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stuckonstarker · 1 year

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It was Peter’s first day in this biochemistry class and he was already having the worst time. The seating arrangement was so that four people would sit at a table. Most of the tables in the room already had at least one person sitting at them.

Peter walked past, avoiding the other students’ perceived glares. He had flashbacks to high school, where most kids avoided him like the plague.

This was even worse. He didn’t even have Ned to fall back on, since they went to different colleges.

Peter picked a seat in the very back, mostly due to it being the only table with no one at it.

Optimistically, or more accurately, naively, he hoped that once the Professor started the lecture things would be better. He was dreadfully wrong.

Peter was alone at his table when class officially started. He tried to ignore the sharp sting in his chest as he realized he was the only one sitting alone.

Even worse, the professor was awful. They spent most of the time going through slides, barely explaining them, and moving on too quickly to take meaningful notes. They droned on and on about the unimportant things.

Peter sighed. Was attendance really mandatory for this? Three hours of a man who had long since checked out going over the textbook word-for-word. Great.

Just then, as Peter was lamenting dropping the class altogether, someone barged into the classroom.

He moved forward confidently and without care. He examined the room briefly before striding over to the empty seat next to Peter. He plopped down and whispered, “I’m Tony.”

“Peter.” He whispered it soft as a mouth. But judging by Tony’s nodding, he heard. Peter was silently thankful that at least someone sat next to him. Even if that someone entered like a drama queen.

The class moved on with the same boring slideshow that did nothing to further Peter’s education.

“This guy’s a total hack,” Tony whispered.

Peter laughed softly, a breath would more accurately describe it. “I can’t believe I’m paying for this,” he responded.

Tony said, “Shit, you should totally drop the class then. My dad’s paying for mine. It’s mostly for show.”

“Aren’t you lucky.”

“Hey,” Tony said, “if you wanna deal with my dad’s raging bullshit, I’ll call him up right now.”

Peter said, “Wanna trade? I don’t have a dad.”

“Oh, damn, that’s a low blow.”

“And I don’t have a mom.”

“Double whammy,” Tony said, making an over-the-top grimace. “You win,” he said.

Peter smiled, “Didn’t know it was a competition.”

“Everything’s a competition with me.”

“Are you two done?” The Professor called out, putting a spotlight on them. As if they were even teaching in the first place. Everyone’s eyes landed on them in an instant.

Peter’s face went piping hot immediately. He knew, from experience, he must’ve been the shade of strawberries.

Tony called back, “Just give us another minute, please.”

Students around him either snickered or glared. Tony didn’t seem to mind either way.

The professor raised their brows, “Mr. Stark, is it? You’re very lucky to have a father who can pay for your education. Not everyone has that opportunity.” The professor gave a pointed look at Peter, “Isn’t that right, Mr. Parker?”

Peter opened his mouth, to apologize probably, but Tony beat him to the punch.

“Taking this class is the furthest thing from luck I’ve ever experienced.” Tony asked, “Do you even know how to teach? Or do you just know how to press the arrows on your keyboard?”

Peter had to admit, Tony was being a raging asshole. But, something about that was charming. Peter kept his mouth shut and his head down, but Tony could afford to be more bold. And that enticed Peter in a very dangerous way.

The professor only shook their head and continued with the lecture. If you could call it a “lecture.”

Tony leaned back in his chair.

“You’re acting like a highschooler,” Peter said.

Tony said, “I should be in high school.”

“What?”

Tony paused, then said, “I’m technically supposed to be a senior in high school but I got high enough scores they let me into college early.”

“That’s awesome!” Peter whispered.

Tony gave Peter a look. Quietly, he said, “Thank you.”

Peter was beyond thankful when that class ended. He was definitely going to try and drop it.

He walked through the campus, looking for his busted up, piece of junk car.

“Peter!”

He stopped. Was someone calling for him? No, he didn’t really know anybody on campus.

“Peter!”

Okay, someone was definitely calling for him. He turned and saw Tony jogging toward him.

“Hi, Tony,” Peter said with a smile.

Tony gave a breathless laugh, “Hi.” He had his hands on his knees, lurched over. He looked like he might puke.

Peter reached toward him, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Tony said, waving his hand and shaking his head. He took a deep breath. He stood up, but staggered a little.

Peter laughed a little, both out of built up nervousness and amusement at Tony’s behavior.

Tony said, “We should go out sometime.”

Peter smiled. He was about to say, Sure! That sounds fun. But, like a train colliding with a bus, Peter wondered if Tony was hitting on him. No, he thought, that’s a very vain thing to think. And asking Tony for clarification would be awkward.

“What do you mean by out?” Peter asked.

Tony said, “You know... you, me, out.”

“How old are you?”

Tony looked up at him with hopeful brown eyes, “Eighteen?”

“You’re not eighteen,” Peter said. It was obvious.

Tony said, “I’ll be eighteen in a few months.”

“Tony, I’m twenty,” Peter said.

Tony said, “Don’t make me beg. Cause I will.”

“Tony-”

“Do you want me to beg?” Tony said, “Fine, I’ll beg.” He got down on his knees and clasped his hands in front of Peter, mimicking a prayer almost. He said, “Peter Parker, please go out with me. Please. I’ll do anything.”

People walking by gave them unusual looks, but Tony wasn’t affected in the slightest. He just continued his pleas.

Peter felt like he was going to combust. So, to end his humiliation, he said, “Fine! Fine, just stand up already.”

Tony popped up easily and smiled, “Here’s my number. I’ll text you the details.” Then, like that, he was gone.

Peter looked at the hastily scribbled number and wondered, What the fuck just happened?

#starker #max writes #ignore my total lack of biochem class knowledge #im an english major ok #should i put on ao3

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dayseedrawz2 · 2 months

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This is gonna be in my drafts until I at least get out every design for [Ring-Misstress] so Idk how much time I got-

So yeah I decided that I'm gonna write this AU in chapters so that it makes more sense when I make content about it, and yall can ask about it ig-

This all takes place after the events of the real series (that of which we have yet to see, so anything different can just be part of an alternate timeline)

Without further ado... Let's get to it!!

[R-M Chapter 1: The Relaunch]

Dialog guide:

Narration

*Perfoming an action*

"Thinking"

Pomni

•Caine•

°○Bubble○°

◆Ragatha◆

Jax

~Gangle~

Kinger

Zooble

Flinally!! After what felt like forever!!! With help from the others, Pomni and Caine found something groundbreaking!! The Games source code! Mostly, everyone was there to look for the exit, but they ended up finding something else...

*sigh* There's nothing here... can we go back now??

Yeah, honestly, this was a complete waste of time...

◆Come on now, guys! I'm sure they know what they're doing!◆

~Wait, look! They're back out!!~

*Pomni and Caine exit a jumble of One's and Zero's*

It's not much, but I think we found something!! But... I'm just not sure what it is... *She hands a small glitching object to Caine*

•Huh... It's... it's a developer's note! I haven't come across one of these in a while!•

Wait, what!?

Oh dang, that's right, it forgot this was even a video game-

~What's it say??~

*Silence fell as Caine read the text out loud*

•Let's see... "With the noticeable decrease in 'Bugged characters', the game should be ready for relaunch soon!" Oh...•

What... does "Oh" mean..?

•...huh? Oh yes! Uh, you all know how we have a designated place for Abstractions so that they don't destroy the place... and you?? How you have helped prevent some altogether?•

Yes..?

•Well I only implemented it after people stopped working on this game. They still think the game is okay to publish!!•

And? This is great news!! People play the game, realize we are stuck in here, and then we get help!! What are you yapping about??

•That's the thing- If more people, who for one are mostly children, come across this, they won't be able to help, and if worse come to worse, get trapped with us!•

◆oh... oh my, that does sound awful...◆

•Normally I'd be ecstatic, but I don't think it would be good if that many more people got trapped at once... let alone kids...•

Gee, missing kids in a video game. How tragic...

~Hey!~

•Wait, there's something else on here to- a "debugging code??"•

Did someone say something about Bugs??

•No, far from it... hey... this is a copy of the code for my "Ringmaster powers!" Interesting...•

Really? That's what you call em??

•Why yes!! What else could they be?? Anyways... now what do we do about this approaching situation of ours...•

Well, we're not just gonna have a ton more people in here being watched by one incompetent AI!

•... You're absolutely right, Pomni dear! Your little remark had given me an idea that might just work! Now... just how does one copy this...•

To be continued...

[Yippee, finally!! Part 1 done!!]

The second part is right here! (As well as the link to Caine and Pomnis blogs!):

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc caine #caine #tadc pomni #showtime #tadc showtime #caine x pomni #tadc jax #tadc ragatha #tadc gangle #tadc zooble #tadc kinger #[ring misstress au]#tadc au

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claraameliapond · 7 months

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The Indigenous Voice Referendum Australia 2023

Floored and devastated

repulsed at the racist selfishness of the no voters

It had NOTHING TO DO WITH THEM.

This is NOT who we are

Although it's a comforting narrative that no voters and conservatives are dying out - and will gradually have less and less pull

Firstly - It's too gradual to just wait it out

And Secondly- It's foolish to think that's only where these no votes are coming from

Younger less educated people are part of this too

Ignorant and arrogant - and selfish- that's what less education translates to.

This highlights, more than ever, how important it is to have strict policies in place legally for managing misinformation, fear mongering and propaganda spreading

We need laws about media monopolies and restricting or banning them altogether

Because one agenda from a multimillion dollar media monopoly cannot have majority access to inform a whole country. Especially because they were intentionally running interference with the simplest truth - they threw everything at it - spreading misinformation, blatant repulsive, violent lies - totally made up lies, not even remotely connected to what was being proposed. It's heartbreaking they could invent such lies and then spread those repulsive invented lies so fully and have people believe them.

And less educated people are always more vulnerable to propaganda: they believe hatred without a second thought. They don't fact check. They don't research. They don't make sure. Any excuse to flaunt their selfish racist self interest, against anyone else who might actually be more vulnerable, worse off.

However, That's the thing about this referendum - IT WASNT "US AGAINST THEM"

It was just : do we all agree that indigenous Australians should get to share information and advice with the government about how best to provide the care and facilities we already provide to them. So they work. Because they haven't been. So it would be a good use of money and then we can achieve permanent results and solutions for those issues and then move on, and do different things with that money. To actually move forward with this and not be stuck in stasis with things not improving.

That was literally all it was

It still is an issue now.

Don't loose hope

I'm still proud of all of the Yes voters- there were a good amount of us - and we will continue to turn the tide from ignorance and misinformation to the truth.

We've got to keep going 💪🏻 🙌🏻 👏🏻 🙏🏻

And now we have a more accurate idea of how to do that , and what needs to be fixed with people's understanding of this in our country. We can use this information to succeed

Ironically - doing exactly what the referendum was about : getting more accurate information to better help vulnerable communities of indigenous Australia.

But apparently, we've got to deal with the misinformed tantrum havers first - they make everything an "us against them" even when it literally wasn't. It doesn't affect anyone else. It could only have been positive. They make every issue an "us against them " even when it has literally nothing to do with them, because everything's a tantrum if it's not about them.

We've got accurate information now - just not about the people we were expecting : we know how to combat the racist minformation spreaders, and those who believed them.

What we need is :

Real limits and legal consequences on misinformation spreading, fear mongering and propaganda

Real limits on media monopolies and restrictions from letting them operate the way they do.

AND we do have to continue to combat this misinformation and propaganda whenever it is paraded near us. Respond with the truth, and make sure you ALWAYS RESPOND.

Don't let them think they're right.

Respond simply and calmly with the truth.

I'm sorry we have to do this but we do.

I don't want to be anywhere near those people, but if they identify themselves- we have to respond.

Respond and correct them.

Their idiocy can not and does not rewrite the truth. We are right and the truth of what this is, always was and what we need to do still exists

A few sources to begin to understand this:

A breakdown of who voted what where

Interpreting these results properly - this is well worth a read

I am looking forward to seeing the full count when it's ready. Make sure to look at those things - from Official sources.

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO VOTED YES

I stand proudly with you on the side of truth. Empathy. Morality. Justice

We have a more accurate idea of what's going on now: let's get to work

Also thank you to MC HAMMER for supporting and encouraging and campaigning for people to vote yes. That was lovely.

It really was a very simple thing - the truth is still the truth and we will succeed

Love and strength to us all

By goodness we need it

Xxxx🤍🖤🧡❤🤍🖤🧡❤💗💖💜💕💕💓💗

My heart was so full when I voted yes - it's an obvious yes

And it still is

Because YES is the truth

It is what is needed.

Still.

And we will achieve it xxxxx

#The VOICE #THE VOICE REFERENDUM #AUSTRALIA #YES23 #AUSTRALIAN REFERENDUM #PSA #The INDIGENOUS AUSTRALIAN VOICE #VOTE YES #THANK YOU FOR VOTING YES #Let's keep going #It's still the truth #We will achieve it #Antony Green #Referendum 2023 #MC HAMMER #KINDNESS #LOVE #SOLIDARITY

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pickalilywrites · 1 month

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Levi plans to asks out Petra for Valentines day, but Zeke beats him to it. Feeling upset by it, he stays in, but receives a call from Petra herself asking if she could come over after a terrible date with Zeke.

last one. thanks for waiting :)

right here waiting

rivetra. high school au. 2689 words

Once again, Levi misses the entrance to “Wings of Freedom,” a song he and his friends have rehearsed at least a hundred times by now. He knows the song by heart, but he keeps coming in half a beat early because his mind is elsewhere. Mike and Hanji are about to keep going, but Levi makes a rewinding gesture with his finger to signal them to go back to the beginning even though this is the fifth time tonight he’s messed up the beginning. This isn’t even the first song Levi’s messed up. They’ve been at it for an hour already and the entrances that Levi hasn’t missed have been sung with flat notes and were completely void of feeling. At this latest mistake, Mike and Hanji exchange looks.

Rather than strumming the opening chords once more, Hanji tucks their pick into the strings of their guitar. “Do you want to take a break, Levi? You seem kind of out of it. It’s not like we don’t practice every other day. We could take tonight off,” they suggest.

“I’m not out of it. I’m fine,” Levi snaps perhaps more harshly than he intended based on the eyebrow that Mike raises. He’ll feel guilty about it later and give Hanji a belated apology once he’s in a better mood. Thankfully, his friend knows about his moods enough not to mind. With a sigh, Levi rubs his face and says more calmly, “It’s fine. Let’s just take it from the top again.”

Mike has already set his drumsticks aside and stretches his arms above his head. “Nah, let’s take a break. I could use one, and you’re in one of those moods again. Might as well just call it a night so you can spend the night being grumpy about Zeke and Petra without any distractions,” he says as Hanji snickers.

“There’s no Zeke and Petra,” Levi snaps reflexively even though he should be denying that he’s grumpy about them in the first place.

The drummer of their band has hit the nail on the head, though. Levi’s been in a horrible mood leading up to today. It’s not that he hates Valentine’s Day. Most years he doesn’t pay any attention to it, but this year is different because he had plans. He had only failed to act upon them fast enough and suddenly Petra had been swept away on a date by someone else. To make things worse, the person who had asked Petra out before Levi could get the question out of his mouth is Zeke Jaeger, the most pretentious asshole in their school. It’s enough to make Levi swear off all subsequent Valentine’s Days altogether.

“I mean, there’s kind of a Zeke and Petra,” Hanji says. They pull up a chair and sit backwards on it, their arms resting on the back of the chair. “They’re going out tonight. They’ve probably had dinner at a nice, swanky restaurants, the ones that cook the steaks right in front of you. But should you really feel bad? If Petra’s going out with someone like Zeke Jaeger, you have to question her taste in men. Maybe you dodged a bullet.”

Mike shakes his head. “It’s not her fault. That guy is charming as fuck. He really buttered me up talking about indie bands. Just when I thought we were being great friends, he asked me if I could lend him my history homework because he forgot to do it last night. He knows how to get people to like him. He’s insidious,” Mike says.

“SAT word,” Hanji says, throwing up a hand to air high-five Mike.

“Did you give him your homework?” Levi asks Mike.

“... yes,” Mike admits reluctantly.

“Tch.”

“He’s really charismatic!” Mike protests as Hanji cackles.

“Well, I guess that’s true. It’s hard not to like him when he’s directed his attention towards you. The dude is charming and sociable, pretty much everything you’re not,” Hanji says to Levi who scowls in reply. Hanji should probably stop talking now if they want to avoid Levi’s ire, but somehow they’ve never felt the need to watch Levi’s temper. “I guess it’s not really Petra’s fault in the end. Does she even know you’re interested in her? If you really wanted to pursue her, you should have asked her out before Zeke. She probably went with him because she didn’t think you were interested in dating her.”

“It’s fine. It’s whatever. It’s over now, so can we just ... practice or whatever?” Levi asks because he doesn’t want to talk about it right now or ever. He’d really like to just play music the entire night, but he knows that his lack of concentration is going to make any rehearsal difficult. He hears Mike and Hanji start up the first few bars of “Wings of Freedom” once more, but they play half-heartedly, their own morale affected by Levi’s bad mood. In the end, Levi lets out a tired sigh and sits on the couch in the corner of the garage and curls up with the notebook he and the others use to scrawl lyrics when they’re brainstorming.

The walls of the garage reverberate from the drum beats that Mike practices, a low, syncopated rhythm that pulses against Levi’s ear. Hanji is strumming away softly, practicing a different song. As they play, they hum the countermelody to a song that is still in their drafts. The noise is something that would probably distract other people from writing new music, but Levi is used to it by now and filters it out, allowing it to fade into the background of his mind as he fiddles with his pencil and stares at a blank page. He doesn’t write a word on it but he can already see the words “I’m sorry” scribbled over and over the page in his own handwriting.

He’s not sure why his own hesitation is preventing him from asking Petra out. They’re just words, and the worst thing she can do is say no. At least he believed that was the worst thing that could happen. It turns out that not doing anything and having the worst person in the world ask out the girl he likes instead is the worst thing that can happen. But if Levi is too much of a coward to ask Petra out, does he even deserve to go out with her in the first place? Maybe he should resign himself to being a pathetic loner for the rest of his life.

Levi is still moping on the couch when his phone vibrates. Without looking at the screen, he picks up. “What is it?”

There’s a crackle on the other end and the sound of cars passing by. The person on the other side doesn’t speak, just makes a noise like sniffling, and for a moment Levi wonders if he’s being prank called. He has half a mind to just hang up when he suddenly hears Petra’s voice.

“L-Levi, can you c-come pick me up?” she asks, her voice breaking towards the end.

He’s already off the couch and grabbing his jacket off, shrugging it on while still keeping the phone to his ear. “Yeah, of course. Let me know where to pick you up. I’ll leave right now,” he says, ignoring the curious looks he’s receiving from his bandmates. He nods as Petra tells him the address and lets her know that he’ll be there soon before hanging up.

“Was that Petra?” Hanji asks, interest piqued. They’ve stopped strumming on their guitar. They’re too excited to stand still, bouncing up and down on the balls of their feet. It’s obvious from the expression on their face that they want to extract as much information from Levi as possible but they’re withholding questions so as to not hold Levi back from the task at hand. “Levi, go to her!”

Levi’s hand is on the doorknob already. “I’m going,” he scowls.

“Go to her, Levi!” Mike echoes with a grin on his face.

“Go to her! Go to her!” Hanji and Mike call as Levi runs out.

⑅ ♥̩̥̩♥̩̩̥͙♥̩͙ˊˎ

Levi isn’t surprised when he pulls up to the address that Petra has given him. It’s Giovanni’s, one of those steakhouses that people dress up to go to and where the chefs cook the steaks right in front of you. It’s on the other side of town where most of the upscale restaurants and stores are. Levi’s never been in this area except to drive right past it, but it’s a neighborhood that suits the tastes of a rich, privileged, pretentious surgeon’s son like Zeke.

As he pulls up to the restaurant, he sees Petra waiting outside, shivering in the cold even though she has a perfectly good men’s blazer folded over her arm. She had taken the time to dress up for the dinner. She’s wearing a off-shoulder cocktail dress made of a rich, red satin with matching heels, and her ginger hair has been curled immaculately to frame her face. She must have been wearing makeup earlier, but the only evidence of it is the faint red that still stains her lips. Her eyes are still red from crying, but her expression turns from sadness to relief when she sees Levi’s beat-up car pull into a parking spot.

She hurries to the car, heels clicking against the pavement, and slips inside. As soon as she gets in, she crumples into the seat. She doesn’t cry, but she’s taking deep breaths as she tries to compose herself. After a while, she says shakily, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay” is all Levi says and he pulls out of the parking lot and starts on the long ride home. He should have turned on the radio so Petra wouldn’t feel self-conscious about crying if she needs to, but there’s too high a chance of radio stations marathoning love songs so he decides silence is the best option. Periodically, he glances at Petra, but she keeps her head down so that her hair covers her face. In her lap sits the blazer folded nicely as her fingers pick off invisible lint.

They’re stopped at a stoplight when something compels Levi to make conversation.

“You look pretty,” he tells Petra, and he regrets it instantly. It’s not like him to hand out compliments for free.

“Yeah, pretty fucking pathetic,” Petra says with a self-deprecating laugh. It’s only now that she lifts her head, brushing her hair away from her face. She leans against the side door, one arm resting on the elbow rest while her cheek is pressed against her hand. Even miserable, she looks beautiful. “This isn’t how I imagined the evening was going to turn out.”

He wonders how she thought the evening was going to turn out. She probably thought Zeke was going to take her home, maybe kiss her on the doorstep, and then make their relationship official by announcing it to the school on Monday morning. God, the thought of it makes him sick.

“He left me at the restaurant,” Petra continues without any prompting from Levi. She looks more angry than miserable now, her brows furrowed in frustration as she tries to understand why the night had taken a turn for the worse. She glances at Levi from the corner of her eye to gauge his expression as she recounts the night. “We were having a good time, at least I thought so. He took me to such a nice place, and I dressed up for it, too. We both had the steak and the waiter even said we were such a beautiful couple.”

Here, she doesn’t notice the slight grimace on Levi’s face.

“And then he got a call from someone. I didn’t think much of it, although looking back now it was really rude of him to pick up someone else’s call while he was on a date with me, especially since it wasn’t an emergency or anything,” Petra says. The more she speaks, the more she fiddles with the blazer sitting on her lap. She rubs the fabric of the sleeve between her fingers anxiously. “He came back after his call — and we had just ordered a dessert to split between us — and told me had to leave for a party. That junior for Paradis University he interviewed with for admissions called him and invited him to a party, said it was good for an incoming freshman to network with people and get a taste of university life outside of just the academics.”

“Hmm,” Levi hums as he listens. He doesn’t like a single word he hears. Listening to anything regarding Zeke usually annoys him, but everything Petra has just said is making his blood boil over. He tries to keep his voice calm and level as he asks, “He couldn’t have taken you? Or at least driven you home?”

“I wasn’t invited. He said it would make me uncomfortable if I went because I wouldn’t know anyone. Never mind that he doesn’t know anyone aside from the person who interviewed him,” Petra says bitterly. She rolls up the blazer now and sets it beside her instead of letting it take up space on her lap. “The party was at a house near the campus. It’s the complete opposite direction of where we live, so Zeke asked me to call one of my friends to pick me up so he could just drive there right away. And then he left me there.”

“Asshole.”

“I know!” Petra says, and it gives Levi a level of satisfaction that she agrees with him. She turns to Levi now, her hands on the arm rest between them. “He didn’t even wait for the dessert to come either. He just peeled out of there and I had to pay the bill, too.”

Levi has always known Zeke was terrible, but everything Petra tells him makes Zeke look exponentially worse. It’s like there’s no limit to how awful that asshole can be. He’s gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles have turned white.

“He told me he’d pay me back on Monday and then left me with his stupid jacket,” Petra sighs. She flicks the blazer beside her with a finger and then turns away to look out the window again. “I spent an hour crying in the bathroom before I called you. One of the waitresses felt bad for me and snuck me an extra dessert. God, I’m so pathetic.”

“It’s not you,” Levi tells her. “Zeke just sucks. You deserve better. You deserve someone who respects you and treats you right. You deserve someone who doesn’t make you blame yourself when he’s the one being a shithead.”

Petra laughs half-heartedly and Levi’s words, but she does seem in better spirits than she was earlier this evening. “If you ever find a guy like that, let me know. Tell him I’ll be right here waiting.”

Levi wants to be that guy. He wants to be the guy that’s better. He wants to be the one to take Petra to dinner, the one to never abandon her. He wants to be the one that Petra deserves and the one that deserves her, but he’s not sure if he is. All this time he’s been right here waiting to see if he is the right person, but he’s not sure he wants to sit around waiting anymore.

“Do you want to get ice cream?” he asks Petra. He sees her look at him in surprise and he shrugs in response. “It’s too shitty to end your night like this. Let’s get ice cream.”

Petra purses her lips, the corners of her mouth turning upward. “I’d like that a lot,” she tells Levi and then sits back in her seat. Her head is turned toward the window once more, but Levi can see the smile on her face in the reflection.

He decides he won’t hesitate any longer. He’s tired of being a coward. Once Petra has gotten over Zeke, Levi plans to shoot his shot. Until then, he’ll be right here waiting patiently.

#rivetra #levi ackerman #petra ral #snk #high school au #hs au #asks #answered #anon #anonymous #requests

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winchesterszvonecek · 8 months

Note

TYSM for doing this Otis deserves more love and attention it’s about time someone takes Proper action ! Not just saying they love Otis but then get “overwhelmed” when people actually request for him.

"CAN WE TALK ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED?" PROMPTS

* assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

•i wish you would just look at me for two seconds.

Otis x fem pls ❤️

Can We Talk About What Happened? - [ Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek ]

Prompt: “I wish you would just look at me for two seconds.”

Word Count: 1487

Warnings: female!reader, little angst, fluff

A/N: i feel like i’ve missed something from the first part of your ask but i’m just glad i can help provide other otis fans like me with the content he deserves

Masterlist | Otis Masterlist

You’d never felt more embarrassed in your whole life. You’d never done something so stupid before but then again, you’d never been that drunk either. You hadn’t meant to drink so much but when people were handing you shots left right and centre, you just kept downing them… and downing them… until the next thing you knew you’d snuck into the kitchen of Molly’s behind Otis and you kissed him.

You kissed Otis. What the hell had you been thinking, allowing yourself to be so open like that? You always knew you liked him. You liked him a lot. He was cute. Funny. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d dreamt about him, but you never thought you’d ever do anything about it, not when he’d never so much as given you a hint that he liked you back. And to make matters worse, it appeared as though he didn’t as the second your lips touched his, he pushed you away.

The second you felt his hands on your shoulders. The second the words ‘what the hell are you doing?’ left his lips, you knew you’d gone and royally fucked up beyond repair. You couldn’t even look at him. Couldn’t be near him. The entire shift afterwards you’d avoided him. If he was in the bunk room, you went to the common room. If he was in the common room, you went to the bunk room. Hell, at one point you even sat in the bullpen with Connie and helped her do paperwork as a way to get away from him.

You couldn’t believe you’d allowed yourself to be so stupid and ruin what the two of you had. You’d always been close. Best friends really and yet you’d allowed yourself to get so drunk that you couldn’t seem to repress your feelings for him anymore. You tried to act like you didn’t remember it but you did. How could you forget the way he so blatantly shot you down, breaking your heart in the process. No, you felt ridiculed. Disgusted with yourself. Full of regret. And honestly, you were very tempted to hand in a pink slip just so you could transfer out of fifty-one altogether.

You knew there was no getting out of this one. No way to laugh it off and pretend it didn’t mean anything, even though to you it did. Which is why instead of sleeping like everyone else, you were sitting outside on the firehouse apron, wondering whether or not you should hand in that pink slip that you’d hidden away at the back of your locker. As at this point, that seemed like the only answer.

The air outside was crisp and cold. The moonlight shone brightly as you stared up at the cloudless sky, watching the subtle twinkle of the stars above you. You always loved quiet nights at the firehouse, when you were able to just forget all your worries and watch the stars, a lot of the times with Otis as he often joined you. But tonight was different.

Instead of having Otis by your side, he was in your head. His words were rattling around inside your mind, one that was supposed to be empty right now to allow you to enjoy the peace and quiet. But you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking of him. No matter how hard you tried to forget what had happened, you couldn’t seem to manage. And each time you thought about it, you were just reminded about the fact that he didn’t like you back.

“I thought I’d find you out here.” Otis’s hushed voice made you tense as you sat against the pillar, wishing you’d chosen a different spot as this was usually the place you’d sit with him.

You didn’t say anything as your neck straightened, your eyes now focusing on the shrubbery in front of you rather than the stars. You could see Otis moving into your peripheral vision but you didn’t dare look at him, not if you wanted to keep the pieces of your heart that were left whole.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Otis said softly, making your stomach churn as you thought you’d been subtle in doing so, but it turns out you hadn’t. Especially not when you walked into the common room, spotted him behind the grill and then slowly backed away before running to the opposite side of the firehouse. Now that you remembered it, you were pretty sure everyone noticed that.

“No I haven’t.” You replied, voice low and full of embarrassment as you wished he’d just leave you alone. You couldn’t bring yourself to have to talk about what happened, not when it was still so fresh.

“Barely looked at me either.” He added, ignoring your pathetic excuse of a defence. “Not since the other night. At Molly’s.”

“Don’t.” Your breath trembled at the thought of him bringing that up right now. Your chest already began to ache over it and if he said anything else, you knew you’d never be able to hold in the tears that fought so furiously to escape. “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about that okay? Ever. It was a mistake. One that I wished never happened.”

“Was it a mistake? Because I know you and if it had been… You’d have simply laughed it off instead of avoiding me all day.” Otis replied, moving to stand in front of you as he needed you to look at him, but instead you simply turned your head to the side, making him sigh in defeat.

“It was a mistake. A drunken mistake. Okay? I said I wished it never happened, so would you just quit bringing it up.”

“You know what I wish for?” He whispered, crouching down before you. You stayed silent, shuffling a little on the spot as the thought of him so close to you was almost too much to bear. “I wish you would just look at me for two seconds.”

Your breath hitched at his words and you swallowed back the lump that was beginning to rise in your throat. It took you a good few seconds to muster up the courage to look at him, and when you did, you very nearly broke down in front of him.

“I’m sorry.” You said so quietly he just about heard you. You wiped at your eyes, a choked sob escaping your lips, one that tugged on Otis’s heart as all he wanted to do was hug you. “I didn’t mean to kiss you.”

“Didn’t you?” He said softly, tilting your head up to look at him again after it had fallen forwards. “Because the way you’re acting now, makes me seem like you did.” His hand moved to cup your face, which you allowed to linger there for a second before you pushed away from him and got to your feet.

“Don’t.” You exhaled, folding your arms over your chest. “Don’t act as though you feel the same way about me… Not with how you reacted when I kissed you.”

“Y/N, I only reacted that way because you took me by surprise.” Otis chuckled softly, causing you to furrow your brow as you turned back to look at him. “And truthfully, it took me a second to realise it was you who’d kissed me. And once I did, well you’d already run off.”

“What-What are you saying?” You hiccuped, hope slowly filling your aching chest.

“I’m saying…” Otis began, moving cautiously towards you. His hand lifted slowly and when you didn’t back up or swat it away, he set it gently aside your face once again. “If you hadn’t avoided me all day, then I’d have been able to do this much sooner.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing softly over yours which had your heart racing beneath your chest before they firmly planted against them. You almost couldn’t believe what was happening. Couldn’t believe he was actually kissing you. And the way it felt? The way Otis was so gentle. So loving. The way his lips moved slowly against yours, with so much care that you could barely feel the roughness of his moustache on your skin. It was everything you could have ever dreamed it would be. And more.

His arm slinked around your waist, pulling you closer to him as your own arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers threading themselves through his hair. You’d never had a kiss quite like it before. One that had your stomach flutter so furiously you thought it would fly away. That had your spine tingle and goosebumps erupt all over your skin at the mere touch of his lips. And when he pulled back. When he rested his forehead against yours, staring deeply, lovingly, into your eyes. It was safe to say that you were in a much different daze than you had been all day.

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billiejean485 · 7 months

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Okay - a long rant ahead and some explanations.

I would also like to point out that what I'm about to talk about mostly concerns the Christian community and it may not be interesting to anyone else or would just lead to pointless arguments that I don't want to be a part of, so - read at your own discretion after the explanations.

EXPLANATION

Yes, you have probably all noticed that I haven't completely stopped indulging in Miraculous stuff, especially after this post, and the reason is - I am simply enjoying (or have been doing so up till now) the concepts, the fan art and the never used possibilities and lost potential of the show and its characters. Which leads me directly to the second part of this post.

TO THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY WITHIN MIRACULOUS LADYBUG FANDOM

Yesterday, I gave this vid a watch and discovered something I wished I knew from day one of this show.

youtube

Among all the good points, something really struck me, and it was this:

.... Look.

I know Thomas Astruc is an atheist (or however he defines himself) and that he's a very anti-religious person - but this is downright offensive.

So, what I wanted to bring to attention.... was that this show really isn't just some goofy fantasy x sci-fi mix that doesn't delve into religion or myths - but that that is far from the truth.

Miraculous goes directly into everything and reshapes it to the viewing pleasure of people who have no religious beliefs whatsoever and are, like it's creator, of a mindset that it's all just nonsense, thus disrespecting culture and faith of humongous groups of religious communities.

As an (Orthodox) Christian, I can't talk much about people of other faith, though I know there were also big problems with the Muslim communities. Because of that, I am just going to stick to what I'm capable of concluding.

... You know, we all have the right to believe whatever we want to believe in. If atheistic people don't want to believe in anything, that's their choice. But spitting in the face of absolutely everyone who is of different opinion, especially through a worldwide known show (and directed at kids, to make matters worse) is definitely not alright. We have the right to choose our faith as much as any other individual and absolutely no one should be allowed to say that we should keep to ourselves as some kind of 'minority' and let the 'majority' take over, because they're right since there's a bigger number of them.

Speaking up about something negative within a certain religious community that affects everyone is one thing - telling them to shut up altogether is another.

If you think I am blowing things out of proportion with this.... do a little research on Astruc's X (formerly Twitter). I kid you not when I tell you that I have practically quoted him in the last line of the paragraph above my previous one. Amanda does the same in her video as well.

But what am I really getting at here with this post?

I wanted to send out a warning to fellow Christians that are watching the show and to boost up the awareness to this problem.

Literally... all the problems I've been having with the show for the past two years come down to this. The way the characters are treated, the direction the show is taking... everything. If I had known about the creators' opinions on this topic I would have seen disappointment a mile away, and it never would have affected me as bad as it did.

I stopped drawing for a whole year for crying out loud! And I've seen during that period that many people are absolutely unaware of what is lurking behind the curtains. The show is meant to take you to a certain point of viewing the world the way its creators believe are right, and it's not going to stop doing that anytime soon. What's more, I believe (and I am talking from experience here, from other disappointments in my past) that things are only going to get worse.

The Love Square is bait. The prolonged plot is there to keep the viewers interested. Heck, Astruc confirmed that publicly - it's needed to exist in order to keep the show successful and running. He thinks he's doing a good job at it, and, to be fair - business-wise, he is. That doesn't speak about the quality of the story though. But that's another topic I'm not going to bring up here...

I just wanted to give a heads-up to peeps, who do have an incorporated belief system in their lives, to not get swindled. It's not innocent fun, and that's going to get more obvious as time passes and the creators get more freedom to express their opinions.

I'm sorry if you've invested yourselves in this show as much as I have. I truly believed there wasn't another system directed against religion somewhere in its shadows and that it was a safe watch - however, it isn't. If you do have a life dedicated to something this show is against, all I can tell you is - re-evaluate what you're watching here.

For all the rest of you.... I suppose I have nothing to say. If you read all the way up to here and still disagree with me... well, feel free to do it. But I have no discussion to be made with you.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug salt #ml salt #thomas astruc #thomas astruc salt #christianity #orthodox christianity #religion #tv show #atheism #miraculous ladybug fandom #ml fandom

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ryverbind · 1 year

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Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Stabbed and Salacious [6]

*****Here's your warning. Be on guard.*****

The start to my stream with Ash, Larry, Sally, and Todd tonight has been uncomfortably... serene.

When I imagine any scenario with Sally involved, that's not a feeling I can even think of associating with him. So the simple fact that he's not addressing me too much and that he has a cheery lilt to his voice makes me feel nearly sick with anxiousness.

He must be smug about my obvious loss on Discord earlier.

Not to mention, after I got caught, everyone dipped out of the chat and I didn't even bother defending myself. How would I even come back from that? But at the same time, I'm filled with this incredible need for a vendetta. I don't know how to save myself from this.

What's worse is my stupid attraction to this godawful Sally Face has only grown. I find myself flinching at every single word he says because it sounds different tonight. Maybe I'm still recovering from his photo, or maybe I'm not even that crazy. Maybe he's making his voice sound so seductive on purpose.

Definitely a possibility.

"Come on out, my little victims," Sally face purrs. His words are purposeful and absolutely vicious. I never should have gotten on tonight. To say that I'm quaking in my seat while I try to get a handle on this game (which is new to me) is the understatement of the century. I can't help but roll my eyes at myself for being so ridiculous.

Earlier, we started our streams with a couple rounds of Among Us and, surprisingly, Minecraft. Now we're all playing the Friday the 13th game and Sally's playing Jason. What fantastic luck.

I'm trying to hide wherever I possibly can with what time and mobility I have. It's my first time playing and I have no idea how to work anything. I don't even quite know how the game works, so I'm open bait to the one man who wants revenge on me most in this world.

Not only am I fighting for my life, I'm fighting for my dignity. My head is just above the water in this sticky situation I've gotten myself roped into and I need a good win to keep my head above water right now. Otherwise, I'll have to pull a y/n and change my name again. It's what I'm good at.

"I think I saw a little foot over there," Sally murmurs, more so to himself. The statement makes me stiffen up though and I stand completely still in the wide open spot I'm in on the map. He could be talking about anyone, but under the assumption that he's talking about me, I think my best option is to stop moving altogether.

Still, I bite my lip nervously as I wait, listening to the sound of my rapid heartbeat that only grows stronger as the seconds pass. Not a word is spoken between our group and the ensuing silence only makes my internal panic even worse.

My heart is screaming at me to keep moving in case Sally sneaks up on me, but my brain is trying to rationalize everything and tell me that I need to relax.

The thing is that the few sane parts of me know that the odds have been against me since the second I got involved with Sally. In truth, I was fucked from the start.

But I don't hear any footsteps around me. Nothing's happening.

So I follow my heart's rushed commands and start moving slowly, looking for a new spot to run to and hide.

A hum reverberates through my headphones and a rush of air leaves my body. I'm so suddenly tense that my stomach aches as it turns in on itself. My head is filled with waves of thoughts and emotions that just can't grasp at the sound I've heard. And deep on the inside, all of my organs are raging over the thought that I wasn't able to hear that in person, and that I won't be able to hear something as pretty as that again.

It had to have come from Sally-- the pitch and tone matched him perfectly, even the slight rasp to his clear voice.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep it as quiet as possible as I attempt to dispel my overwhelming thoughts that are doing their best to drown every little bit of my mind.

"I know you're there, Larry," Sally drawls. "I love a chase. Don't you dare hide from me." A low, short chuckle follows his words before he says, "Run."

I bring a hand to my lips, cussing quietly over my slightly trembling fingers.

Never in my life have I ever been so spell-bound and wonderstruck by just a few words. There has to be some kind of rhyme, reason, or magic behind the art. Especially since it's Sal. He must know the logistics of the perfect sound, frequency, and longevity of each syllable he speaks in order to make him sound so alluring.

Paying too close attention to his words is the equivalent to trying to pet a wild tiger. It's beautiful, enchanting even and you feel drawn, but the bite isn't going to be worth it.

But the overwhelming desire to indulge in my desperation and yearning is quite literally incriminating to my heart and mind. I shouldn't get too close to him or his appealing nature. It'll only get me into trouble in the end.

So I cross my legs, gulp down the urge to make bad decisions while recording a live stream, and run off to a new place at the sound of Larry's frantic cackles.

Larry gets killed, of course. It's a fun moment where he runs past me, screaming bloody murder and laughing hysterically in fear the entire way. I watch from the shadows as Sally chases after him, light giggles following his form.

From there on, Ash and Todd get killed too. And then it's just Sally and I alongside a few other counselors who are running for their lives.

But I know he's looking for me.

I've been hiding for an eternity, waiting for Sally to grow tired of looking for me so he'll plow through the other players. Hopefully I can just find my way out of here.

I have a bad habit of treating this game like Dead By Daylight. I have an inkling of a feeling that I can actually survive, but I probably won't be able to.

A quick, anxious glance at my stream shows over seven thousand people watching me. My viewers have gone up significantly and it irks me a bit knowing I can't talk to them while being pursued by Sally.

"Come on out, bitch," Sally lazily says. It's a lot easier to ignore his attractive attributes when he treats me like this, so for once, I don't mind the insult. At least it's not his distractingly charming voice and words.

Still, my eye twitches a bit as I hold my breath, noting the moment he passes by me. I hope I've blended into the shadows well enough, simply waiting for the moment I can get him away then run to victory.

His feet move a bit farther away from me and I close my eyes, not realizing that a rush of adrenaline has spiked because of my near death experience. Crazy how this game gives me such realistic reactions.

"You're around here somewhere and I'm aching to get some blood on my hands," Sally slowly says, an amused sway to his deep voice that sounds as harmonic and entrancing as an electric guitar and bass playing perfectly at the same time.

Fuck this guy.

I don't say a word as I watch him saunter off in the opposite direction from me.

Once I feel that he's far enough away, I bite my tongue and crawl out of my hiding spot. I have a clear shot to victory, I just need to not screw up. And if I snap at Sally due to an unjust stroke of confidence, I'll fuck myself over. It's better to let him have this little victory for now because, overall, I'm leaving Camp Crystal Lake alive, motherfucker.

I turn slightly, setting my sights on a car not too far away from me. I just need to get there and fix it, then I'll be on my way.

My character ambles over and my chest aches with every step out in the open. The ominous darkness and eerie noises as well as the knowledge of a killer close by fills me with unease. Anything could happen and being too imbedded in the game-- like I'm actually walking through a scary forest myself-- is dangerous.

The last thing I want to do is scream loud enough for my neighbors to hear it or terrorize myself too badly.

I shake my head, trying to remind myself that I won't be hurt. I only need to win.

My neck is cool with sweat and I pinch my lips together, curling my knees up to my chest as I grow more apprehensive upon reaching the car.

But a damn knife flies into my back. An alarmed squeal leaves my lips as I jump in my seat and lean forward, making my character run for its life. Fuck the car, I can hide out for a while longer.

A menacing chortle that quickly grows closer sends chills through my body and I huff out quick breaths, trying to weave in and out of trees. I break into a full sweat and frantically wipe my clammy hands on my skirt, hoping I can actually get away from fucking Sally.

Another knife hits me, and then I'm enveloped in hands, looking into the zombified eyes of Jason Voorhees as he brutally pulls my jaw from the rest of my head.

I lean back in my chair, listening to Sally's remorseless laughs as he looks down at my lifeless character. I'm filled with a violent fury that's incomparable to any other emotion I've felt in the past few days since working with this monstrosity.

"I think that's the most delicious blood bath I've seen all game," Sally says, a deep chuckle following and increasing the heat in my glare that no one can see. "A vendetta completed."

"Fucking dick," I seethe quietly, knowing he won't hear me anyway right now. He still has other counselors to kill.

My boiling anger increases a notch or two while watching Sal diligently and slowly take out every other player in the game.

My tongue runs over the front of my teeth and my jaw is clenched tightly. I want to beat him at this game so badly but I just keep losing. He's hardly even trying to fight me all that much because it's so easy for him to overpower me-- that pisses me off. I'm tired of letting him come out victorious. My turn is long overdo.

I let my hands drop to my table and my eyes languidly wander across the screen as another counselor dies.

With a groan, I lift a hand to rub my eyes, scrunching up my face in irritation. How is he pinching every single nerve of mine? He's like a crab claw that won't let go of my finger-- a painful fucking burden.

I hold all this anger toward him. I've focused it into one laser beam directed at him and I'm counting down the immeasurable days until I'm able to finally get everything out and beat him down with my words.

And yet, I still dig my palms into my eyes at the sound of his laugh, readjust my skirt, cross and uncross my legs, talk myself through the endless fluttering in my stomach. I even have to hold back smiles at his clever phrases and slick tongue.

Wish I had his slick tongue in my mouth, speaking of which, but I'd also genuinely like to punch him in the face.

Battling the desire to have him in any way I can alongside my deep vexation for the asshole is exhausting. I kind of just want to sleep on this entire situation, leave it for me to stress over tomorrow.

Why does he have to be hot, smooth, and an asshole? Why couldn't he have been sweet and kind like he was to Lexi?

By the way, I'm just beginning to accept that he's never going to call or text Lexi. I'm not sure if I'm happy or ticked about that. On the one hand, if he would call Lexi and express some interest, I could fuck this attraction out of my system. On the other hand, him messaging Lexi would out me immediately. He could find out my phone number from Ash, Larry, or Todd and that's some fire that I don't want to mess with.

"That's a win for me," Sally sighs out pridefully, gaining my attention again. The game has ended.

"You're fucking... damn," Larry breathes, seemingly at a loss for words. "You're too good. I don't want you to play a killer ever again."

"Hey, maybe it's just in my genes. Not my fault you can't compete with this skill," Sally boasts, humming contently to himself. Fuck, I wish he'd stop doing that. It feels like his voice circles me and leaves me caged in the memory of that stupid sound.

"I'd hope not," Todd scoffs lightly. "I'm getting off for the night though, so I'll see everyone when we get on again."

We tell Todd goodbye, then Larry goes not too long after him. With the three of us left, we end our streams too, but I stick around while Ash and Sally chat.

Truth be told, I'm not quite sure what I'm waiting for. Maybe a chance to bitch at Sal or maybe it's just to hear his hypnotizing voice for a bit longer.

"Are you going to get off or what?" The sudden snarky tone makes me focus in on Ash and Sally's conversation that had been drowned out by my thoughts for a bit.

Ash is quiet, the only sign of her presence being a muffled groan. That clearly tells me that the dickhead himself is talking to me.

"Oh, shut up," I bite out, squinting my eyes at my computer screen. "I'm not even bothering you."

"Your presence pisses me off. Leave," he simply replies, his delicious voiced tainted with nonchalance and agitation.

"You're such a dick," I spit out venomously once I can't come up with anything else to say. Knowing that he has an advantage over me yet again is making my chest bubble with barely contained anger.

I glare down at the microphone that Ash was kind enough to send me years ago when she and I used to run around our map in Seven Days to Die. Usually, the device brings me memories of joy, but tonight I can't gain any positive feelings from it.

"And you're a foul-mouthed bitch," Sally Face replies, his voice seemingly more amused than angered. Though, I can definitely detect some aggravation in there.

His response makes me itch. I haven't said more than maybe three words to him tonight-- before we started arguing of course. So where does he find the audacity to call me foul-mouthed?

I snort. "Yea, okay. So what does that make you then? A stuck-up nobody? Your fans only know the idea of you."

My pickings are slim and I'm just grabbing onto any little option I have. I know I'm practically fighting fire with gasoline considering Sally doesn't show himself for his own personal reason, but I have my own reasons too. I can push his buttons on the topic because hitting me in the same place and on the same level wouldn't be enough to top the damage I did. He's smart and methodic so he at least knows that much.

I suddenly notice that Ash is missing from our group call. She must have left.

Frowning, I lift my phone to send her a text and apologize. I'm even about to just hang up on Sally too. What's the point of arguing? It's only aggravating and it's not like he'll ever explain why he hates me so much.

But Sally Face grunts and the sound makes a flame of irritation light up inside me again. "The same goes for you, you fucking brat," he spits. "No one knows who you are. At least they see me-- I've never even seen anything above your neck."

"You'd be the last person to see me, asshole." My words come out quick and aggressive, I even lean closer to my computer, simmering with audible rage. "I don't know why you have such a problem with me," I continue despite knowing that my attempt to get any reasoning out of him is futile.

How could I have fucked up twice with him and still not understand how? I've never even met him as y/n and he still can't stand either side of me, with the exception of Lexi, of course. I want to know what I did. Being the target of hate with no explanation maddens me beyond comprehension.

Honestly, he probably doesn't understand why the fuck he hates me either. He just dislikes things and people out of spite. He hates because he's angry at or about something. He converts hurt feelings into negativity-- that has to be the reason why he's so aggressive and rude. What else could it possibly be?

Obviously, my spit-fire persona doesn't make his resentment toward me any better. I'm on his level and he can't win on command. He's still an open book so I can tell that losing our battles pisses him off too.

"You just show up out of nowhere and become besties with my group," Sally Face scoffs. "Like who the fuck are you? Did you pay Ash to play with you or something? You were nonexistent a week ago. I wish you'd have stayed that way. All you do is fucking bitch and yap like a little chihuahua."

That's a lead, one that I already had my suspicions about, in fact. That still doesn't justify his behavior though.

I bite my lip, my fingers quivering under the weight of my fury as I grip onto the edge of my desk. "If you weren't such an asshole, I wouldn't have to bitch and yap. All you do is talk over me." I gulp, licking my lips and trying to shake the fighting response out of my mind. I should just leave this alone for the night. I shouldn't entertain it at all. But I continue anyway. God only knows why. "It feels like you're constantly choking me--"

"You like that though, don't you?"

There's an almost unnoticeable difference in his voice. His tone is just a bit deeper, the connotations a tad darker, and he drags the words out slowly-- like each sound is a melody waiting to be sung.

But the problem here is that I do notice, and I acknowledge the change. I don't know what to make of it.

I'm struck into silence, my voice dying out as I struggle to catch the breath that's rushed out of my lungs. Did I hear him right? I know I couldn't have heard differently-- his voice was loud and clear-- but it doesn't make sense. Something like that wouldn't come from him and be directed at me. Ever.

Or would it?

I think back to the day I sent everyone photos of me. When Sally wouldn't answer and got really defensive over Larry's joke about him masturbating to my pictures.

What if Larry wasn't too far off?

...No. There's no way.

Like the intellectual that I am, I force out a breathless, "What?"

At this point, I'm waiting for some kind of confirmation on whether my internal war is won or lost. His voice alone makes me feel hot with need, but I don't want to chase an impossible daydream just because he's trying to get a reaction out of me. Which, honestly, he probably just wants to dig my grave even deeper by getting me to admit that I'm attracted to him. Why else would he say that I'd like to be choked?

Sally Face hums, the sound making my heart thump against my ribcage. My head feels fuzzy, like my brain is bouncing around on a fuck ton of bean bags. I can't take in as much oxygen as I would like to; my breaths come out rushed and heavy. Worse, my cheeks burn with more fury than a thousand suns colliding all at once. But worst of all is that I'm falling into that fantasy anyway-- a fantasy where I get to have my way with this insolent man-- whether that way be pleasurable or destructive.

But right now, I'm wondering if he'd like to choke me too.

"You seem like the type of woman who enjoys a hand around your throat. I'm sure you just love the idea of my hand being the one to leave you breathless."

Has he crawled into my head?

Sudden heat pools between my thighs. I shift, crossing my legs as I blink at my screen, unable to get a single word out.

He sounds intrigued, curious, and just a little annoyed. If anything, it seems he's testing the waters and trying to see what he can make out of the tense situation he's dragged us into.

I lick my lips, hoping to lubricate my dry mouth a bit. It feels as though all of the moisture has traveled down to my core despite how badly I wish I wouldn't respond to Sally like this. Fuck, I shouldn't feel this way.

The way he's speaking, so dirty and promiscuous, makes me feel differently about him for the first time in days. Acknowledging attraction is different from chasing dangerous opportunities.

Suddenly, I can see it. Most of all, I wish I could feel it. The way his ring clad fingers would squeeze my throat, leaving me breathless and begging for more. The way he'd ask me to beg-- we all know he would, he loves when people fall at his feet-- the way his cool skin would feel against me. How would he smell? Like cologne and shampoo maybe, musky but sweet. Or maybe he'd smell the same way he did when we first met.

I take a deep breath, choosing to remain silent as my hand inches toward my thigh.

Hundreds of different thoughts race through my mind. Yea, maybe this is risky. But the way his voice alone has me dripping in an instant is just something I can't pass up. I can't even arouse myself this much, and Sally Face has managed to do it within two seconds.

I have access to a pleasurably sick and twisted, possibly embarrassing, fantasy that I'll probably never get again. Ever. Because this is me and Sally Face-- two complete opposites.

No. I can't. I won't. I won't give him the satisfaction-- I won't give myself the satisfaction. I can handle up on the burning in my body and my raging pulse below later.

I know he wants to damage my dignity, maybe even my reputation. He isn't being serious right now, he's just chasing another win in this longterm game we have going on.

"Your silence speaks numbers," Sally Face says, voice deep, raspy, and smooth. This is far different from the high pitched, aggressive voice he normally uses with me.

I keep trying to tell myself that he's just toying with me, trying to get some incriminating evidence of how fucking hot I think he is. But the way he speaks right now alongside his word usage is just dragging me further into the abyss of craving him even more.

He chuckles at my refusal to answer and the sound sends my brain into a frenzy. That's good. He's on top of his game tonight and it pisses me off, but turns me on all at the same time. How can someone do that? Talent like this shouldn't exist. It's incredibly dangerous.

The proof lies in the skirt bunched in my hands and the clenching of my thighs. Good God, how could just a laugh send me over the edge?

A whimper slips past my lips and I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that Sally didn't hear. It could have been interpreted as me crying or something, but it sounded far too lewd-- though I'd never admit it to anyone other than myself. More than anything, I want him to skip over whatever this is and let me wallow in my pitiful lust for him in peace.

Sally hums again and his next words make the decision that I couldn't force myself to take action on.

"What a little slut," he seductively says, and I can feel my heart drop to the pit of my stomach. My mouth gapes and the insides of my thighs are soaked by now. What a fucking mess.

His voice drips with shameless desire, something I never could have expected, but fuck it sounds so good coming from him. "Are you touching yourself?"

"No--" I rush to say with a raging blush on my cheeks. How could I do something like that over a call? Not to mention, how could I do it over him? I definitely thought about it, but there's no way I could do that.

But, if this is all real and his unhidden desire isn't a facade... if we're really going to cross a boundary...

"Listen, Vi," he starts darkly. My thighs clench together tightly and my eyes roll into the back of my head. Just his damn voice alone. "Maybe your words don't normally work for me, but in this situation, I need to hear them. Silence is out of the question, so I'll ask you again. Are you touching yourself?"

I shiver at his use of my nickname, my lips parting. Maybe I wasn't doing much touching beforehand, but now I want to be able to tell him yes. He's never called me by name before and hearing it now, during a time of such heightened emotions, makes me yearn for a chance to hear him moan. To know that he'll get some kind of pleasure from just the thought of me, just the sound of my voice.

My teeth clamp down onto my bottom lip as I nervously spread my legs a bit, trailing a hand over the inside of my thigh. The light touch makes goosebumps erupt on my skin, but it fills me with a sense of urgency. I'm ready to chase a high I don't get too often.

My fingers run over my panties, the sensation of my cool digits finally touching my heat after craving some kind of release for the past hour or so is erotic. Compared to every other time I've done this, it feels so much different now. Every light touch has me shaking uncontrollably and I've hardly done anything yet.

My hand dips into my underwear and the tip of my index finger ghosts over my clit as I test the waters, thinking of all the ways the man on the other side of this call can bring me to the most extravagant climax I'll ever see in this lifetime. If only I just give in and let him.

And I think I'll do just that.

"I am now." I finally answer him, the words coming out as a breathy moan as I apply pressure, beginning to move my index and middle finger in slow circles.

Pleasure erupts within me like a volcano, sending sweet tingles up my spine and rapturing heat to every part of my body. Fuck, just admitting such a thing makes this ten times hotter and I never would've imagined I'd be into something like this.

Sally and I's current circumstances are insane. I didn't think something like this was possible and I'm absolutely raving over my slow-building movements and the thought of how this is going to play out.

My pussy is dripping, my fingers slick without even having to do much work. Sally Face is something else-- talented in ways that I never thought were possible.

I'm faintly able to hear as Sally sucks in a harsh breath, then the sound of a zipper.

My heart skips a beat then picks up speed, pounding so powerfully that I can feel it in every inch of my body. My eyes widen as I pause my movements, my body almost jolting from the lack of contact.

I immediately return my fingers to my clit, using more pressure than I did before. I flinch, tilting my head down embarrassedly as I continue moving my digits, indulging in the addictive feeling of bringing myself pleasure because no one can do it as well as I can, though I think Sally may end up being good competition.

I let out a quiet moan that dies out quickly, but I know he hears it.

"Good," he says breathlessly. "Keep doing that. Touch yourself for me-- and you better only think of me."

My eyes shut in ecstasy and I throw my head back, releasing another soft moan that isn't nearly as nerve-wracking as the first. My hand travels over my soaked pussy and my fingers are working faster, handling the ache that only continues to build up.

Sally groans on the other end of the call, a shuddering breath leaving his lips that I wish I could see-- that I wish I could feel. My fingers quicken their pace, rubbing against my bundle of nerves in the most compelling way.

I imagine his hand taking the place of mine, sending me into an endless wave of pleasure-- taking me to heights of debauchery I could never dream of. If anyone could do it, it would be Sally Face. I have no doubts about that.

"Tell me exactly how it feels," Sally grunts, his voice shaking with the force of what he's undoubtedly doing. Just the thought makes the aching in my lower stomach grow and I yearn to see the look on his face. I long to see his hand working along his member.

I can't believe I got this lucky. What's more unbelievable is the fact that I managed to convince myself to actually cross this line with him.

Still, I feel more than just shy when it comes to finding an answer to his demand. He knows what I'm doing, I wish he didn't want me to say it. I don't... think I can say it. Doing it is one thing, but explaining it is something else entirely.

He lets out a frustrated noise. "Say it or I'll leave the call," he threatens, sending me down an even more fucked up path than the one I was already traveling on. His voice is like melting ice, coated in slick and filthy promises, but the looming threat of ending this for good is hidden underneath.

I might rot in my own mind for the rest of time, but I'll do anything to keep this up.

Biting my lip, I drag my fingers down, slipping them between my wet folds before bringing them back up to my clit to continue the erotic pleasure that I'm combining with just the sound of his voice.

"It feels so damn good. I'm thinking of how you look right now. Wishing it was your hands on my pussy instead of my own," I moan out, shutting my eyes again as I readjust my sitting position.

I spread my legs wider, stretching my shoulders as I go faster, applying more pressure.

"Good girl," he says between the tantalizing sounds of his hand stroking his cock on the other end of the line. His breath hitches with every other intake of air, a grunt or a whimper following soon after. "Tell me how much you hate me."

I laugh softly through my quiet moans, a salacious type of exhilaration taking over me and robbing me of my ability to rationally think. I'm too excited, too deep in the sensation of his voice and the dirty things he's saying to me. The disgusting things he wants me to say and, even more, the appraisal he's given even though he holds such strong disapproval toward me.

My hand slides lower and my fingers slip into my heat, the feeling of being filled up making a strangled groan leave my lips. I curl my fingers, hitting my favorite spot that has me mewling like a kitten. And despite feeling amazing already, I wish he was doing this.

"I hate you so fucking much," I groan, my voice high pitched and purely lustful. "You piss me off and I hate that all I want to do is fuck you lately. You hot, aggravating piece of shit." My voice falls into a sinful giggle again as a smile pulls at my lips.

I'm getting so damn close way too damn quickly.

My body is hot and quakes as I focus in on Sally's filthy words and sounds of pleasure, alongside my own delicious movements. What I wouldn't give to be with him at this exact moment.

I'm almost shocked by my own thoughts.

Sally moans beautifully, the sounds of his squelching movements picking up speed. "Fuck, that's hot," he seemingly chokes out between the force of his brutal pace and the overwhelming feeling that's taking over his body.

The added image of his hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, bringing himself to climax just because of the sound of me-- the idea of me-- brings me one step closer to the edge.

I add a second finger to my dripping cunt, thrusting them into myself even faster than before. I'm almost to the peak, just getting to the edge.

"I hate you. I hate you so fucking much-- you have no idea," He says between gritted teeth before sucking in a strangled breath. "Which is why you're not allowed to cum. If you're so fucking desperate for it, you can wait until I have my hands on you."

A scoff leaves my lips and I only continue what I was previously doing, finding his command hilarious and attractive. Like hell I'll listen to him.

But I stop upon hearing Larry come into the call with an echoing scream.

I fly into a sitting position, my hand leaving its previous position. Harsh pants wrack my body as I shiver, growing aggravated over the pain of losing the climax I was so close to achieving.

Sally's gone quiet too.

Fuck, did Larry hear us? Does he know what happened?

I'm quivering for an entirely different reason now, my flushed cheeks growing even warmer under the prospect of getting caught in the dirty act I stupidly agreed to.

I... fuck. Did Sal and I really just do that? We must have. My fingers are soaked and so is my pussy. My heart is racing so quickly that I'm worried I'll flatline. My limbs are tense, slowly growing a bit sore as my orgasm continues to escape me. Not like I'll get that back tonight.

"Are you guys done arguing? Ash just told me you both haven't gone to bed yet and she left like ten minutes ago," Larry grumbles, adding a little giggle.

Oh, thank God.

I swallow thickly, closing my eyes and leaning against the back of my chair again. I take a few breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. This situation could have turned out much differently, so I'm glad karma hasn't gotten me yet.

Surprisingly, I'm actually thankful that Sally wanted to be a dick in the middle of our erotic moment. It was like a heads-up for Larry's interruption.

I open my eyes, looking over at the discord call and... Sally's gone. He left.

An angry grin pulls at my lips as I chew on the inside of my cheek. That little bastard.

________________

A/N:::::::::: holy fuck i'm so horrified to post this lmfao. I have never written actual smut in my life so using terms and situations i'm not used to is HARD (like sal's dick) but yeaaaa so i don't know if this is up to par? but hopefully i'll get more comfortable and slowly start to get better at it with time :3

fun fact: i had this smut scene written before i even wrote the first chapters of the story. this entire story is based on this one scene. i had to do some major editing to it since i actually developed a true plot since writing this, but i'm hoping it's improved (which i think it has) since i originally wrote it.

anyway, i'm asking for feedback tonight! i know i need to improve my smut-writing skills so give me some tricks and tips please <3

as always, i love you all with my entire heart and i'm forever thankful for all the love and support! thank you all for reading <333

#sally face fandom #sally face #sal fisher #sally face fanfiction #fem reader #smut #enemies to lovers #larry johnson #todd morrison #travis phelps #ash campbell

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littleperilstories · 11 months

Text

The Prince of Thieves: I Think I Need a Sunrise, I'm Tired of the Sunset

Mood Boards | Chapter Titles | Also on A03! | Playlist | Story Intro

Warnings: Angst, self-doubt

If you want even MORE angst for this chapter, consider playing Playlist Roulette for some emo vibes:

[possible spoilers] Song 1 / Song 2 / Song 3 / Song 4 / Song 5

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 1739 || Approx reading time: 7 mins

I Think I Need a Sunrise, I'm Tired of the Sunset

Teaser: Out there, leaking through those gaps in the curtain, is the sun, the world, the life I thought I might never get to see. A life I’m only just lucky enough to be facing now. I want to be thrilled, I want to feel safe, I want to be grateful. One thought, however, beats me black and blue from the inside.

Bree

When Spider—no, her name is Colette, what a beautiful name—disappears, I leave Jamie to talk with Allan, who is skittish now about a million different things. About making the musket wound worse; about the constables coming after him, too; about the fact that he inadvertently joined a gang in his act of betrayal against Bulwell, Hatchett, Michaelson, and the rest; and probably about more stealthy intruders sneaking in through his window to threaten him with a knife.

I suppose I can’t blame him.

Silently, I leave them to argue about whether Jamie should take whatever tincture Allan gave him earlier, something to dull his senses and ease his pain. Jamie is staunchly trying to refuse it, insisting he doesn’t want to be unconscious or out of it when he and Will are reunited. So far, he is winning that dispute, but Allan seems confident he will prevail in the end—once Jamie actually tries to move and fully understands what it feels like to pull on the musket wound. I hope Allan does get his way, because every time I look at Jamie, I cringe, remembering what I said and wondering why I decided to say it, and every time he looks at me, I can’t imagine his thoughts are very charitable.

Trying to forget for a just a few moments how exhausted—and embarrassed—I am, I curl up by the front window, relishing the sliver of light that peeks through Allan’s drawn curtains. The rain, it seems, has stopped now, and some tenacious streak of sunlight has managed to break through the earlier clouds. The gentle light is comforting, but not enough to calm me. To caln the frantic fluttering of my heart and the churning of my stomach and the boiling in my chest at the thought of what comes next.

Reunited. Altogether. Off to Colette’s family home, to the others, to Will.

The curtains are old, tattered at the bottom and moth-eaten throughout. The longer I sit there, trying to even my breath, I find more ragged holes letting in the fading light. I count them—One. Two. Three. On and on.

Out there, leaking through those gaps in the curtain, is the sun, the world, the life I thought I might never get to see. A life I’m only just lucky enough to be facing now. I want to be thrilled, I want to feel safe, I want to be grateful. One thought, however, beats me black and blue from the inside.

I don’t belong here.

It’s true, isn’t it? When Jamie, Colette, Geoff, and I were united with the common goal of getting Will out of prison, our alliance made perfect sense. Their family was torn apart, and I was able—I wanted—to help in reuniting them.

Now, in a few short hours—if that—their family will be stitched back together; perhaps the threads are a little frayed, perhaps some repairing needs to be done, but they’ll be whole again.

They don’t need me anymore, and more than that, why would they want me? I am the one who just tried to pick a fight with a wounded man, hours after he almost died, over something that didn’t even have to do with me. I am the one who brought Hatchett right to that cabin in the woods and nearly ruined things for everyone. I am the one who gave Hatchett the bit of information he needed to see through Will’s lies.

Jamie needed me to get Will, then Will needed me to get Jamie, and now Colette will bring them together, and perhaps it’s best for everyone that my presence is no longer needed at all.

Of course, I heard what she said—that Allan and I should both go as well. Never mind that it was an afterthought, something blurted out after she barely even looked at me. It’s more than that. Something about the very idea threatens to splinter me into pieces.

Throwing myself upon the mercy of these strangers—the thought makes my skin crawl. For so long I just had myself; I didn’t need to rely on the charity of others. If I go with Colette, though, I will owe her for her kindness, when I’ve only just repaid Will and Jamie for saving me. I’m not sure I want another debt hanging over my head.

It’s mostly that single prickling thought, though: there’s no real reason for me to stay. Whether I’m here or not, their lives will heal. Go back to the way they were before Will was caught. For them, each new day will dawn kinder and gentler and happier than the one before, until the darkness of our time in prison is nothing more than a tragic memory.

To know that I was only ever a side character in the story of these brothers, to accept that Baden Hatchett’s words are once again true—You aren’t important to them, either—threatens to leave a hole in my heart.

—

Not long after my father died, a few days at most, when he was cold and buried and finally, finally, out of my life, a man named Baden returned to keep his word—a promise that had been made long ago, when things were different. When my family still had money. When I was still a respectable girl. He looked at me with distaste, but at the time, at least, he was willing to hold himself to the agreement he’d made.

“We’ll wed next week,” he said. “You will come with me.”

Next week? I had just escaped from under Father’s thumb; now here was Baden Hatchett, ready to crush me beneath his.

“I’d rather wait,” I said. “It’s too fast. Too early. I…”

He scoffed. “That isn’t for you to decide.”

“What do you mean, it’s not for me to decide? How—”

Even now, I can still hear some of what he said in answer. How dare you argue with me? Don’t you know your place? You think you have any say in this? You know I’m doing you a favour, right? You understand that? You’re the one who needs me. I don’t need you.

Only once did he touch me after my father’s death—just a hand wrapped around my arm as he ordered me out of the shabby apartment where Father had died and into his home. That grip, the first shackle he ever locked me into—it was a message, a reminder that I was his and would remain so until I was dead. Later, upon my skin, I found bruises in the shape of fingerprints, purple and throbbing.

It was nothing less than hatred that fuelled every step that night when I crept from the house, never to return. I slid along the floor in stocking feet, terrified of every floorboard and how it creaked, the bolt and how it scraped, my breath and how it gasped loud enough to fill the air, my heart and how it pounded in my chest, threatening to shake his home to rubble.

Perhaps it was luck, perhaps fate, perhaps a goddamn miracle. He heard nothing. He slept through my escape, and I made it outside. It was out of spite as much as precaution that I left the front door wide open, an invitation for moths and spiders and rats, for some other unfortunate creature to invade his house and take my place as some spineless, obedient thing that he could squash beneath his boot.

Today, however…

It isn’t hate, I think, that fuels this escape. In fact, it is perhaps something quite the opposite.

James Wardrew falls asleep while he waits, senses dulled and pain softened in the wake of the doctor’s victory, and Allan Armstrong Dale busies himself with choosing which possessions he wishes to bring into his new life as an outlaw—as he now wryly calls himself. While they are both distracted, I pinch a pen and some paper from Allan’s desk. He’s got an odd assortment of things strewn across its disorderly surface: coins and sheets of music and buttons and other bits, too, that might be of some value, at least. Surely things he will not miss.

My cruel, wicked imagination whispers things to ink onto the page. I should free these sentiments today, it murmurs, so I can live my life without the stinging regret of things unsaid. If I immortalize my thoughts on this page, if I say what’s in my heart, Will Wardrew might look back at them and remember me without disgust or hurt or betrayal. At the very least, maybe he will remember me with a sense of peace.

Maybe he will remember me as I will remember him.

It whispers to me that I should tell him he was the only thing that made my prison cell bearable. Tell him, it murmurs, how you fear Hatchett will never give up. Tell him that you don’t want another constable to lay hands on him ever again.

Tell him, it hisses. That I don’t want him to have to look at my face and remember every moment of suffering he went through with me. Because of me.

That I wish him health and happiness.

Tell him how you get a peculiar feeling at the thought of never seeing him again. Tell him that it makes leaving so much harder. Tell him that strange feeling is why you must leave. Tell him this is for the best.

In the end, I write very little.

In the end, it is mostly an empty page.

Goodbye, I think, but I cannot say the word out loud. Jamie still sleeps. Allan is fussing with his medicines. Will…

Will, I can only hope, is all right.

Goodbye, and thank you, and I’m sorry.

The wind is bitter when I slip out the door. I will have to find a few more clothes from somewhere if I am to survive the cold. No matter. I’ve done this before. I can do it again.

Into the wintry dusk. Into streets full of constables, of strangers who would turn me in, perhaps go running straight to Hatchett if they knew. Into a new life, a new town, a new name. Into a second chance.

I’m on my own, but that is nothing to fear. It means that this life—this new life—is mine. And mine alone.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Here's the full list of songs, whose lyrics range from "vaguely match the vibe" to "nauseatingly on the nose." Enjoy!

Boston / I Will Remember You / Dare You to Move / On My Own / Bleed / Tongue Tied / Gotta Go My Own Way

Tagging: @starlit-hopes-and-dreams, @gala1981, @kixngiggles, @whither-wander-whump 💕

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thevikingwoman · 11 months

Text

one more for @wayfarer-week, this time for prompt 6: flirt

Fandom: Wayfarer IF | Words: 669 | Read on Ao3

Illia Strand x Aeran Kellis (pre-relationship) | after Karth, pre game rating: T. Flirting, bad habits, hoping for the best

Flirt

“So, you’re new here?”

The voice is melodic and Illia turns towards the man next to her, even if she almost laughs at their obvious conversation starter. She’s done worse herself, and she does look like – is a mercenary, and doesn’t look like a local in any way.

“I’m just passing through.” She looks the man up and down, lifting an eyebrow at his shimmering silver wings and teal crest sparkling on his forehead like little raindrops. Altogether it’s quite stunning. “And you? You don’t look like you’re from around here either.”

He laughs, and his laugh is lovely too.

“I’ve settled here some years ago. It’s a nice place here and there’s enough to do for me.” He takes a drink from his glass. “Name’s Elen.”

“Nice to meet you Elen. I’m Illia. What do you do here?”

“I make and repair instruments, there’s enough musicians here. Requires a deft hand, you know.”

He winks and heat rises in Illia’s cheeks. It’s an easy enough thing to fall into, grinning and running and hand through her hair, flexing her arm. Once they seek her out, she found that most people like the tattoo, and she’s happy to oblige, even if she hasn’t done this lately. She looks at Elen’s hands, but her gaze is drawn to his wings. He notices, and they shiver and fan out a little.

“You look like you’ve traveled far, Illia, I don’t doubt you’ve met an Aeda before,” he goes on, “but if you’re curious perhaps you’d like to touch them?”

Her throat is suddenly dry, and she drinks again before she answers. She knows what next and it always matters, whether it’s one way or the other.

“You might prefer me not to,” she says, “I’m a magianis.”

That’s all she wants to say for now, though part of her bristles against it. Wayfarer, Wayfarer, but it’s better to leave it be. She should stop and leave regardless, but she waits instead.

Elen startles slightly, and looks her up and down, taking in her sword and armor and dusty travel clothes.

“I see. I’ve heard that is quite an experience, Illia,” he draws and leans closer. “Maybe we can find out in private?”

She can work with that, and perhaps pretend that this time the morning after will be different. He’s pretty enough that she might not care what happens, how much she’ll hate that he’ll be gone before she wakes.

“Illia, there you are!” a voice calls across the inn.

Aeran.

She turns to him and smiles automatically as he makes his way towards her. She remembers why she’s not doing this anymore.

“I have to go, Elen. It was nice meeting you – perhaps some other time.”

Elen reaches for her, and he doesn’t startle all – perhaps he’s more well-traveled than she expected.

“Are you alright,” he says in a low voice.

“He’s my friend, it’s fine. I hope you have a great evening.”

He sighs a little and leans away from her.

“You too, Illia. Safe travels.”

She gets up and meets Aeran, leaving Elen at the bar.

“What was that about, Lia?”

“Nothing. Just a guy.”

She shakes her head. She’s stopped doing this, after she met with Aeran on that fateful afternoon in Karth. She’s no need for the empty feeling when someone eventually shies away, once they’ve had their curiosity sated. She’s spent too much time hoping some quick romp will fill the emptiness inside.

“I’ve inquired about the giant rats,” Aeran says. “Apparently, they spit fire. He’s offering 25 crowns to get rid of them.”

“So, we’re doing it?”

Aeran grins, and nods.

She wants to reach for him, and she knows he won’t shy away. He’s right there, like a bit of sunshine in her life; some days, he’s the only happy thing in her life. A familiar comfort, tugging at her heart. She isn’t sure if he feels the same, but they’re here together and right now she doesn’t need anything or anyone else.

#wayfarer if #wayfarer #wayfarer fanfic #wayfarerweek #wayfarer week #ahh I wanted to show some of Illia's backgorund #she did flirt a lot #okay she mostly is just on the receiving end here #but consider I'm terrible at flirting and I did my best #this is sort of angsty #when you consider she never really gets together with aeran #thank you wayfarer week for a fun week!#I got to write about all three of my babies #illia strand #writing about illia #viking writes #published 6/2/2023

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theelispace · 5 months

Note

The 12 Worst Things of New Jersey (The State I live in)

1. Would it kill you to say "please"?

Chivalry and etiquette are foreign concepts to many New Jerseyans. And it’s fair to assume that on any given day, you’ll encounter an impatient, impolite, disrespectful or downright nasty human-being who shares your lovely Garden State. Not every resident is a hollering, boorish brute, but take a roadtrip to the American south and you’ll realize that the stereotypes about northeasterners being rude are pretty much true.

2. Our traffic mimics "Mad Max"

Infuriating traffic makes sense for our most-densely-populated state. But does everyone have to be such an impatient, over-aggressive maniac? And don’t even start with the maddening array of jughandles and traffic circles.

3. NJ Transit's cruel tricks

To plan your day with the notion that NJ Transit's train or bus will arrive on schedule is to also account for bouts of rage as your pickup becomes delayed — and then canceled altogether. How could it get worse? Oh yeah, how about a crumbling infrastructure?

4. Our eternal civil war

Want to start a meaningless argument at your next dinner party? Ask the table “Where’s the line between North and South Jersey?” and then sit back as everyone spouts a meaningless opinion. Here’s the thing: There are no definitive, state-slicing barriers now, and there never will be. Let it go. (Plus, if we don’t unite, how will we ever conquer Delaware?)

5. And another thing ... our food battles

The pork roll vs. taylor ham discussion is worthy of its own slaughter. The stupid box says Taylor pork roll, people! Both sides are correct. Just let us enjoy our nitrate-soaked meat circles in peace. The same goes for subs/hoagies, Italian ice/water ice and sprinkles/jimmies. A state divided by its snacks is a state on the brink of collapse.

6. The soul-crushing property taxes

This gripe is based purely on fact: New Jersey boasts the highest property taxes in America, by far. The in-state average is now above $8,000 per household. Alabama, and its median property tax rate of $398, sounds awesome right about now.

7. The Pulaski Skyway

Between the merciless potholes, narrow lanes and hairpin exits, the dreary Pulaski feels more like the key in a Batman villain’s plot for Gotham-wide destruction that a structure that still exists in the 21st Century.

8. That wretched Turnpike smell

Anyone who regularly passes by Exit 13 on the Turnpike, and the nearby Linden Cogeneration Plant, already shares this grievance. The intense sulfur stench is especially putrid in warmer weather — coming soon! Though New Jersey is often unfairly mocked for its smells, it’s hard to defend this one.

9. Jersey Shore headaches

A day trip to our beloved surf and sand should surely be a serene occasion. But between Memorial Day and Labor Day, the traffic bottlenecking into the area is inescapable. To park, one must choose to shell out for an overpriced lot, or circle endlessly. Once on the beach, you endure every other frustrated family in its loudest, most obnoxious state. There’s just too many of us — we should try an odd-even system, ala the ‘73 oil crisis.

10. The Jersey meatheads

Are New Jersey’s drink-slugging, muscular buffoons different from the rest of the world’s? Yes. It goes back to the rudeness aspect — much of our population already has the tendency to morph into an inconsiderate jerk at any moment. Add in the misguided sense of entitlement that comes with not being able to touch your own shoulders, and you have the bombastic Jersey meathead, whose sole purpose is to ruin your night at the bar, club, or concert.

11. Our lousy customer service

Why are New Jersey’s service and retail employees all stationed behind a wall of indifference. In supermarkets and convenience stores — anywhere where you encounter a cashier — there’s a good chance you’ll be told to have a nice day, though it’s blatantly obvious they couldn’t care less. And why do New Jersey restaurants get so bent out of shape about separate checks? It almost always leads to a better overall tip!

12. It's us against the world

What other state’s residents need to constantly protect themselves from punchlines and mockery as soon as the cross into foreign lands? If you’re in California and you say “I’m from New Jersey,” don’t you immediately feel like as though a cloud of judgement has rolled in? Sure, we defend our spot and debunk the stereotypes, but a lifetime on watch becomes exhausting.

13. Why do we stay?

Well, have you tried the pizza here? But seriously, beneath all this quibbling, New Jersey is a special place, where many folks are willing to live. Our traffic and crowds are proof of that. And despite its flaws, we love this crazy land.

Oh, and did I mention the pizza?

Okay which is worse

New Jersey or Florida?

#eli's funky askbox #a dumb question asked by a dumb canadian (me) LMFAO /j

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meatbricks · 3 months

Note

this one is related to something blu (i think) asked a few weeks ago that i forgot about until just now (and also because i get anxious about messaging or sending asks to people lol).

we know what will happen if the reader dies, but what about if bruteforce or the painter died? would the other dude act / grieve kinda the same or would it be worse? i NEED some fucking angst to think about man.

OUGH.. THIS REQUEST... i've actually thought about it a lot before but man... :') (also thank you so much for requesting!! ^^ i know this probably doesn't help any but you shouldn't be anxious about sending me stuff; i love to hear from my followers & people who read my blog in general, and it makes me really happy to know that someone likes my stuff so much to send in several requests/messages/literally anything LMAO)

ANYWAYS. onto the Large Sad™

warning(s): major character death, grief, self-harm via self-neglect, suicide, mentioned canon-typical violence, suggested necrophilia, codependency, unhealthy relationships, uhhhh. unironically the most depressing thing i've ever written for this fandom

hcs are under the cut!!

if either of the guys died, the other's grieving process would be. so much fucking worse

to put this into perspective (and idk if i mentioned this anywhere else, but still), these two have essentially been in each other's orbit (so to speak) since they were really young.. like. since painter was 7 and since bruteforce had literally just been born. sure they might not have ever interacted before that night at the bar but painter had been stalking bruteforce since he began existing on this mortal plane

...so naturally we'll start with how he'd react to bruteforce dying!!

upon initially finding out that his object of obsession since 7 years old and literal only friend ever is dead, i think he'd just. break

it would take a minute, especially if he wasn't in the room when it happened, but once the realization hits him he just loses his shit

all the work he put into the relationship they had, everything they'd been through up until that point, the things he'd planned for him (and both of them, really) in the future... just. gone. gone in an instant.

i don't think he'd really be able to speak coherently at all for a while, so many thoughts are racing through his mind.. why did this happen? how did this happen? could he have stopped this? he's mad. he should be mad, and someone needs to pay. god himself needs to pay. but he can't fight god. he's going to fight god, even if it's impossible. but he doesn't know how, and he'll never know how. there has to be something he can do about this. this can't have happened. this didn't happen. but it did. what is he going to do now? who's going to take care of him now? who's going to help him?

those last thoughts hit him like a bus. he realizes that without bruteforce he's essentially homeless again, with no accomplice to help him; right back to square one.

needless to say, it'll take him months, maybe even years to get back to his status-quo.. maybe he'd just stop doing what he's been doing altogether and just never leave the house

what he'd be doing? watching the tape from PIGS over and over again, just lying in bed, staring listlessly at the screen.

as a little bonus, though, if painter was in the room with bruteforce when he died, after trying and failing to get him to wake up he'd just.. sorta.. lay next to him for a while, as close as possible, even if just to pretend that everything is fine

and if painter died? well, plain and simple, bruteforce would just.. kill himself

his initial reaction would just be.. blank. with or without painter in the room, he would just.. stare. the only difference between scenarios is him carrying painter's corpse if he's there with him, or really just kind of. lifting him off the ground and holding him

he'd give him a proper burial, even though he'd like to keep him around for a little longer; it just wouldn't feel right to keep him there any longer

he'd bury painter with all his art supplies, and might debate on putting his paintings in the grave too before ultimately deciding to keep them around because it's what painter would have wanted

his general behavior after that still involves getting out of the house as much as possible, but eventually after coming home to an empty house enough times he'll decide he's had enough

he isn't ever going to be the same after this, he can't go back to just living normally after what he's done and he can't go back to killing people either because every time he'd see someone die the only thing he'd be able to think about is painter and how much he would've loved this if he were there. and he isn't.

he hasn't been sleeping, he hasn't been doing much of anything at all, he doesn't really want to go outside but he doesn't have much of a choice because he just can't stand being in this fucking house anymore but he can't leave, that would be too difficult, and whenever he does go out people notice that something's wrong and ask what it is but he can't tell them because that'd give him away as a serial killer

the only way he can see to leave is to die, and so he does.. he takes the gun he stole from the fords' place, goes out to where he buried painter, and shoots himself there; either lying on the grave or right next to it

no matter which one of them dies, the other one inevitably dies shortly after, whether it's passively or actively; and no one would find either of them on account of their house not even really legally existing

#this is the answer (ooc)#this is the answer #these are the headcanons #this is the writing #🖌#🪓#🖌🪓#urbanspook #the painter urbanspook #urbanspook analog horror #actually almost cried while writing this wtf #i think i dont put enough emphasis on how completely intertwined these guys' lives are?? which i mean #its understandable because most of the stuff that gets requested here is x reader-related things #and i have no problem with that!! it's all really fun to write!!#but i'm really happy to get a chance to put their codependency on display here because. man..#they literally can't live without each other but they DON'T EVEN KNOW EACH OTHER'S NAMES.....#they'd kill and die for each other but never even met each other's parents #everything one does revolves around the other but they hesitate to even call each other friends.......... they dont know what they are #but they're definitely something #man i can't wait to write more about them as. a couple? i guess?#and im really hoping more people request stuff with them together #because for as much as i see the fandom ship them i dont think i've ever gotten any requests specifically for them being shipped #also i think this might be the first mature post on my blog that isn't saucy LMAO

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oumaheroes · 2 years

Note

hnnnng deep dive into france's bad moments or coping mechanisms? love hearing about how this man isn't just a pretty face and can and will be toxic if he feels like it. sorry for bad English. keep up the good work my friend!

As with Arthur, Francis' bad moments would be impossible to list, there's too damn many of them and what Francis considers bad versus what anyone else considers bad are two very different things sometimes

As for his worse coping mechanisms, there are some that he shares with Arthur. One being his inability to admit to wrongdoing, preferring to blame someone else for a situation going awry or for a relationship breaking down. Francis is rarely in the wrong, both because he is sometimes blind to the potential consequences of his actions and because he hates either making avoidable mistakes (and the shame of that) and realising that he and he alone ruined something.

Francis is a callous, cold person when he wants to be, more socially manipulative and ruthless than Arthur and it's hard to really know what he believes and feels. He's an incredible liar, able to mask his personality and emotions to whatever situation he wants and he can and will take advantage of someone to achieve and end, even if that end is amusing himself. He does this both because he can, and because Francis is a MASSIVE hypocrite. He mocks people for their flaws, taunts them their failures and takes advantage of their nature because he's terrified of being in that position himself, of being awkward and slow and wrong footed and ugly. He'd rather pre-emptively strike than assume safety and be caught off guard. One of Francis' worst coping methods then is to project his fears to onto others and this comes across most in his desire and need to dominate a social setting and keep it tightly under his control

Another terrible coping method he has, which I feel that most of their kind have to some degree, is substance abuse.

Francis' is the slow, hidden kind, far more toxic in many ways to Arthur's overt reliance on alcohol to express vulnerable emotion. Francis will be fine always, perfectly in control and on top form, knife sharp and calculating. But then he'll go home to his empty house, sit in a bath and drink a whole bottle of wine in half an hour, frequently moving on to a second just to try and feel his own emotions, rather than sit with the mask of whatever he was using to fit in socially that day. He struggles to connect with himself, can't always regulate and identify what he is feeling versus what he thinks he should feel and after years of this emotions now come to him vague and fleeting. Alcohol deepens them, helps him feel one of them solidly, and Francis has accidentally drowned himself drunk in his bath more times than he cares admit to himself

Lastly, another bad coping mechanism he has is the inability, and lack of want, to learn publically, and being a lazy learner in general. He regards modern technology as frivolous, not really all that necessary, and it takes him ages to learn it. He'd rather shove his phone at Gilbert or Arthur to figure out why it's flashing than do it himself, or avoid it altogether if possible- it took him years to get a laptop and he still only uses it for work.

This is because publically he doesn't want to appear flustered or give away how unsure he is- he'd rather openly admit he doesn't know and dismiss whatever it is as ridiculous, rather than admit he cares- and privately because he doesn't want to tackle the fact that it's difficult for him. Francis likes to get things instantly and, if he doesn't, he avoids it. He hates mentally struggling or feeling stupid and unlike Arthur who uses this as fuel to learn perfectly right now to prove that you can and become an expert, Francis would just rather give up and not try

#aph france #hws france #francis bonnefoy #hetalia #hetalia meta #hetalia headcanons #aph #hws #heroes headcanons #heroes answers #thanks for the ask and the lovely compliment nonny!

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dawnedon · 3 months

Text

"Readings are definitely increasing in this direction. I think we may have a lead." The glowing screen of the device illuminated Oliver's face through the early morning fog. Fellow researchers soon looked up from their own handhelds. Some moved in his direction, confirming the spike in their own readings, and it wasn't long before they began murmuring amongst themselves.

The machinery was Oliver's invention - something that had catapulted him ahead in the scientific world. It was a device to pick up distortional anomalies, that which came from the Distortion World itself. All eyes were on him with this invention, and his blossoming reputation studying Sinnoh's creation legends.

The group had packed light, each bringing a backpack of various items - notebooks, plenty of pens and pencils, cameras, containers for samples - most of them weren't really sure what they were going to do should they make an encounter with the parallel realm; including Oliver. He had brought a camera of his own, which hung comfortably around his neck, finding that visual documentation would be most important to him.

Photographs of the Distortion World were something that didn't exist. Documentation on the subject overall was extremely rare, and only a handful of eyewitness accounts of anomalies existed as far back as record keeping began. Oliver being so close to one of his major goals had his heart racing, and with each step he took at the head of the group, the readings from the radar grew more and more intense.

"We should be upon it in about five meters," he informs, "stick together. The fog shouldn't interfere beyond making it harder to see." Cedar trees flanked either sides of them, the forest of trees holding an eerie silence. There was no wind, no sounds of pokemon - it was dead quiet in Sinnoh's wilderness.

Each step was agonizing its own way as they marched ahead towards the unknown. The temperature, while already cold, had grown even colder now. Somehow, the fog seemed even thicker than before, and the area grew darker and darker - what little light there was seemed to evaporate, almost.

They were upon it now. The device was so frantic, Oliver almost expected it to stop functioning altogether. Midnight eyes peered down at the screen for a moment. "Professor Hara-" the voice of one of his colleagues was all he heard, before a feeling of weightlessness took over. The sudden shift was nauseating, as was the rapidly shifting scene before him. Darkness clouded the edges of his vision, blurring colors, lights, and sounds overwhelming his senses momentarily.

And then, he would land with a hard thud on his back.

Oliver blinked once, then twice, clearing away any lingering blurriness in his vision. A swirling, purple sky was what greeted him first. Then, he'd see large floating platforms overhead, dotting the sky like clouds. Waterfalls flowed not just down, but upwards, sideways, and even diagonal.

He scrambled to sit up, eyes darting in all directions for another second longer, before refocusing on his colleagues. "Is everyone okay?" With various noises of affirmation from the rest of the group, it wasn't long before Oliver pushed himself into a standing position. He moved to help others up, all while taking in the Distortion World.

The gravity of the platform they were on was almost that of earth, if only a bit lighter. He found he could jump in place a little, and hang suspended in the air a fraction longer than normal. Other platforms caught his eye, with some hanging upside down, while others hung sideways. Did gravity function the same on those as well? Did they keep one righted constantly, despite the differing orientations?

He grabbed for his camera, wasting no time in snapping several pictures. Though expensive, he had made sure to purchase one of the largest SD cards on the market. Running out of storage space would have been beyond devastating for the young professor - the only thing worse would have been coming back empty handed overall.

The others were also marveling at the otherworldly sights of the realm. Some went on to take photos of their own, while a few had gone off to the side to take samplings of the plants. Spindly trees, and crystalline flowers that somehow survived in spite of the harsh conditions. There wasn't any sunlight, nor did it seem any precipitation was readily available - and yet, they still grew.

Crystals hung suspended in the air, and Oliver found himself taking photos of those as well. The crystals were something he had knowledge about, thanks to various texts he had pieced together. They were the key back to their own world, showcasing various images of earth. 'One way mirrors' was how he always described it. A way to see into earth from the Distortion World, though there was no way to see here from earth. How lonely had that been for this realms one inhabitant, Giratina, he had always wondered. To continually see the world on the other side, passing by without a care without her. To see how close freedom was, yet being shackled and bound to this world.

There was an undeniable buzz in the group as they continued to document this realm. They talked among themselves, hypotheses and theories already being born in conversation. Oliver continued to take photographs, contemplating descending further into the Distortion World. Before he did so, he would take a moment to look through the dozens of photos he took.

As his thumb moved over the arrows, the images on the screen made his heart sink. They... were blurry? That couldn't be right. Each and every one was blurry - not a single one appeared to be right. Oliver double checked his lens, making sure the dial was properly tuned. It definitely was; he had taken photos out in the field not long ago, and he hadn't touched or messed with anything on this lens. His brows knit together as he lowered the camera slightly, before lifting it to take another picture, this time of the group.

The photo of them was perfectly clear, but the surrounding background of the Distortion World was blurred. Immediately, Oliver made his way over to his colleagues. "This is strange," he has the photos up still to show them, "none of my pictures are coming through. Is there some kind of interference here?" One of the other professors with a camera also checked through their photos, looking as equally as puzzled as Oliver had.

"Mine look the same too," they confirmed, "before we had come out here, I checked my lens and all settings on my camera to make sure it was good. See - I had taken some test photos earlier that were perfect," they cycle back to their older photos, showcasing the cedar forest in the fog - a perfectly clear photograph.

Before Oliver could say anything else, a crashing sound from deep within the Distortion World reverberated upwards. The platform they stood on rumbled, shaking with aftershocks. There was a sudden chill within his heart, ice traveling through his veins. Inexplicably, cold beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

He lifted his hands slightly as they began to shake, and he would soon see that all the hands on his watch were rapidly advancing through the seconds, minutes, and hours. Oliver could feel his mind racing right with his heart. There was another crash - this one was closer. The skies above them, a lighter purple before, were now much, much darker. Calm waterfalls now became rushing torrents, the noise drowning out all other senses. The glowing pools were now dim, and the flowers steadily lost their petals. Mirrored blooms fell to the hard ground, the small tinkling noise nearly lost among the cacophony of the falls.

Giratina was here. And they were not welcome.

"We need to get out of here! Now!" Oliver shouted, eyes darting in panic. The crystals that hung in the air seemed farther than before. He knew they were much closer. Giratina, or the realm itself, was closing off their chances to escape. There was no time to waste as Oliver began to run. Another ear-grating crash erupted from behind them, screeching as one of the larger platforms exploded into a shower of rock and debris.

The roar from the ghostly dragon cut through all other noise in the Distortion World - she was here, and she was enraged.

Those that had pokemon on them were unable to send them out in time. Oliver looked over his shoulder in time to see pointed spikes turning two of his colleagues into nothing more than red mist. Their bags and devices fell to the ground, before the current of Giratina's movement sent them over the edge and to the depths below.

A group of seven, now down to five with such a simple movement.

One of the researchers pace slowed from a sprint, to a jog, then to a walk, and then... to nothing. Their legs simply stopped carrying them forward, eyes wide with fear. Death itself loomed over them soon, overshadowing them entirely. A deep red energy exploded from Giratina without her so much as lifting a tendril, and before anyone could react, the researcher was gone in the blink of an eye. The large platform they were under also disappeared instantaneously - the rest of the team was fortunate to dive to a neighboring landmass before they fell to their deaths.

The power of a goddess was unfathomable and incomprehensible, Oliver was quickly learning. Though his legs were shaking, he still managed to push himself up and scramble ahead. A fear so raw had never pervaded his mind in such a way. He, an ant, was up against infinity. His mouth was dry as screams echoed out behind him. Wet noises of blood and viscera peppering the ground reached his ears. Despite his best judgement telling him otherwise, he still cast a glance over his shoulder.

It was carnage. And now, it was just him left alone with Giratina.

The crystals- The crystals. They were his only way out. He made a frantic beeline to the nearest one he saw, ducking in time to avoid being decapitated by a large, gnarly spike. His desperation made him crawl, fingernails breaking on the ground through the effort he exerted.

It depicted a mountain peak on the other side, with deep blue skies. Somewhere in the wilderness, he assumed, but he should be able to call for help from there. A scream tore through his throat involuntarily as pain shot through his side - one of Giratina's spikes tore through his skin like paper, red beginning to bloom through his lab coat.

"Y̶͔̅ǫ̴̈ü̵͍'̵̰̇r̴͎͂ê̵̯ ̴͕͝n̷̞̾o̴̳͗ţ̵̊ ̴͈̕g̸̱̅o̴̱͋i̴̙̋ǹ̷̼g̵̩̍ ̸͇͝A̷̞̎N̵̤͘Y̵̯͗W̵̖̄H̷͓́Ȇ̵͙R̵̝̆Ë̵ͅ.̴͜͝"

His hand pressed over the wound, blood pooling through his fingers. A whimper of pain left his throat, but the insanity and desperation to leave overshadowed it all. After nearly tripping over his own feet pushing himself up one final time, he took a final leap through the crystal.

Oliver landed hard on the ground once he passed through, crushing his camera and knocking the wind out of himself. He coughed and spluttered, gasping for air as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Finally, with Oliver regaining his bearings, he would slowly rise to his feet. His wound beat in time with his heart, and he moved his hand back over it to keep pressure applied. Though he was in the wilderness, he should be able to get help still - and he needed to get it fast.

As he reached into his bag for his cellular device, thankful that his belongings survived the encounter, he found himself pausing as he beheld the sky. There... were three suns. Oliver whirled around, and behind them in the sky appeared to be a moon, with a smaller moon orbiting it.

The mountain ahead of him - of which he had only seen the peak of in the crystal - was so large it breached the atmosphere. The rocky crag that made up the range was a deep blue, almost black, color; unlike any mountain range on earth.

There was the tiniest laughs that left him, before he collapsed back onto the ground. Pinpricks of needles washed over his body as realization overcame him.

He had not made it back to earth.

The crystals didn't just show earth like he had assumed - they showed other places in the entire universe. The Distortion World wasn't just a mirror to earth, but to the universe as a whole. The Distortion World could exist without earth, but not without the universe. What a stunning, and shattering knowledge. If only he had realized it before this. If only he could share this discovery with his peers... and with his young daughter, too.

Dawn was always fascinated with his field of study, and the capacity she showed to learn - at least, when the subject interested her - never failed to put a smile on his face. Not just as a scientist, but as a father, too. Seeing how her personality and interests had developed as she grew older was his favorite part of being a parent.

Tears soon filled his eyes as another realization dawned on him. He wouldn't ever be returning home. He had lost his device in the panic earlier, and he was on an unknown planet, an unknown distance from earth. No one was coming for him. No one would know what happened to him. No one would be able to tell his daughter, and his wife, the truth.

Oliver wouldn't get to see Dawn grow up. He wouldn't get to see where her ambition led her, see her chase her dreams, share his research and his knowledge with her.

If he would have known this was the outcome, he would have just let Giratina kill him. It would have been a mercy compared to this - this planet was inhabitable given the presence of oxygen, but there were no signs of life.

He didn't move his hand to wipe the tears. Instead, he laid on his side. Tears dampened the ground beneath him, midnight eyes looking over the towering mountain ahead.

'Dawn... Ayako... What are you two doing right now? Is it morning there? Are you starting your days? Will... Will you notice when I don't come back?' He wondered to himself.

Blood continued to pool out of his wound, and Oliver slowly removed his hand from it. He felt tired - his eyes felt so, so heavy now.

'I'm sorry to you both. I hope these words can reach you, even if you're so far away.'

The three suns slowly set behind the mountain, hiding themselves away. The sky, soon alight and smoldering with all shades of color, was the last thing he would behold.

#👻 headcanon.#👻 oliver hara.#👻 drabble.#death tw #violence tw #blood tw #long post #remember when i said this was a drabble i needed to write. well hello #this is long af btw but it was worth it 🥹 bc now im sad

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fanboytoy · 18 days

Text

Of all the fates in this world, you had never considered yours would be so gruesome as this: tied to a pole in the heart of a camp of monsters, alone and terrified.

Uruks walked by often, sometimes laughing at you, sometimes sniffing at you or poking at you with their weapons, and other times blissfully ignoring you altogether. The smaller ones were the worst, stopping frequently to sniff at your hair or, worse, your neck, saying things about how delicious you smell (whether they meant for eating or for more revolting purposes, you dare not try to solve). The largest ones, the ones that looked like trolls but could still walk in the sunlight… they rarely even looked at you, and never stopped to sniff or laugh or poke you.

Except this one.

“Reckon you wish you were pretty much anywhere else right now, eh Tark?”

The gigantic troll-or leaned against a massive stack of barrels with its arms crossed as it looked at you. With three scratches across its right cheek and large fangs, it looked more intimidating than every other orc you’d seen so far… even the one that had nearly salivated all over you while pinching your arms and thighs. The troll-orc pushed off of the barrels and walked towards you, and in spite of the stories you’d grown up with describing orcs as dull, violent creatures, you couldn’t help but feel like it was… studying you. It stopped a few feet away and crouched, one massive hand cradling his chin in a mocking facsimile of a thinking Man.

“What? Of all the screamin’ humans, did we manage to get the only one that’s mute? Bloody shame, that.. I do like the way you lot scream.”

You can’t help the defiance in your eyes as you glare at it-- prisoner or not, you were brought up with pride and spirit, and you were not going to die like a frightened rabbit in a trap. Unfortunately, it seemed the troll-orc was amused by your show of anger. It chuckled, a sound that you could feel in your own chest at this range. Its breath smelled a different sort of foul than the others, less like fermentation and more like old blood, and up close you were able to see amusement in his eyes. It was cold, and cruel, but it was familiar… almost human.

Almost.

“Name’s Brȗz… you know what a name is, don’tcha? Got one I can use, or do you prefer nicknames?” When you didn’t answer, he rolled his eyes and kept talking: “Tark’s pretty basic… could call you Meat. Or Lunch. Bit late for lunch though…” He watched you as he spoke, like he was looking for a reaction.

“Maybe I should call you Slave. Be the best outcome you could hope for… or maybe the worst. Depends if you think livin’ in all this would be better than if I just popped yer head off now.”

This time, you couldn’t hold back the whimper in the back of your throat. Brȗz-- the troll-orc’s eyes flashed, and its grin widened to show off even more of its sharp, uneven teeth.

“Well now… guess you can make some noise after all, ‘ey? Now that the ghȗl’s outta the sack, maybe you wanna have talk with ol’ Brȗz. Better way to pass the time than just pretendin’ your knees don’t ache.”

You glare up at the troll-orc, refusing to back down or appear any weaker than you already had. Resentment bubbled up in your chest, and you clenched your jaw before speaking.

“I’d rather die than make small talk with Uruk-hai.”

The troll-orc laughed, this time much more of a single sharp sound than the bouncing rumble of before. “Uruk-hai? Nah, mate, I’m not one a’ those shrakhs. I’m an Olog! Better, brighter, bigger all ‘round…” He even had the gall to wink at you on that last part, and you felt the bile rise in your throat. He stood, and at this much closer distance you could tell that he was, in fact, bigger than every other orc you’d seen in this encampment. His hands alone were big enough to hold one of you in each, fingers each as big around as your arms; his legs were like solid trees, his torso thick and wide and covered in small scars. You couldn’t help but notice the way he moved: languid, confident, relaxed-- a predator watching prey go by and knowing that at some later date, he would be well fed.

“Even still, my question stands: why would I want to talk with you?”

The troll-orc-- Olog-- grinned. “If memory serves, you never asked me a question… you just said you’d rather die than talk. And even if you had asked, I already gave ya an answer: passin’ time.” He stroked his chin again, and this time you knew he really was thinking. “Then again… could be better things to do with your time, right? Like escapin’... or prayin’. Maybe you could figure out how to bring world peace while you’re sittin’ there on your knees!”

“Fine! What is it you want? I doubt you have any real interest in conversation, so what are you truly after?”

Perhaps that was the moment you should have realized your mistake. The Olog’s grin widened, going from mild amusement to nearly sickening wicked pleasure.

“Oh, nothin’ much, I get pretty much everythin’ I want ‘round here on account of bein’ the biggest, baddest Olog around! You know what’s a more interestin’ question though?” You could smell its breath again, and it took everything in you not to gag when it leaned down and spoke to you in a low, rumbling tone.

“I wanna know what you want.”

This was the second moment you had to try and steer yourself away from disaster… and this time, it was easy to see. But the temptation was too much, and even if you knew you didn’t have a chance in hell to succeed, you had no reason not to say it… right?

“Simple, Olog… I want my freedom.”

“Oh, simple indeed, innit?” He replied easily, obviously expecting your answer. “I mean, all I’d have to do is go ‘round behind ya, and untie those ropes, and you’d be off on your merry little way across Mordor and back home!” Your stomach dropped as he spoke, you hadn’t realized just how much the idea of escape was going to affect you, even though you knew it was never going to happen. And the way he treated it so casually, like he was telling children a bedtime story, made your heart ache for the fields and forests you knew so well before being dragged kicking and screaming into a world you didn’t know. And the Olog, damn him, he could tell-- you knew he could tell, the way he was looking at you like you were pathetic, like you were an animal, like you were prey.

Like you were his prey.

“Well, well, well… been almost a week since you got grabbed, and at least a day on the ground there, and you know what? Reckon this is the first time I’ve seen you look so down, Slave. As much as I like watching the life fade from you Tarks’ eyes, seein’ it while you’re still breathin’... actually, I kinda like it. But I tell you what, I’m already in a good enough mood without watchin’ ya lose all hope. So how’s about I let ya out?”

The shock must have been evident on your face, had to have been, because his gaze sharpened and his grin widened on one side, and he made a noise at you that you could only describe as some fucked-up kind of purring.

“Bet you’d like that, hey? Ol’ Brȗzie lets ya out, you go free… might even make it home if you’re smart about it. Bet you’d be real grateful if I untied those ropes and watched you run off into the sunset.”

“You’re toying with me, orc… I know your kind are cruel, but if you only came here to torture me, I’m afraid you’ll be getting no more satisfaction from me today.”

“Wouldn’t be too sure about that, Slave… after all, I never said I wouldn’t do it. Just said you’d probably be grateful if I did. Might even wanna give me somethin’ nice for my trouble.”

You grit your teeth, angry now at the Olog’s nonchalance. “Perhaps, if you actually did release me, I would be compelled to give you some kind of reward.” You spit the words like venom, and in the next instant you would finally realize how fucked your situation truly was.

“Yeah? And what will you do for me, if I loosen those ropes a little?”

Your stomach drops once again as you look at him. He’s grinning. Its grinning. When did it become a he? Why did you get the sense that he wanted something from you that you would regret giving? Why did it seem like it wanted to-- to--

“Anything.”

The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it. There is a moment where you look at the Olog-- Brȗz-- and you can feel regret and shame washing over you. It feels like a dozen lifetimes pass in the less than a second it takes for Brȗz to reply to you, but when he does, your cheeks heat and you swallow back a whimper of fear.

“Then let’s get some slack in those ropes, eh Slave?”

#bruz x reader #bruz the chopper #shadow of war #mordor #making good on my threat to fill this tag singlehandedly if necessary #because bruz deserved better! and still does!#also if people as I might make part 2s or post these bits + spicy continuation to here or to ao3 #for now this is just me practicing fro other stuff as well as giving my boy the recognition he deserves

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