim Incident, the night of his promise with Tifa, and the Mt. Nibel incident after Tifa’s mother died. Each of these memories is tied to the purposes of the LS scene that I mentioned above.

However, they cannot be reconciled until the final, or earliest, childhood memory of the Mt Nibel incident is reconciled. This is why the game forces you to confront that moment, why Tifa says that “these memories are not enough” when trying to use the first two to restore Cloud’s identity.

Which brings me to the most important part...

𝙁𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: The memory of the incident on Mt Nibel is tied to Cloud’s personal feelings for Tifa, which is tied to his personal weaknesses. Tifa is hurt on Mt. Nibel, & bc he could not save her, Cloud both internalizes AND publicly takes the blame. Cloud begins to center his need for approval AND his shame at this weakness on impressing Tifa and gaining her approval, which leads him to make the decision to join SOLDIER, which in turn leads to him to ask her to the water tower where he makes a promise to her.

Cloud’s failure at joining SOLDIER exposes his own personal weaknesses, which is the fundamental truth that Cloud’s false persona is attempting to hide- FROM HIMSELF.

His false persona is predicated on Cloud NOT accepting himself but rather building, in a weakened and traumatized state, an identity that lives up to his ideals and ignores the shame and weakness of that childhood incident that he hoped joining SOLDIER would correct.

Cloud has to accept that he is not the SOLDIER he thought he needed to be to impress Tifa SO THAT HE CAN ACCEPT HIMSELF. To do that, Cloud needs to know that TIFA accepts him for who he is.

That's why in his most vulnerable state- his subconscious - Cloud not only allows Tifa into his mind & reveals the truth about the day on Mt. Nibel, but REVEALS HIS FEELINGS FOR HER.

Tifa's acceptance AND her support are critical for the entire scene. Once this understanding is reached, Cloud and Tifa can together uncover the truth about the past, restore Cloud's sense of self, and return home & to their friends TRULY REUNITED.

None of these things can happen with another person or multiple people in the Lifestream. Sharing memories of the Nibelhiem Incident or even being another childhood friend of Cloud’s isn’t gonna work. Cloud’s personal issues can’t be resolved because he isn’t going to share his deepest darkest fears, insecurities, weaknesses, & DESIRES with anyone. He won’t even face them 𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛.

He only allows Tifa in and he only shares them with her 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙝𝙚𝙧. It is her approval & validation that he’s been seeking this whole time, and by letting her in, he is taking a risk by exposing this to her. He also is keeping his promise by keeping her consciousness safe during their fall into the Lifestream so she does not succumb to mako poisoning. Even in a weakened, poisoned state, Tifa's voice reaches Cloud & he keeps his promise, more proof all he ever needed was to be his 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛.

That's who Tifa wants, & we know from ToTP Tifa fell in love w/ & admired the real Cloud, a normal boy with all his flaws & quirks. That's all she ever wanted.

This is Tifa’s role. This is her story as the heroine in Final Fantasy VII & this role can’t be interchanged with any other character, it cannot be combined with any others, & it cannot be removed. To do so would completely alter the core of the protagonist’s internal conflict his journey, and his motivation, and we already know that the Compilation and Remake are not only keeping this intact but have doubled down on it.

I know some of y'all are stupefied a boy would do all this for a girl but it really is that simple. :)

Thanks for reading!!

[ghostlyglimmer]

Unlikely Roads: Chapter 1

Summary:

Danny and his rival, Wes Weston, as they join forces to escape the GIW. On a tense road trip, they uncover personal truths and forge an unexpected bond while battling both the GIW and their own conflicts.

Fic is inspired by @greenglowinspooks's post!

The quiet of Amity Park’s night was shattered by the frantic pounding on Danny’s window.

Danny Fenton sat bolt upright in bed, heart racing. His first thought was that some ghost had decided to wreck his night. Again. But when he glanced at the clock—2:17 AM—and looked outside, what he saw wasn't a ghost at all. It was Wes Weston. Bruised, bloody, and visibly shaking.

“What the hell?” Danny muttered, more annoyed than alarmed at first. Wes had always been a thorn in his side. Always trying to "out" him as Danny Phantom to everyone in school, even though no one ever believed him. But this? This was...different.

“Fenton!” Wes’s voice cracked through the glass, desperate and raw. “Open up!”

Still half-asleep, Danny threw back his blanket and padded across the floor. He opened the window just a crack, enough to hear the panic in Wes’s voice more clearly. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“They’re after me,” Wes gasped, leaning against the window frame, struggling to catch his breath. His face was pale, and his clothes were torn, as if he’d barely escaped something—or someone. “The GIW… they’re after me. And you.”

That got Danny’s attention. “Wait, what?”

Wes took a shaky breath, wincing as he touched a cut on his forehead. “They’ve been watching me. For weeks. Ever since I started poking around, asking too many questions. An hour ago, they got a warrant. They want me in custody because of what I know... and they want you for what you are.”

Danny’s stomach flipped. The GIW—the Ghost Investigation Ward—had been a constant threat ever since they’d set up camp in Amity Park, hunting ghosts with their high-tech weapons and zero tolerance. But for them to be after Wes too? That was new. That was bad.

He could feel the cool buzz of his ghost sense curling in his chest, a sign that danger was near, though not supernatural this time. It was human—and that made it scarier. He narrowed his eyes at Wes. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because I didn’t have to come here!” Wes snapped, his voice breaking. “I could’ve run. I should’ve run, but I didn’t! They’ll kill me just for knowing your secret, and you? They’ll do worse to you if they catch you.”

Danny clenched his jaw, weighing his options. Wes had been a royal pain for so long—constantly badgering him about being Phantom, always trying to expose him. But Wes looked absolutely terrified. There was no mistaking the desperation in his eyes.

“Look,” Wes pleaded, his breath ragged. “You’ve got powers. You’ve got a chance. But I can’t... I can’t do this alone.”

Danny stood frozen, staring at Wes. The easy thing would be to slam the window shut, let Wes deal with his mess. But if what he said was true—and Danny's gut told him it was—they were both in deep trouble.

“Fine,” Danny grumbled, yanking the window open fully and helping Wes climb inside. “But we’re gonna need more than your paranoid rambling to get out of this.”

“I have a plan,” Wes said, his voice still shaky but firm. “My uncle. He lives out of state. He doesn’t trust the government, hates the GIW, all that. He’ll help us, no questions asked.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Your uncle? And where does this government-hating conspiracy theorist live?”

“Florida.” Wes rubbed his hands together, trying to shake off the cold sweat from his skin. “Or Alaska. Either one works. The farther the better.”

Danny groaned. “Great. So, what? We hitchhike to Florida?”

“I have a bike. It’s my brother’s old one.” Wes hesitated. “But it’s in bad shape.”

“You think?”

“I didn’t have time to fix it, okay?! They showed up out of nowhere. We don’t have time to be picky.”

Danny frowned, pacing. He didn’t have many choices. If Wes was right, the GIW could be busting down the door any minute now. His parents were out of town, Jazz was staying at a friend’s, and Tucker and Sam were both unreachable at this hour. Danny didn’t know how much he trusted Wes—actually, he didn’t trust Wes at all—but he knew one thing: the GIW wasn’t going to stop until they had him. And if they thought Wes was connected to Phantom, they’d take him down too.

“Fine,” Danny said. “Let’s go.”

They crept downstairs as quietly as possible, slipping out the back door. As promised, Wes’s “bike” sat at the edge of the driveway, looking like it had seen better days—years ago. Rust clung to the metal frame, the engine sputtered when Wes tried to start it, and the tires were half-deflated.

“Oh, this is just great,” Danny muttered sarcastically, arms crossed. “We’re going to outrun the government on this thing?”

“Shut up and help me,” Wes hissed, yanking on the choke to get the engine going. Danny rolled his eyes but grudgingly stepped in, using his powers to subtly jumpstart the engine. After a few coughs and splutters, the bike roared to life—well, more like it wheezed to life, but it was running.

Danny climbed on behind Wes, the smell of gasoline thick in the air. He glanced behind them, half-expecting to see the black vans of the GIW pulling into his neighborhood. Nothing yet. But he knew it wouldn’t be long.

“Alright, Weston,” Danny muttered, gripping the back of the seat. “Let’s see how long we last before this thing breaks down.”

Wes glanced over his shoulder, his expression a mix of fear and determination. “Let’s just hope we make it out of town first.”

With that, Wes twisted the throttle, and they shot forward down the empty street, the wind biting at their faces as they sped into the night. Danny could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on them. He didn’t know how far they could run, or how long they could hide, but one thing was clear: for better or worse, they were in this together now.

As they tore through the deserted streets, the tension between them simmered. Danny kept one eye on the road ahead, the other on Wes. Part of him still wondered if this was some elaborate trick—if Wes would sell him out the second he got the chance. But then Danny saw the way Wes’s knuckles whitened on the handlebars, his breath hitching every time they passed a streetlight.

For the first time, Danny realized Wes wasn’t just scared of him. He was scared of the same thing Danny was: the GIW.

[nesswritesnonsense]

I'm full of ideas, so I gift these prompts to you, Tumblr

Prompt Theme: Monetize Everything or Bad Ideas Some People Think Are Good Ideas

1. Pay-Per-Breath Air is privately owned, and only those who can afford premium oxygen get to breathe the good stuff. The poor are left to choke on recycled, polluted air. But the big lie? Fresh air isn’t scarce. It’s just hidden behind corporate greed. Your protagonist stumbles on the truth and must decide: expose it or cash in.

2. Sleepless Society

Sleep is for the weak.... or the wealthy. In this world, valuable billable hours are lost to sleep, so it’s been chemically suppressed for all but the elite. The rich buy “luxury sleep” packages in exclusive clinics, while the rest of society spirals into exhaustion-induced madness. Your character, desperate for rest, risks everything for a forbidden nap.

3. Memories Wanted. Lived Once. Pay Little. Memories are the final frontier of monetization. Sell your happiest moments for a quick buck, but here’s the catch: once sold, the government can alter or erase memories of anyone deemed dangerous. When your protagonist realizes their memories have been tampered with, they must uncover the truth about what they’ve forgotten.

4. New Identity, New You Embarrassed yourself online? Went viral for all the wrong reasons? No problem. For the right price, you can buy a new identity, face, name, history, anything. But when your protagonist discovers their new identity comes with a dark, dangerous secret, they realize starting over isn’t as simple as it seems.

5. Love on Loan In this society, emotions are rented like timeshares. Want to feel love for a weekend? Happiness for a day? There’s a subscription plan for that. But when your protagonist’s “trial period” of love ends, they’re left hollow, and they’ll do anything to feel it again, even if it means going into emotional debt.

6. Rent-a-Family Feeling lonely? Need a picture-perfect family for your social media feed? Rent one. But when your protagonist rents a family for a weekend getaway, they discover their “temporary” relatives have no intention of leaving. Maybe they’re not as fake as they seem?

7. The Silence Tax Talking in public spaces is taxed per word. Want to speak freely? That’ll cost you. The rich dominate public discourse, while the poor are silenced. When your protagonist finds a way to bypass the system, they spark a rebellion built on the one thing the government fears most: unregulated voices.

8. The Subscription to Live

Everything in life requires a subscription—water, shelter, even your heartbeat. Miss a payment, and the consequences are fatal. Your protagonist is behind on their “Life Subscription” and has 24 hours to find a way to survive without paying the price.

Hope you guys enjoy these. Let me know which ones you like, tag me if you get inspired and write, and feel free to suggest more or tweak these prompts!