#yes i am posting these at dead hours

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

The way I have not written a single word for like a month it feels like I have been busier in the last two weeks than I have been in the last four years of my life and will continue to be busy for the next two weeks I got one day between a four day family trip and a sib visit gotta sew a monkey during the trip and if monkie kid drops in that time I will simply combust

[baellielurk]

attacks i made this 2024 artfight :3 in order of images, the characters belong to: @maripapercat, @adxmanial, ~AHHHHHhhhhhh664, ~M_the_little_mouse, @returnflame, @jules-makes-stuff, @gothoctopus, ~Sarahfox14, @mx-lamour, faun.draws, ~alkanones, @nouveaumoon, DevotedlyStar, ~Faildemon, cute-l0ve

[catastrxblues]

girls will be like “i’m fine” and then have phoebe bridgers on repeat

[shivunin]

Breath of Life

In which Zevran meets a familiar Crow in the streets of Denerim

(Full version (Explicit) on AO3 here)

CW: Hurt/comfort; Blood, wounds, combat, death, spiders; references to near-death experiences

“When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself.”

Arianwen stared up the stairs at the stranger with the cruel face. Her hand rested on one of the daggers at her back; if Zevran had not made it clear that he knew this man, she would have thrown it already. 

“Is that so?” Zevran said, his voice holding an unfamiliar cold note, “Well—here I am, in the flesh.”

“You can return with me, Zevran,” the Crow at the top of the stairs said, his face twisting into an expression of false sympathy that set Wen’s teeth on edge, “I know why you did this, and I don’t blame you. It’s not too late. Come back and we’ll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake.”

 Somewhere behind her, she heard Alistair take a slow breath. There was no need to look at him; she knew his hand was already on the hilt of his sword. 

Ready to step between them if Zevran tried to stab her in the back. 

Anyone can make a mistake. Yes; that was something Wen knew all too well. She’d made far too many herself, though she tried to think about them as little as possible. Had it been a mistake to trust Zevran? To fall in—

No. 

No, she didn’t think so. 

Wen turned to look at her lover, lifting her chin, and spoke. 

“Of course, I’d need to be dead first.”

Zevran met her eyes, reading something there, and gave her the smallest nod before turning again to Taliesen.

“And I’m not about to let that happen,” Zevran said, resolution coloring every syllable of the words. 

She had not doubted him—not really, not after the past few months—but even so, some unnamed fear melted away in Arianwen’s chest.

“What? You’ve gone soft!” Taliesen spat. Scorn painted deep lines on either side of his mouth, and to her right Zevran’s shoulders loosened slightly. 

Someone was creeping closer to Wen’s group; she could see them out of the corner of her eye, shifting slightly beside the stairs. The blade at her back came free from its bandolier soundlessly, slipping into her hands like the touch of an old friend. 

“I am sorry, my old friend,” Zevran said, and Wen knew him well enough to know that the note of sadness in his voice was real, “But the answer is no. I’m not coming back…and you should have stayed in Antiva.”

The Crows who’d been creeping closer struck, Taliesen among them. As Zevran finished speaking, Tabris’s hand whipped out from behind her back and her blade bloomed from the throat of the fighter by the stairs. They fell soundlessly, not that any of them could have noticed; battle had been joined in full, and she and her friends had their hands full already. 

Zevran darted past her and up the stairs, sword and dagger in hand. That seemed right; a betrayal by an old friend must be his to handle by rights. She did not try to stop him, nor did she follow him. When another Crow raised her blade to intercept Zevran, Arianwen threw another dagger, and then another when the first failed to incapacitate the woman. While the steel spiraled through the air, she slicked her sword with poison and blocked a blow meant for her shoulder. 

There had been a break in the crowd right at the beginning, which was how Zev had gotten through, but the rest closed ranks around them now. Wen found herself back to back with Alistair, batting away another slash at her torso before she stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled hard. 

She’d no idea where the lovely spider kept herself while they traveled through Denerim, but Princess dropped down from a rooftop nearby and leapt for a bowman, snapping him up in her pincers with a sickening crunch. 

“Ugh,” Alistair said emphatically, and Wen laughed, already caught in the high she always felt when fighting. 

“Don’t fuss, Ali, I’m sure it’s delightful—right, Morrigan?” Arianwen said, but it was no use; the mage in question did not have a mouth fit for speaking at the moment. A bear battled at their side instead, batting one Crow into another with a crushing blow of the paw. When the two fell, the crowd around them opened for a moment and she had a clear view of her lover, still fighting at the top of the stairs.

Zevran could hold his own; she knew that. What Wen did not know was how to balance her feelings for him with an honest estimate of his abilities. For example—he bled from a wound along his side now, and though it was plainly a slice across the ribs the sight of it filled her with an unbounded rage. 

How dare this stranger lay hands on one under her protection? How dare he harm what was hers?

She fought all the harder, some of the joy of battle going from her all at once. She threw a handful of dust into the face of one man, then slit his throat while he was still coughing. When he fell away, she shifted forward, and drove her foot between the legs of the man who tried to block her. It would have been smart to stab him in the heart when he fell to the ground, but she leapt over him instead and started up the stairs. Alistair cursed behind her, and there was another horrible crunch, but Arianwen paid them little mind. 

Taliesen was laughing, batting away Zevran’s dagger and returning the attempted blow with a strike across Zevran’s forearm. She could see the jump in the muscle along his jaw, a sure sign that he was in pain, and his sword fell from his hand. 

A body was in her way; Arianwen hardly even looked at it as she drove her longsword into its belly and shook it from the steel. 

At the top of the stairs, Zevran danced away from another blow and sliced Taliesen’s cheek. The latter laughed as blood poured down his cheek, then swung hard at Zev. Dodge, dodge, strike—but Zevran had overextended himself and knew it, from the way his brows drew down even as his dagger drove toward Taliesen’s throat. 

She was not moving fast enough. He needed her—he needed her and she was—

Wen spat in the face of the person before her, drove a dagger through his eye, then threw it at Taliesen. It would have hit—she knew damn well how to throw a dagger, even one with a hilt like this—but another Crow got in the way, dancing back from the bear ascending the steps behind her. The dagger killed the woman, but it was too late. 

Taliesen caught Zevran’s wrist, grinned, and drove his blade into her lover’s belly. 

“No,” Tabris screamed, ducking the Crow’s body that slumped before her. Magic hissed past her face and struck Taliesen, but Wen paid it little mind. Zevran slid from Taliesen’s blade, his face turned up, one hand still clutching a dagger—her mother’s dagger, the one her father had hidden under the floorboards for over a decade. 

Arianwen felled another assassin and dodged their falling body to race upward. It felt like all of this was happening too slow; she couldn’t seem to lift her leaden legs, nor to make her eyes focus as they ought. 

Taliesen laughed when Zevran hit the ground. Then, he bent and reached for the rosewood and silver hilt of her mother’s dagger.

No; he would not. Could not. She would not allow it.

Wen found a burst of speed from some hidden well within her and threw herself at Taliesen, knocking him back several steps before he recovered. 

“Don’t be mad,” he laughed, “It’s what he wanted!” 

Wen dodged a blow, rapidly scanning the wounds Zev had scored into the man’s body. He was favoring his left side and his arm was bleeding badly. Good; she would make this quick, damn him. 

Zevran needed her. 

“Didn’t you know?” Taliesen went on, swinging for her arm and dodging back when she took advantage of the opening to stab at his side. 

“He came here to die. I’m only giving him what he wanted.”

Taliesen grunted when her sword dug deep into his bicep, then dropped his dagger when Arianwen pulled away. Good; she’d hit something important, then. There was a buzzing in Wen’s ears that did not entirely sound like the usual battlesong her blood hummed to her. No; it was fear, fear she never felt when she fought anymore. 

Zevran lay on the ground beside her, choking on his own blood—and the man who would call him dead was still talking. 

Wen ducked a strike, spun up beneath his guard, and drove her poisoned dagger sideways between his ribs—a trick Zev had taught her. 

Damn him, he had to live. 

“Clever tr—” Taliesen began as the blood began to spread beneath his tunic. He did not go on; ice spread from his chest to his mouth, stilling his tongue, and Arianwen did not wait for Morrigan’s spell to wear off. 

She kicked her mother’s dagger into the air, replacing the one she’d left on the stairs, and caught it in one smooth motion. When she drove it into the man’s heart, it made a soft crackling noise, as a kitchen knife cutting into frozen meat. 

“Shut up,” she spat, and pulled the dagger loose with a practiced tug. 

Taliesen fell to the stone behind her, but she was no longer looking at him—or anything else. The fight might still be going on down the stairs. She didn’t know. She didn’t care. The others could take care of themselves; her Zevran could not. 

“Zev, Zevran,” she said, falling to her knees and dropping both blades without a second thought, “Look at me. Look at me?” 

His eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, as if he was trying to do as she said, and one hand pressed over the gaping wound in his belly. 

Maker; she’d seen the blade go through to the other side. He wasn’t—he wasn’t—

“Open—open your mouth,” she said instead, slipping one arm under his neck and tugging a potion from her belt with the other hand, “Open—for me?”

Zevran’s lips did not move; Wen had to do it instead, pressing his lower lip open so she could tip the viscous red potion into his mouth. He swallowed reflexively, his breath wheezing horribly as soon as he’d finished. 

“It’s going—you’ll be—” she could not find the words. Wen had never been good at comfort, and now that she needed to know what she was saying the right words flew right out of her head. She positioned herself more fully underneath him, cradling the curve of her head in one hand. 

“...wen,” he said, the words more of a rasp than they were words, and she huddled over him. 

If anyone stood behind her with a blade, the strike to end her life would be very easy. She could not even say that she was wary or paying attention; there was no ounce of her focus directed anywhere but at the limp body in her arms. 

“...I,” he tried again, but she shook her head. 

“Don’t—don’t try to talk,” she said, though it felt like there was a hand gripping her throat to stop her words, “Rest, just rest, please.”

Zevran sighed, the exhalation whistling painfully, and he went still in her arms. 

“Zev?” she said, jostling him slightly, and pressed a hand to his throat. 

Was his heart beating? Could she feel the pulse there? She couldn’t tell; her hands were shaking too hard to feel his skin properly, and he was so still. 

“Zevran?” she said again, her voice high and unfamiliar, “Zevran? Look at me, please, oh—No, no, you can’t. You can’t. You promised me, you promised—”

Water dripped down his face, and it was several dizzying breaths before Arianwen realized that they were tears. Her tears, and he was not stirring at the touch of them. She kissed him instead, desperately and repeatedly somehow certain, certain beyond the touch of any doubt, that this must be the thing that made him open his eyes again.

His lips remained still and unmoving beneath hers. Even dozing in the mornings, he responded to her touch; he had never failed to kiss her back. Never, never.

“You promised,” Wen said again, weeping in earnest now. Her grip was tight around his shoulders, and as she spoke Morrigan knelt across from her. 

“Hush,” the witch snapped, firmly enough that Wen’s mouth snapped closed. She could not see the magic the other woman called, but she could feel the hum of it in the air, like a struck tuning fork. An armored hand settled on her shoulder—Alistair’s—and she flinched at the touch. 

“Is he—” Wen began, but Morrigan glared at her until she shut her mouth again. 

It only took a moment; she knew, because she’d seen Wynne cast this same spell a hundred times. Even so, time seemed to stretch before her like a hallway in a nightmare, looming and threatening and dark. Wen’s hands curled into the warmth of Zevran’s body, a silent entreaty, and Alistair’s hand bolstered her, steadying Tabris when she felt she might shake apart. 

Morrigan’s hands fell away. Arianwen, still weeping no matter how she tried to stop, curled over Zevran again and cleared the bloodied golden hair from his face. 

“Come back,” she whispered, as if words could hold him to her, as if words had done a single thing when she’d watched her mother cut to pieces in the street before their house in the alienage. 

“Please,” she said, “Please. Come back to me. You promised.” 

A moment; one silent, awful moment, and then—

Zevran coughed, convulsing in her arms, and dragged his eyes open. They took a moment to focus on her properly, but when they did a smile crept slowly up the sides of his mouth. 

“Now, Warden,” he said, his voice worn and ragged, “Tell me you are not crying over a little flesh wound.”

She stared at him for a moment, tears still falling unchecked from her cheeks. Zevran beamed up at her, as if he’d just done some clever knife trick, and that was what did it.

“I hate you,” she sobbed, bowing over his body until she clutched him too close to see his face, “I hate you, you awful man, don’t you ever—”

“You do not—”

“—ever do that to me again, I thought—”

“—hate me, my dear, I am far too—”

“—you were dead, I thought you—”

“—handsome and clever to hate, and in any case—”

“—left me alone!”

At the vehemence of her words, Zevran sighed and fell silent. The others shifted on either side of them, and soon she heard feet on the stairs beyond. Thank the Maker for that; she felt like she was shaking apart, and the only thing holding her together was the arm he’d wrapped around her back

“I am right here, mi vida,” he murmured, and she squeezed, “Though I may not be if you hold me any tighter.”

Arianwen loosened her grip, sniffling faintly, and turned away to wipe her face clean when he sat up under his own power. 

This—this was exactly what she’d feared when he’d kissed her by the fire all those months ago. She cared too much; it hurt her too much to see him hurt, and the thought of him dying—of leaving her—

She could not bear it. She had to bear it. Tabris was caught between the knowledge of both, the very breath squeezed from her lungs by the conflict between the two.

Wen lifted her mother’s dagger from the stone beside her, pulled a cloth from her pocket, and turned her face away from him while she cleaned it. She took her time, as if the task demanded all her attention, as if each speck of blood on the steel was a personal affront. Zevran drank another potion from his belt before resting his arms on his knees and sighing. 

“And there it is,” he said after a moment, “Taliesen is dead, and I am free of the Crows.”

Wen glanced at him, wiped her face on her shoulders, and returned her attention to the blade. She would need to oil it, she thought, once they returned to Eamon’s estate. It ought to be fully, properly cleaned. 

It was several minutes before Zevran went on.

“They will assume that I am dead along with Taliesen,” he said, ”So long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out.”

Wen had to take a drink from her waterskin before she could answer him; her throat still felt too thick, too dry, as if the nearness of losing him had tattered her vocal cords. 

“That’s a good thing, right?” she said at last, and Zevran chuckled. The chuckle grew to a laugh, until he clutched his stomach and coughed instead. 

“A very good thing—it is, in fact, what I’d hoped for ever since you decided not to kill me,” he said, once the coughing stopped. 

Wen nodded once. Away down the stairs, the other two were arguing over a body, Morrigan’s hands in the air and Alistair’s on his hips. Princess was slowly and methodically wrapping a corpse in her web, her long legs delicate and graceful as they spun the body around. Good; they were all fine for the moment. 

Arianwen held the dagger by the blade and extended it to Zevran without looking. He took it from her hand, careful not to cut her, and she heard the soft noise of steel against leather when he tucked it away again.

“ I suppose,” he said tentatively, “it would be…possible for me to leave now. If I wished, I could go far away, somewhere where the Crows would never find me.”

Arianwen stood and retrieved her sword, leaning against the wall beside the platform. She could not watch him while he told her he was leaving; she could hardly look at him at all after what had just happened. He was still sitting in a pool of his own blood; was she to ignore that while he spoke of traipsing across Thedas without her?

Zevran rose with a grunt of pain and she straightened at once, ready to offer aid. He didn’t need it—he rose without help and ran a hand over the blood covering the front of his armor.  

“I think,” he went on contemplatively, “however, that I could also stay here. I…made an oath to help you, after all. And…saving the world seems a worthy task to see through to the end, yes?”

Zevran looked up at her, then, a hopeful glint to his eye, and her heart thudded against her ribs. Stay—oh, she wanted him to stay. Hope hurt her, almost more than the fear had, and she had to push past both before she could bring herself to speak.

“I would be glad to have you stay,” she said, and the words sounded wooden, not like her at all. Zevran didn’t seem to care; he moved closer stiffly, one hand still pressed to his stomach. Tabris turned to face him when he moved, until both of them were leaning against the wall, only inches apart.

“Then stay I shall,” he said, resting one hand on her face and stroking the swell of her cheek, “I am with you until the end.”

It might almost have been romantic; Wen was already stepping closer to kiss him, in fact, the relief of him living and staying stronger than her need to find a small, quiet place to hide away in. 

But—then Zevran went on talking.

“Provided you do not tire of me first,” her lover said with a foolish little smile, “Or I die. Or you die. But—there you go.”

Arianwen tipped her face against his chest, incapable of speech. Or I die—like it was a joke! Like she hadn’t thought she’d lost him not twenty minutes earlier!

Zevran kissed the top of her head by way of apology. 

Arianwen snorted, then laughed; there was absolutely nothing funny about this, or anything that had just happened. She had killed one of his oldest friends; she’d held his dying body in her arms, incapable of doing a single thing to keep him here. 

And she was desperately, endlessly glad that he was still here to make the stupidest, most ill-timed jokes. Wen tipped her head back and laughed, and laughed, until his mouth caught hers and swallowed the sound of it. 

They stood there kissing for a long time, his lips still tasting strongly of elfroot, until the other two went silent behind them and Wen had to walk away to make sure neither had killed the other. 

But she could feel him still, walking along behind her, watching her back—as he was meant to do, for as long as he’d stay by her side. She had only to reach a hand behind her and he would be within reach, reassuring her—reassuring both of them—that this had not been an end after all. 

“Let us move on,” he said when they neared the others, and Arianwen finally let herself relax.

(For @greypetrel's prompt, "a kiss shared while holding your dying lover." It got away from me a bit, but I hope you enjoyed the pain!! c:)

[cannotflyarc]

sorry for neglecting to finish that starter call --- i promise i will eventually i've just been listening to sea shanties and the g.reat g.atsby musical

[aberooski]

NOT ME ADDING IN SOME IMPLIED STORMSHIPPING TO THE LITERAL E N D OF SONS OF THE STARS (ABBY'S VERSION)(FROM THE VAULT) WHILE I'M MAKING EDITS ✋😭 THEY ARE LITERALLY ONLY IN THE SAME ROOM ONCE AND DON'T EVEN INTERACT I CAN'T KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS 😭😭😭😭

[wizardlyghost]

learned today that last week we made an incredible amount of profit, much more than expected, but this week average sales were down due to being closed for two public holidays so multiple casual employees got their hours cut to make up for the shortfall. i want to bite someone.

[15000bugs]

NEED TO GO HOME AND WRITE SOOO BAD RAHHHHHH

[navarchus]

tag drop me hearties.

[littlestpersimmon]

Hi guys. Am sick rn, but had wanted to post this before I go and sleep.

Some of you may already know that patreon sent out an update that charges anyone using ios to subscribe to artist's patreons 30% more.

I immediately feel this impact mere hours later, and now, days later. I'm hemorrhaging patrons & have less income. It would mean the while world to me if you guys could please reblog this.

If you use the desktop version or the android app? you will not have to pay 30% more. Needless to say this decision of apple has completely fucked me over months and months to come, unless I somehow make up for my loss by other means.

My patreon is only a dollar a month!

I have around 400 exclusive artwork on it :)

I am working on uploading more art there, and more comics once I am done with my current contract as a comic artist.

I am currently partially homeless- so being alive in general is hard ;y; I wanted to focus more of my work on patreon, until this update- I only have one tier.

I am working as hard as I can, every month ♡ I am also the caretaker of three disabled people- as my dad, who used to do all the housework, is now too sick with a swollen liver that could possibly be connected to his heart problems, and my mama who has limited movement- she "died" of sepsis many years ago after giving birth to my sister, and was revived with nerve damage. I don't know the medical terms, but she was brain dead for however long, and was successfully brought back in a different hospital. She was comatose for months; this event has lead to my family losing everything in hospital bills, our car, our house (literally we became homeless) ah. But long story short, I am the only person in my family who works- as my sister is a teenager, and she is autistic with a very, very low frustration threshold, as she is also a picky eater and still going to school! I'm sorry, many of my followers already know this story by now, I have already doxxed myself multiple times trying to avert crisis after crisis, ahaha. But yes. Patreon added to my cart of Sorrows, and would love to have more folks who aren't using apple, or are using android and the web to come on over and maybe enjoy some of my private art up there. I post around 3-6 art a month, if I am lucky 7. I want to keep making art, and my patreon was what was giving me a semblance of stability until that silly update. Sorry for the long post, and I appreciate everyone helping, reblogging, saying kind words to me, praying for me. G-d bless you all, and stay safe

My patreon:

Direct tipping jar:

My print shop!

[hobicakess]

Wonderful World — JJK One-Shot Series

SUMMARY: The world had gone to shit just like many had theorized. The living was not only fighting the dead, but they were also fighting against themselves and each other. Jeon Jungkook has been in the field by himself for months, living off of scraps, his own rules of survival, and barely enough water. Along the way, he finds a ditzy girl spoiled girl ironically Princess and her crusty white dog. He understood they'd be a handful, but he was Jeon Jungkook, and he could handle anything.

RATING: 18+ (im not the momma you are in control of what you consume.)

PAIRING: Jeon Jungkook x Bimbo!reader

CONTENT WARNING: apocalypse!au, gore, blood, ditzy!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual established relationship, jungkook is sighing every three seconds, eventual smut, crusty white dog (yes that's a warning), minor character death, named reader, corrupt dystopian society, meanie jungkook, princess is just a girl, more to be added AUTHORS NOTE: i am back in my zombie apocolyse era!!!! this is heavily inspired by zombie land because i love it sososo much. the post for this story will be in shorts pushing 1k- 3k? words and my ask box is always open to request and thoughts for this series. If you are new to my blog welcome hottie! be sure to check out my other works, you"ll love it over here xxx

Jungkook had strict rules.

Four sips of water a day, only eat when his stomach is cramped to the point of when he couldn't walk, never sleep over an hour, don't let anyone in. He didn't need extra weight slowing him down from his destination. Was he being hard on himself? Maybe. Since losing his group in an unexpected ambush all those months ago he couldn't bring himself to be softer on his habits even if he had more than enough resources to keep him alive and breathing for the year. He was guilty, and angry. Angry at himself and angry at the world for what it had come too. Despite his personal angst Jungkook refused to die holding onto the hope he would finally reunite with his six soulmates.

Another unspoken rule of his was to never walk upon the main roads. Stay away from those maniacs dressed in military clothes and those who drove military trucks. So he stuck to the shadows, camouflage into the trees with stealthy movements. Quick and quiet, never stay in one place longer than two days. He's been in here for at least a day spending that time securing the area and everything around it before he could properly set up his base in the abandoned thrift store he found. Hopefully he could get as much rest as a person could during the end of the world. As he tracked back to his base swiftly moving through the tree-line with the new finds he managed to scavenge. He stopped when he heard a squeal that didn't sound like the parasites that took over the world. Peeking through the green he saw a woman. A frown taking over his handsome features as his eyes rake her clothing.

A tiny pink cropped tank top, tight denim shorts that had jeweled pockets, ripped black fishnets and wedged heels that threw him off more than the unethical outfit. On her back was a clear backpack and inside was a tiny sleeping dog who was unaware of the life or death circumstances their owner happened to be in. Surrounding her were geeks groaning and growling, taking swipes at her. Their only objective is to eat,eat, eat.

Jungkook didn’t deal with other people, for obvious reasons but he was still the selfless Jeon Jungkook who couldn’t turn his back on anyone, especially a woman clearly in need of his help. So he quickly jumped from the trees, holding onto his crow bar tightly and as he approached the woman and the group of zombies.

Until she screeched, "You broke my nail" pulling out a knife from her thigh garter taking down all four of the dead. Breathing heavily she blew a curl from her face as she turned, jumping at the sight of Jungkook's large frame looming over her with his crowbar up as if he was ready to attack her. She squeaks gathering herself into a tiny fighting position as she points her knife at him and he notices the handle was decorated with a dark skinned hello kitty print.

“You’re literally so sexy. I’d let you kill me as long as I’m in a chokehold.” Her big brown eyes trailed to his beefy tattooed and tanned arms causing his eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. Clearing his throat he put his weapon down turning on his thick soled heels back into the ditch disappearing into the greenery. She wasn’t in any danger anymore so he wasn’t needed.

“You know it’s not very nice to leave a lady unattended in the middle of a road especially during an apco-" he was quick to grab her, shoving her down against the tree trunk. He smacked against her mouth, as a group of military men began to drive along the side of the road closest to them. His eyes met her wide ones as she blinked her wispy lashes at him. His gaze trails over the freckles that danced over her button nose, and cheeks, slight blood splatter caked there along with her forehead. She giggles quickly as he removes his hand from her mouth revealing a bright and pearly smile.

"Kinky." his lip curls in annoyance as he turns his back on her again.

“You can’t just leave us! Me and Minnie are great company.” He stopped walking when he heard the name of her dog minnie. Who's been surprisingly quiet through the whole ordeal. Looking over his shoulder at her, he then shaking his head, he continued on taking longer steps.

“Okay I get it silent and boarding, dark and mysterious, tall, tanned, and handsome.She rambled on scurrying behind him.

“Whew you know what hulk- ACK!” a thud echoed through the trees making him turn seeing her fallen to her knees in mud. She sniffles as she tries to stand on her feet, failing miserably only getting her hands dirty in the process.

"They leave me all alone, take my stuff, then I break a freaking nail because of those nasty freaks, now I'm covered in mud following around an avenger who doesn't even. . ."

She's fully sobbing now, fat tears falling down her chubby cheeks as she gives up moving. "Just strike me downnnn"

Again his selfless heart was aching as he winced. He grumbles as he stomps towards her reaching his own hand out for her to take, after all this he couldn't find it in himself to just leave her not now. She sniffles as she looks up at him, then stares at his hand. With another pretty smile she takes it, letting him pull her upright, allowing her to rub her muddy hands on his black tank top with a defeated sigh.

“Thanks Thor.”

Huffing he began walking again this time slower so she wouldn't lose him. As he gets to the brick wall that seperates the forest from the store. She stares up at it and swallows hard. “How are we gonna get up there?”

Rolling his eyes Jungkook pulls his backpack off of his back, throwing it over the wall. He reaches towards her and she gasp, “You are not throwing my precious Minnie over that wall!” Stepping back from him a pout set on her lips. He shrugs and begins to climb up, leaving her there to watch as he disappears over the wall. Pouting and huffing, she removes her backpack from her back, strapping it in the front just in case she falls on her ass. “I'm way too pretty for this”

Scaling the wall she walked along it ignoring Hulks loud huffs and tapping of his boots. That's when she found a hole there big enough for her to fit through happily making her way through.

Jungkook might just leave her there on the other side of the wall. Hopefully she'll use whatever's there in her brain to find her way over the wall with her crusty white dog who he wished he could sleep like. He jumps at the tap on his shoulder turning to her standing behind him hands behind her back as she gave him a closed lip smile puffing the apples of her cheeks rocking back and forth on her wedges. “Guess what hulky.”

He raises a pierced eyebrow as she points in the direction she came from. “Found a hole in the wall!! You didn't even have to climb over silly.”

The happiness in her face fell as Jungkooks face hardened. Storming over to the said hold, cursing. He could have sworn he sweep the whole perimeter. How could this have gotten under his nose? He turns back to you standing pouty and confused. Since the first time meeting him Jungkook opens his mouth to speak.

“Good job princess” his voice deep and hoarse from not using it for months.

"OMG how'd you know my name" She smiles practically bouncing on her feet from the praise and his attention, twirling on a piece of her hair like a school girl with a crush. Shaking his head he turned back to fix the wall.

Inside of the thrift store, Jungkook listened quietly to her ramble about her love for thrifting and how she would rather thrift than online shop. Then he watched her get teary eyed again over not being able to online shop anymore. “It's just not fair!!! Like I was living the most barbie dream girl life, ya know?”

Accepting the tissue he handed to her staring at the sleeping dog in her lap. “Then bam the Internet shuts off, then boom my freaking neighbor tries to eat me.”

“Like I'm just a girl! I'm not fit for this at all.” Blowing her nose into the tissues finishing her tantrum while Jungkook debated on what to say. “I watched you knife four geeks by yourself, I think you're doing pretty good.”

“ Really?”

“Really?”

She giggles sniffing, as she held out her hand. “I’m Princess Marie sorry for the late introduction ‘s very rude.

Clasping his hand into hers, “Jeon Jungkook. Don't worry about it too much.”

His gaze drifted to her bloody broken nail.

“Let's clean this up, kay?”

Eagerly she nodded dark curls bouncing.

“Mmkay kookie”

Jungkook wouldn't admit it out loud but being in the presence of another human being that wasn't trying to kill him was nice. He knew that princess and her crusty dog would be a handful but he was willing to deal with it. Plus he missed being called by his favorite nickname.

- © hobicakess ! do not steal, modify, copy, plagiarize, nor repost any of the works on this blog without given permission!

[peapod20001]

Gbb hhjj

[eccentricallygothic]

When I want to read dark fics, your writing just hits. One of my guilty pleasures recently has been dark!winter soldier stuff and I was hoping you could write one.

If you can, can you make it where Bucky is still the Winter Soldier and finds himself completely enamored with the reader. He stalks her briefly and decides he has to have her. So where it gets dark is mean, brooding soldier kidnaps reader and makes her his housewife. (I’d like to think that some of Bucky’s 40ness is still there along with some good old fashion 50s idealization where he basically molds her into being his perfect little housewife.)

He can still be with hydra or not but this thought has been buzzing around in my head recently and I personally am not good at writing dark fics.

Um, hell yes I can! Also, not me having almost exactly the same idea (it was in my drafts and I totally merged it with yours). Sorry for being late uni kicks my butt hard TT. Also, please note that this is a headcanon kind of situation type deal but apparently there's a limit to how many bullets you can put per post so that's why it looks the way it does! Hope you like it still. Unedited ❤️

Warning(s): Dubcon (just to be safe), stalking, kidnapping, housewife kink, stockholm syndrome, spanking, misogyny, domestic discipline, breeding kink (dash), age gap (I mean, man is over a century old). Contains mature content. Browse at your own discretion. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! 

You are absolutely shit faced as you stumble out the backdoor of the club with two of your girlfriends tangled around each arm. 

You are all giggling, stumbling and slurring out curses, trying to shush each other as you trudge your forms to your apartment complex that is close by because driving is obviously out of question now. 

Were it not for your overly intoxicated state, you would have totally noticed the dark silhouette that stills in the dark alley facing the backdoor. 

The man masked in the darkness tilts his head to the side as he tries to read your party, having gotten caught off guard by the sudden bursting open of the door. 

One of your friends stagger in his direction and he moves back, his labored breaths warm in his mask, watching the girl as she retches her guts out.

Silence follows the wheezes and gags of the girl.

Then there is a sound– a melody in the air.

Soldat feels something stir within himself.

Something his masters did their best to suppress. 

Not that they would be doing any more of that. 

They needed to be alive to do something like that ever again.

His eyebrows furrow as he scans your group for the source of the sound; you. 

You are laughing.

At your friend that is throwing up.

Hands clutching your hurting sides, eyes scrunched, head thrown back, flushed and sweaty face vibrant under the bright moonlight as your hair frames it in the most perfect way possible. 

A shaky breath escapes the man covered in tears and blood of his captors and oppressors.  

His eyes scan your form. 

Beautiful. 

His metal hand clenches into a fist and he makes his resolve almost instantly;

Mine.

Soldat cannot recall much of his past except for a few things like his name.

But he knows that it has been a long, long time. 

And it's time to go home.

But a home is not walls and concrete. 

It is the people that live in it. 

His head is a mess as he scales a wall and follows you to your building, skipping from roof to roof effortlessly with a careful eye on your form.

James had finally broken free against hydra yesterday morning while they were experimenting something more brutal. 

And during the following hours, all various leaders that made the organization what it was were dead.

For what is a structure without its pillars?

He had plundered them single handedly. 

And now he was a slave no more.

James would live, and he would take.

Just as had been taken from him.

You woke up the next morning, sprawled across your bed.

As you winced and sat up, you could swear you had knocked out on the couch last night. 

But since you couldn't teleport, it was probably just a gap in your memory.

Right?

The second sign was the painkillers and water next to you on the bedside table.

The third was the window of your room that was open wide.

But you shook your head as you were behind on your schedule for the day and got on with your busy university student life. 

You should have taken notice of the signs. 

How things would always somehow work out when you were struggling with some sort of a problem. 

Regardless of whatever type of an issue it was. 

Your friends joked about it as Divine Providence. 

And Divine it was, you lived to learn. 

When it happened, it wasn't after a dramatic chase or anything. 

You had simply woken up in a room you had never seen before, tucked in the bed like it had been yours for ages.

What even happened? 

You had finished an assignment before heading to bed for an early class the next morning. 

But now you were timidly surveying the room, more and more panic filling you by the passing second. 

The house is beautiful and bright outside the dark room you had woken up in, big glass windows facing tall trees and various other type of greenery outside. 

A loud gasp escaped you when you were somewhere in the middle of the living room.

You turned around to find a huge and by that you mean, giant man standing a few steps away from you.

You could swear he wasn't there a minute ago.

But now he is towering over you, head tilted to the side as if interacting with something from an outer planet, eyes scanning your form slowly. 

As if he's savouring the sight of you in a…

Your blood runs cold as you look down to realize that you are dressed in a white sundress with yellow and red flowers printed on it.

Your eyes widen in horror.

Because you had been wearing your PJs last night–

Or, rather, the last time you were awake.

Before you can say anything, he extends a hand towards you invitingly, nodding sideways to what seems to be the kitchen. 

Something in his hand glints in the sunlight coming from the windows.

It is when your panicked vision realizes that the hand and the whole arm is made up of metal, your body backs away.

With your mouth agape, you demand shakily.

"Who the hell are you?" 

He sighs. 

"What the hell is this place? Why am I here? What the fuck is going on?!"

The man's features scrunch in disapproval. 

Your choice of words is much unappreciated.

"Good little wives don't ask questions." 

In his angry, fried and entitled delusional mind you are as much in love with him as he is.

Otherwise, why would you just accept all the favours he did for you during all these months he was building a perfect home for the both of you and your future children?

He takes a step in your direction and you leap back.

After a short game of cat and mouse, you are trapped against the glass window.

He is too close. 

There is a heavy looking vase on the table next to you.

The shock on his face is evident.

He hadn't expected you, his wife, such a small and innocent girl to disrespect her husband like this. 

You whimper in horror when he doesn't budge against the decoration piece exploding against his brow bone.

James' eyes narrow as he leans in, a thick stream of blood running down the hurt side of his face.

"Bad girl" and you take off without a second thought.

Thankfully, the door is straight ahead and surprisingly unlocked.

You run without looking back. 

The man is not chasing you like you expected. 

But you don't want to stick around and find out why. 

Though the reason is soon revealed when you race through the little garden and out of the fence door. 

You are looking behind you and at the house so it is not until you are a good distance away from it do you turn your head to look ahead. 

Icy horror pierces its way down your spine.

Sand and palm trees dominate your vision as far as you can see where you are and your right side.

A devastatingly vast ocean washes the shore you are running on from the left side.

That doesn't stop you until your body gives up after a few minutes. 

You ran into the jungle for some cover.

Sobs and tears burst out of you as you collapse on a blanket of leaves.

Your body is weak and confused. 

Many hours pass.

You wander and starve.

You hide and shake.

You tip toe and give up.

There are wild animals all around you.

You can hear them.

It's terrifying. 

So terrifying that when you hear the stranger's voice some time after dusk, you are almost glad.

Are you done? His bright blue eyes that you can make out even in the dim light ask you silently. 

"How'd you even find me?" You were sure you had run a good couple miles.

He refuses to respond until you place your shaking hand in his awaiting metal one. 

"I can smell you" his accent is almost foreign as he pulls you up, frowning at your hurt bare feet. 

It took you hours to get to where you were but it only takes James a few minutes to get you back home. 

"Before I clean you up, I need to punish you." You are baffled. "Good wives don't run away from their husbands." 

He doesn't listen to any of your protests and reason that day or ever.

"Little girls don't know what is right for them. Only their husbands can decide that." 

He thoroughly washes you that night after giving you the worst spanking, paying no mind to your begging and crying.

You are sniffling as you sit on the bathroom counter wrapped up in a towel an hour later, your sore ass buzzing under you.

Your captor is kneeling in front of you as he tends to your hurt feet. 

He tells you your rules as he does so.

"First, you are to always obey me no matter what. Second, your body belongs to me as I am your husband, so you should not try to deny me of it because it will never end well for you. Third, you will respect me or you will live to learn to do so. Four, you will do your chores like a good wife and fulfill your wifely responsibilities. Five, you are to always accept your punishments and thank me for disciplining you after I am through with you, should you choose to break a rule or misbehave. Six, you will not indulge in any activity that can potentially corrupt your little mind. Seven, you will speak with respect and never out of turn. Eight, you are to always greet me when you wake up or if I have been gone a while. Nine, you can try to run. I will never stop you. But when you return home after failing, you will take your punishment obediently. Ten, you must never touch yourself. You are mine and mine alone." 

Since the spanking is still fresh on your skin you panic a little and fear forgetting them.

But you find them pasted on the fridge the following morning because he knew you were too dumb to remember them.

A few days pass before you explode about not being his wife and call him crazy.

"You weren't saying that when I did you all those favours." 

Horror dawns upon you as you realize that it was him all along.

You don't give up easily, though.

You try to run more times than you can keep count.

Every direction, every plan and every map you make proves to be useless.

Because the last time you do so, you realize that you are on a fucking island.

And since there is a dock near the house with the pantry never running low on groceries, James has a means of transport hidden somewhere is no mystery. 

But you don't know when he does it. 

So far you haven't been able to figure out a pattern. 

Either he was right about you being dumb or your captor was really good at staying one step ahead of you.

Anyways, you have no choice but to return to him crushed and sobbing as always.

He is reading something when you collapse between his legs; ready to accept your punishment as you have learnt that hiding and denying only makes it worse. 

James isn't so bad if you follow his rules. 

He is just a kidnapper and a misogynist with dangerous reflexes. 

His face is smug as he puts the book away. You have noticed that he is not as stiff and troubled as he used to be when you first woke up here months ago at this point. 

"How was it, doll?" He loves to hear you talk about it as he bruises your ass. "Any luck?" 

Today, though, something different happens.

You don't know if it's resignation and surrender finally settling in or if you have actually started to like this life.

How James gives you a nod of approval and pats your head rewardingly whenever you follow all your rules without any trouble.

The way he lets you stay up past your bed time (yes you have one because good wives are healthy for their husbands) to read a book or watch a movie.

If you were extra good and talked to him (though he was a man of a few words) and helped him out with a little farming thing he had going on in the backyard/patio, he would even let you sleep in the following morning. 

No stress or pulling yourself through classes and tight budgets.

Just being what he considered good and then whatever you would mention briefly would be in the house within the next few days.

When he is done punishing you, you thank him and apologize according to routine. But then you hug him.

You tell yourself it is due to the sad reality that your torment is your comfort.

Has to be.

You have no choice.

And then something unexpected happens in the course of the next few days. 

While trying to make the best out of this situation, you start to notice the little things, quirks and rituals, habits and mannerisms of this man. 

How he doesn't say anything if he doesn't like a certain ingredient or condiment in something you cooked but pushes it aside to use as compost later.

The way he holds you extra tight some times when he mutters a foreign language in his sleep. 

How he stares at the scary metal arm after a long day while waiting for you to finish up dinner.

Or the way he struggles to hold himself back whenever you are in a close proximity to him because you cried once he crept his hand up your ass in a sexual way. 

You don't get him sometimes.

His morals are as mysterious as him. 

Because he kidnapped you and forced you to be his wife in a '40's way, strips you to spank and humiliate you during punishments, then bathes and comforts you in his own way of silently holding you against his chest in his arms until you calm down.

Your tears don't effect him. 

But then he refuses to touch you sexually after the one time he tried.

It takes you a while to make the most peace that you can with James, but it happens eventually because you don't have a choice.  

The loneliness starts to drive you mad otherwise.

You are helping him with his farming one day when you collapse.

James isn't happy to find out that you haven't had any of your daily water intake for the day. 

After he is sure you are hydrated, it is punishment time because caring for yourself is also a rule you are supposed to never break.

Your ass is red and seething by the time he's done. Everything is pretty much routine except that you don't sit up to apologize and maybe hug him like usual.

Not even when he pats your ass to signal that he's done.

"H- Hubby?" You sniffle as you use the endearment.

It had been a proud discovery of yours.

James always gave in a little whenever you used it.

"Yes, little mouse?" You bite your lips as your thighs tremble.

Fuck.

"Y- You say we are husband and wife…"

"What about it?"

You bite your lip as you push your ass out and towards him, letting your legs part.

"Then why don't we act like it?" James is good at concealing his emotions and showing restraint.

But he can't help the way his cock hardens at the sight your pretty red thighs reveal to him.

Your perfect pussy is glistening with your creamy arousal, the entrance of your vagina blinking to indicate its need to be filled.

Fuck. 

Though James starts off small and slow with his fingers rubbing your cunt, the night ends with him balls deep into your pussy with his length rearranging your organs.

Whatever was left of you to own for him, he does so after that night.

You cannot go on for long without having some sort of physical proximity to him.

The sex is wild and it's amazing with his stamina. 

It is also instrumental in bringing you two closer than ever. 

James opens up to you slowly, but only when you ask about it.

You had done so in the past as well. 

But since it's genuine curiosity now, he feels comfortable telling you all about it.

It is a lot for you to take in and you almost don't believe him until he shows you some of his belongings from his time.

Things drift on as smoothly for a while as the waves outside your house.

And then comes the ultimate test. 

Which decides the course of your future with him.

He is still asleep one morning when you wake up.

It isn't a usual occurrence. 

But you had introduced him to comics lately and he had been obsessed with them despite claiming that they were too childish and unrealistic. 

While he had a metal arm himself…

You adjust the quilt before getting ready for the day and heading out to make breakfast. 

It is when you realize in panic that there aren't any apples left even though James had asked you to make a grocery list (that started when he started trusting you more) and you had assured him that you had enough apples for a while.

"I am gonna get the hairbrush today, I swear to God!" You mutter to yourself as you rush through the house like a headless chicken. 

Thankfully, your garden had an apple tree so you could save yourself from a breakfast spanking at the very least.

But something standing next to the dock catches your attention before you can the apples you try to budge free from their branches.

A motorboat. 

Before you can decide what you think of it, you are standing next to it on the dock.

It has fuel and a map. The key is in the ignition.

You narrow your eyes and feel your head splitting. 

A lot goes through your mind.

Flashbacks play before your eyes.

It is almost a full circle moment. 

And then you are standing in front of James who is seated on a stool next to the kitchen counter you use for dining. 

His head is lowered as he sips on his coffee and stabs at the breakfast you prepared with a fork.

"Hubby?" Your captor freezes before he slowly looks up at you. 

The blue of his eyes is troubled. He is in disbelief. As though he wasn't expecting you to be standing here.

"There is a boat outside. Do you think someone could be–" 

"You didn't leave." His voice is heavy. 

"What kind of a wife leaves her home?"

You two just stare at each other for a while. 

No words exchanged.

Then, for the first time ever, James gets up and hurriedly closes the distance between you two, enveloping you in his arms before pushing you against the wall behind you.

"I felt so angry and wronged that I thought I could take anything because I deserved it after everything that happened to me but… I love you too much, mouse."

He has never spoken this earnestly before.

"I just realized that I do too."

James kisses you passionately before you wrap yourself around him and close your eyes blissfully. 

He tightens his own arms around you gladly.

He would have hated to end up back on square one with you had you chosen to try and escape. 

The boat would have blown up a small fuse that would have been loud enough for his enhanced hearing if someone– you, were to turn the keys in the ignition.

Yes, he wasn't expecting you to be back but only too soon.

It was a test and you passed. 

As always, James stuck to his ways and rewarded you for being such a good wife. 

By giving you a ring, a new wardrobe and a baby that was the first of many to come.

.

What do you think hAH-

[girllblogging777]

𝑇𝑈𝑁𝐸𝐷 𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝑇𝐸𝑁𝑆𝐼𝑂𝑁 ⋆·˚ ༘

↳ mattheo riddle x fem! reader short drabble (not related to my series)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 0,3k

✩✩✩✩

“are you seriously saying you’d pick radiohead over deftones ?” mattheo asked with a shocked expression on his face, his hands clutched against his chest as if he was on the verge of a heart attack.

“i’m just saying radiohead is absolutely NOT overrated and you’re lying to yourself if you think that it is !” you replied, with your tone slightly more angry.

you were currently sitting on the floor of his dorm room, shuffling through his cd collection as he watched you from the bed. the two of you had been bantering for hours about music and everything else you disagreed on as the rain was pouring outside, leaving you in a cozy and comforting atmosphere.

“deftones is much more consistent,” the brunette boy continued, dead set on trying to knock some music taste into you “and white pony is better than all radiohead albums combined.” you gasped, looking up from the cd shelf

“you did not just say that ! what about the bends ? in rainbows ? ok computer ? you can’t say anything about ok computer ! ” you declared and he laughed from his spot against the headboard.

“nope, white motherfucking pony is a masterpiece.” he ignored your previous remarks before you cut him off “it’s good, but around the fur and saturday night wrist-“ you started before he shouted

“stop it ! i won’t hear a word of what you have to say. seriously, how can you be so wrong all the time ?”

“i am not !” the ridiculous argument you two were having was the last thing on your mind when you looked up and saw him nonchalantly leaning back against the headboard, his curls slightly bouncing when he shaked his head.

“yes you are ! you’re the only person i know who managed to have the same music taste as me in artists but not in songs and it’s irritating, i swear.” you scoffed at mattheo’s pissed of demeanor and didn’t bother answering him, leaving you in a comfortable silence for quite some time.

truth is, he couldn’t care less about your different opinions in music. he did, however, care about the way the two of you had been here for hours chatting about anything and everything in the most casual way possible. he’d never felt so good around someone before, and he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that your simple presence was enough to make his head spin. you were siting cross legged on the floor, your hair perfectly framing your beautiful face as you looked through the cds, and he knew he’d give up listening to deftones for the rest of his life if it meant having you like this.

✩✩✩✩

a/n : the next part of the “untouchable” series is a wip but i just wanted to post that in the meantime. please like/comment & reblog !!! love you <3

@iris-qt @reys-letters @mattheosdior @shiftingwithmars @fluffycookies22 @tateshifts @fbvreadingblog @moonlightreader649 @bellatrix-lestrange5 @myunperfektstorys @redeemingvillains @helendeath @elsie-bells @justscrollinthrough @larmesdevanille @jolly4holly @yikesitslush @pizzaapeteer @eneywey @dexoq @icantkeepmyplantsalive

[nouvellevqgue]

✦ MISS CRAZY CAT LADY, M. VERSTAPPEN

when he dates her, everybody just know that his girlfriend is a crazy cat lady.

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦

yourusername

liked by florencepugh and 529,610 more

yourusername it's been 1095 mornings ever since marc joins me in bed. and so much more to come<3 🎂🐈

view all 1,608 comments

username HE'S SO BIG ALREADY!!

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yourusername added a photo to their story!

caption: just watched spiderman last night with jimmy and sassy (also max) but he's gone the whole movie, so i decided to surprise him😉

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1 and 641,332 more

yourusername i'm fine, and he just get his the bath on his life (arguably). but i promise we're good 😄👍

view all 390 comments

username jimmy be honest what are you saying to her until she make this

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maxverstappen1 added a photo to their story!

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc and 969,573 more

maxverstappen1 it's been 8766 days since my crazy cat lady is being born!! happy birthday, lovely. more and more hours to be with you🫶🏻🫶🏻🎂🥳

view all 461 comments

username she looks high already😂😂

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liked by maxverstappen1

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⤷ maxverstappen1 nobody knows

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[riverthebooknerd]

i feel like all the mcu fans who haven't watched the daredevil show seem to think that he's just. a fucking mentally stable dude? a badass vigilante who is definitely not fucked up in the head? and i cannot stress how incorrect that is /aff

you. yes, you, the mcu fanfic writer who thinks that matthew micheal murdock has his shit together. i am grabbing you by the shoulders. you see that smile of his? that cocky little lawyer smirk that says, "i am so put together and sexy and my life is great"?

this one? it's a fucking lie (minus the sexy part)

underneath that suit he has 12 fractured ribs 7 punctured lungs 18 ruptured spleens, he's mentally straining under the weight of his enormous catholic guilt, he's ghosting 15 nurses who genuinely just don't want him to fucking die, he's in love with his best friend, he has 9 court cases the next day, he hasn't slept in 378 hours, he's running on 26 solid cups of coffee and cheap chinese takeout, he's hallucinating his dead dad, and he's probably debating murder and/or sewerslide.

this man may be an absolute slut, manboss manwhore murdock if you will, but do NOT mistake him for someone with his shit together. please, for the love of god. if he has his shit together in the new daredevil show coming out this year, i will genuinely be shocked.

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