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gojhoes · 4 months

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Stay With Me

- pairings: megumi x reader - contents: childhood friends to lovers, unrequited love, fluff, high school au, no curse au - wc: 1.4k

Megumi had always been a quiet child. He was an observer, someone who sat back and didn't get caught up in the petty things.

And you were anything but that. You always had been. On the first day of primary school, you bursted into the classroom with a giant blue backpack and a lollipop in hand despite the 'no food in class' rule. Your voice rang high and clear without a trace of anxiety, "good morning!", successfully turning the heads of every kid in the room.

Megumi had been horrified, absolutely stunned by such boisterousness. And he was even more horrified as you sashayed directly over to him and sat in the seat at his left. Megumi gaped at you while you began to unpack your things without batting an eye.

"Hi," you said. "What's your name?"

Almost inaudibly, from both shyness and reservation, Megumi murmured his response.

Your voice was muffled slightly by the sucker in your mouth, but loud and clear you asked, "Isn't that a girl's name?".

And Megumi scowled at you, mad all over again about the stupid femininity of his given name. "So?"

But you were unfazed by his gruff attitude, which only increased as he got older. And ever since then, the two of you had been inseparable. It was more that you led and he followed, but there was something about you that Megumi liked. You were so unafraid to voice any thoughts you had, even when it landed you multiple detentions each week. You moved with confidence and intention in every step, bending to no one's will but your own. It scared him half to death when you'd force him to sneak out with you, agreeing to run off to the bridge at midnight just to sit and talk under the stars.

Throughout primary and secondary school, you and Megumi always ended up in the same class. Where there was one of you, there would be the other, walking side by side, sharing a clementine, or leaning on each other with your backs against a tree trunk.

You spent so much time at each other's houses that you both had a set of clothes and a toothbrush there. On weekends, Megumi's dad would let you stay up late to watch terrible soapy comedies and eat the candy your mom never let you have. And you would eventually drift off, always being the first to fall asleep, until Megumi would gently shake you awake to guide you to his bed. And you would curl into his side as you slept, the strands of your hair tickling his nose, but he never minded. He'd watch the passive rise and fall of your chest, letting your soft breaths lull him to sleep with the image of your face behind his eyelids.

That was the way it was, the way it had always been, and Megumi was happy. Because you were happy, you were close to him, because the two of you were inseparable. Best friends.

Until the first year of upper secondary school, when you alone were put into a higher-level preparatory class on the other side of campus.

"I'm gonna transfer out," you said over the phone. "This is bullshit."

Megumi agreed, humming as he listened to you rant. This was typically how your conversations unfolded; you would call first, ask him how his day was, then you'd launch into an attempt at one story that turned into several smaller ones. And he would listen to every word, murmuring validations as you prattled on and on. The reality was that he could listen to you talk all day. In his mind's eye, he could see your animated expressions as you talked with your hands.

Megumi knew it would be selfish of him to encourage you to transfer. You were on a path to greatness. Your bold personality came equipped with a ruthless ambition; you had to be the best, had to win at every game you ever played. Not to mention the nightmare it was to play you in Scrabble. You were the brightest in your year- you belonged in the preparatory class.

However, despite all the desperate denying he'd been engaging in recently, there was a small voice itching at the back of his mind: you belonged with him.

But Megumi would never, could never voice it. You had been best friends for nearly your entire lives. He wasn't sure exactly when it had happened, but one day when he'd overheard your name whispered by a group of male classmates, he realized that it bothered him to know other people thought about you like that. You were his, his one and only. Didn't everyone know that? Didn't you know that?

And you were popular- of course you were, with your charm and captivating extraverted personality. Everyone knew who you were. You were kind, smart, funny; it was impossible not to love you. And Megumi was just...Megumi, a quiet kid who had been lucky enough to get swooped up under the wing of someone like you. Where you were the sun, he was the moon, and he would never do anything that might eclipse your radiance.

You'd come over to stay the night with him before the first day of the new school year- the first year without you sitting in the desk next to his. Anxiety often got the better of you since starting secondary school, sometimes keeping you up into the small hours of the morning. It was already well past midnight when the two of you laid propped up in his bed watching youtube videos of video games on your laptop.

The side of your body was pressed shamelessly against his under the comforter. Megumi was trying desperately to focus on the video in front of him, but the feeling of your unadulterated warmth was dizzying. He could smell the remnants of the sweet floral perfume you'd started wearing last summer, a scent that nearly took his breath away each time he caught it.

"Are you worried about tomorrow?"

You pressed the spacebar, pausing the video and engulfing the room in silence. Megumi saw you hesitate as he took in the shape of your face. There were shadows under your eyes from an increase in frequency of sleepless nights. You had this idiotic notion that you had to face all of your problems alone. Regardless of the conviction in your voice when you assured him you were fine, Megumi could always tell when you were lying.

You sighed. "I'm just sad we won't be together anymore."

He was right there with you. You closed the laptop and pushed it to the end of the bed past your feet before nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. Your breath warmed his skin and he froze as he felt your lips brush against it as you spoke. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his hands from shaking as his pulse jumped.

"We'll still hang out," Megumi said reassuringly. "At least we're at the same school."

But it wouldn't be the same and both of you knew it. Maybe if Megumi had applied himself and actually listened when you tried to tutor him then none of this would be happening. He'd be next to you with all the other smart kids, wouldn't have to leave you alone with all the boys who thought you owed them something. And then a horrifying thought crossed his mind, one that he'd been having since your classes were assigned. What if you ended up liking one of them? How could he sit back and watch while some idiot tried to take what was his?

But he couldn't tell you how he felt, couldn't voice the potential cataclysm that was his emotions. So, he laid with you, sliding his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him snugly as he'd done for the last eight years. Your legs were tangled with his, your bare skin tickling the hair that had started growing in more thickly. One of your hands rested on his chest, the other squished between his arm and your own head.

Your head turned, and you were peering into his eyes with soul-shattering intensity. "Promise you won't forget about me?"

And a small smile tugged at Megumi's lips, the only kind he was capable of, for the only person who could pull one from him. "I could never do that."

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #friends to lovers #no curse au #childhood friends #megumi x you #megumi fluff #jjk fanfic

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drnikolatesla · 4 months

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X-Ray Image Taken By Nikola Tesla (1896)

Though not widely known, Nikola Tesla spent a great deal of time intensively researching X-rays, publishing his results during the period between March 11, 1896 to August 11, 1897. He also gave a lecture on April 6, 1897 presenting designs of several different devices that could generate these powerful rays. During this lecture, he shared similar data and conclusions from his earlier experiments with Crookes tubes in 1894. Crookes tubes were invented by British scientist William Crookes in order to study electrical discharges in vacuum tubes. During Tesla’s experiments in 1894, he observed that some of the tubes that produced only feeble visible light had more effect on photographic plates than tubes which were brighter. Since it was obvious that there must be some kind of energy coming from the tubes with feeble light, and their properties were still unknown, Tesla used the term “radiant matter" to describe these radiations. With these tubes, Tesla produced some of the first X-ray imaging, which he called “shadowgraphs,” due to their dark nature, but still did not realize the importance of these radiations. To him, the photographs taken seemed to be spoiled due to unaccountable marks and defects. In March of 1895, a fire broke out in his laboratory, destroying practically all of his equipment and experimental data to date. It took several months before he could resume his work, and in the meantime, a German scientist named Wilhelm Röntgen made his X-ray discovery in the same year (December, 1895). Roentgen first detected the radiation by accident in his experiments where he was testing whether cathode rays emitted from Crookes tubes could pass through glass, and or other solid objects, but was astonished to find that the rays emitted would pass through thinner objects and leave shadows of the more solid objects behind (such as with skin and bones). When Tesla heard this news, it was immediately obvious to him what had been problematic in his laboratory work. Realizing and regretting that he had missed out on making a major scientific discovery, Tesla would say, “I realized that my guiding spirit had again prompted me and that I had failed to comprehend his mysterious signs.” He repeated Röntgen's experiments, and came to much better results than Röntgen and others since he had his newly developed Tesla Coil. With this apparatus, he immediately realized the importance of high voltages for producing powerful rays and suggested using his newly developed single-terminal tubes and connecting them to the secondary coil of the transformer. In 1896, Röntgen acknowledged Tesla’s discoveries and in a lecture before the Physical Medical Society in Wurzburg, Germany, discussed the advantage of using Tesla’s high-frequency transformer in generating X-rays. Tesla would also become one of the first scientists to point out the harms of these rays and developed safer ways to utilize them for medical use. Methods we still use today. On the other side of town, others like Thomas Edison thought these newly discovered rays could cure the blind. Many patients who were experimented upon starting showing terrible illnesses, one being his assistant who later had to have both arms amputated. Edison was quoted in an interview saying, “Don’t talk to me about X-rays…I am afraid of them.”

Nikola Tesla would later give all credit to Röntgen for the discovery, and throughout the next few years, produced some of the best X-ray imaging that even Röntgen praised. In a letter to Tesla, Röntgen wrote, “Dear Sir! You have surprised me tremendously with the beautiful photographs of wonderful discharges, and I tell you thank you very much for that. If only I knew how you make such things!”

#nikola tesla #science #history #x ray #X-rays #technology #invention #medical #electricity #quotes #ahead of his time #ahead of our time

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narcissisticpdcultureis · 6 months

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blog info

- always remember to start off your ask with some variation of "npd culture is..." ("npd system culture is..." "npd + bpd culture is..." ect ect).

- people who don't have npd but do have npd traits are welcome to send in submissions.

- this blog is run by one mod and isn't looking for others.

- i open this blog to be a place where egotypicals can learn about the experiences of pwnpd, but urge them to remember this blog will be mostly unfiltered and show the more unpleasant side of mental illness and trauma. if you cannot respect or handle that, leave.

- if you'd like to claim a sign off, refer to this post.

- the queue can be long, it may take some time to get to your submission. please be patient with me. i also reserve the right to not post certain things for whatever reason.

- there's also a polish version of this blog: @bycie-narcyzem-to. i don't run that blog. it's been inactive for some time as well.

byf

-this blog doesn't have a set dni anymore (other than basic criteria, anti-pd, and [pd] abuse believers), but i will block freely.

- i do not want to hear about your abusive relatives with npd, even if you put "but i don't think all pwnpd are abusive!" after it.

- please don't ask me for advice. i'm fine with people asking questions about npd itself, but i may not always answer. keep in mind i'm not a professional, i'm not the end all of information on npd, and it is entirely possible for me to accidentally spread misinformation. if you sent a question that never got answered it's likely i just didn't feel equipped to answer it myself.

-i don't relate to, agree with, or condone the actions of every single submission i post.

notable tags

- info

- resources

- admin lore

- media ; for character who have npd or npd headcanons

- song reccs ; for songs about npd or have npd vibes

- point and laugh at the ableist ; for any hate i decide to respond to, block if you'd like to avoid that

- ableist creators ; for creators who are anti-npd or use stigmatizing language (this is not inherently to "cancel" anyone, i simply believe pwnpd deserve to be warned ahead of time if a creator uses ableist language.)

- supportive creators ; for creators who have explicitly spoken out against anti-npd ableism and shown genuine support for people with npd (people who simply have never spoken on the topic typically do not fall under this tag as there's no way to tell their actual stance)

about the admin [@doomsdayradio]

- collectively go by poker, chorus, and fate

- genderqueer aroacespec mspec lesbian, they/he

- complex did system

- cluster a, b, + c

- audhd, dyscalculia, madd

- we also run @polyfragcultureis and @hpdcultureis

- white and ethnically jewish

- unsure who's fronting most of the time, switch between i/me and we/us

frequent fronters

- 🧋 | they/it/mint/nova | primary host, hpd + npd symptoms holder

- 📻 | he/him | secondary host, persecutor, bpd symptoms holder

- 🌃 | he/it | co-host, soother

- 🎶 | coffin/thou/they/she | co-host, homicidal thoughts holder

#not culture #pinned post #info #resources #admin lore #media #song reccs #point and laugh at the ableist #ableist creators #ask game #mine

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dracomort · 4 months

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Reincarnation? If you so please

For the ask game

This is really just my Tomarry reincarnation scribbles for any AUs that come to mind.

I'm cracking up rn because the only scene I have polished enough to share is one with secondary-school-student!Tom and dying-in-a-pallative-care-ward!Harry 💀

Anyway, you're welcome:

Scene

“Look at you.” The voice of a teenage boy.

Harry pried one eye open.

There, leaning in the doorway, was none other than Tom Riddle, looking perhaps sixteen at the oldest. He was dressed in a crisp school uniform that looked expensive enough to pay for private palliative care thrice over. His hair was artfully tousled in a way that might have been carefree if it had been anyone other than Tom. On the breast of his blazer was pinned the predictable prefect badge.

“This is perverse,” Harry said. He closed his eyes, wishing Tom away, thinking of Ginny, the children, the grandchildren. Anything other than Tom Riddle.

It didn’t work. He could still hear the soft sound of Tom’s feet on the lino as he approached.

“I won’t disagree.” Tom dropped himself onto the mattress beside Harry, peering down at him with his dark, pretty eyes. “You look hideous. How old are you? One hundred? Two?”

“Eighty-three,” Harry replied, “and not likely to make it to eighty-four.” It was jarring to see his sun-beaten, wrinkled old hands beside Tom’s pale, youthful ones. How would it work in this world? Would Tom continue to live a long, healthy life after Harry had passed? Would he forget him?

“You look much older,” Tom said, matter of fact.

He wasn’t the most conscious of the Toms, Harry mused. He’d met versions of him with varying degrees of knowledge of their shared pasts—some who remembered only when he saw them, some who had known for decades, some who didn’t recognise him in the slightest. This Tom seemed to remember well enough, but he didn’t hold himself with the maturity of a Tom Riddle who recalled a thousand lives. He was a boy, nothing more.

And even from the brief words they’d exchanged, Harry could already tell he had been raised by his father.

“This coming from the lad who didn’t manage to make it to his seventy-eighth birthday?” Harry said.

Tom shrugged, which was not the reaction that an iteration of him closer to Voldemort would have had. If—in his decrepit, geriatric form—Harry had dared voice that to the Librarian Tom, he was certain all the life-saving equipment currently attached to him would have already been severed. But instead, this Tom only watched him curiously, head half-cocked.

Harry was, predictably, charmed by him. However, much to his relief, he felt no great surge of attraction. It was one benefit of being eighty-three and on seven different medications with a total of forty different side effects.

“I saw your name on the door. I remembered it, though I wasn’t sure where from.”

“Almost like a half-forgotten friend from when you were very young?” Harry supplied.

“A friend?” Tom’s lip curled. “I never had friends.” He spoke as if Harry had gravely offended him by even suggesting the possibility.

“No,” Harry said, “neither had I. But that was how I felt when I read your name—the first time.”

“Hm,” Tom said, mouth twitching down. “Why’s it always you, then? What’s so special about you?” He didn’t question his own importance—as Harry recalled doing in iterations further from the core—simply accepting his place at the centre of infinite parallel universes without batting an eye.

“You marked me as your equal,” Harry said. “Really, it’s all your fault. I’m still waiting on an apology.” His throat was dry, arms too weak to reach for his water, but he didn’t ask Tom to help him. Not this petulant, young version of him.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

A nurse came in, almost as if she’d read his mind, bustling about and neatening up Ginny’s bags. She helped him take a sip of water, sparing an incurious glance at Tom. Harry supposed she imagined he was just another grandchild. It was nauseating enough to almost make him laugh.

“We fucked,” Tom said abruptly.

The nurse dropped the cup, the thin plastic straw spinning away somewhere under his bed. “Pardon me?”

It was likely Tom hadn’t even intended to provoke a reaction from the room. The memory had certainly just come to him. Harry had experienced the same many a time. However, while rarely was that an admission one would wish to make in front of a stranger, stating such a thing while in school uniform in front of a mandated reporter was surely near the top of the list of inadvisable decisions.

Tom flicked a disinterested glance at her. “I’m sixteen. If I have a taste for the toothless then that’s none of your business.”

“He’s only joking,” Harry assured her. “You’ve seen my records. I’m not up for any sort of physical activity.”

She did not laugh, leaving in a huff. Harry hoped she wasn’t off to make a call.

“I’m not going to have this conversation with a child,” Harry said. “Come see me in the next life.”

“We did,” Tom insisted, perhaps not understanding that plausibility was not the roadblock to their conversation. “In an atelier out the back of a piano shop in Paris.”

“Well,” Harry said, memories of a thousand lives blurred and smudged together in his mind, “I suppose we may have.” That it was the closest iteration to this Tom did not mean it sprang quickly to Harry’s mind.

“We did, we—”

The door slid open again and Harry looked up, expecting a police officer or some sort of security. But instead, there stood an exceptionally handsome man who could have been the twin of any of the versions of Tom in his thirties that Harry had met.

“Tommy,” Tom Riddle Sr said, looking tired and rather distracted, “you mustn’t just go about bothering other patients. I’m very sorry, Mr…?” He was dressed in a crisp black suit and had his Blackberry in hand, looking like he had about a thousand things to do that were more important than apologising to Harry.

“Potter,” Harry said. “And that’s quite alright.” He was old enough to be the man’s grandfather. Never had he felt older. He was beginning to understand why Voldemort had paid him little attention or respect in the worlds in which they were fifty years apart in age.

“I was just saying goodbye,” Tom said. Then, with a sly glint in his eye, he dipped his head and kissed Harry square on the mouth. “When do you suppose you’ll die?” he asked, breaking away.

Harry glanced over at Tom’s father, but saw that he was typing out an email on his phone and had missed the exchange entirely.

“The doctors have given me two months.”

Tom’s eyes dropped to his own hand on Harry’s chest for a brief moment, then up at his face again. “This will be the last time I see you, then.”

“In this lifetime.” Harry winked. Tom frowned.

Behind him, Tom’s father cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt, but we’ve really got to dash. Tommy, will you come say goodbye to your grandfather?”

#asks #ask game #anon

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artbyblastweave · 1 year

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I prompt you to elaborate on the idea of deliberately making something in a story boring, for I an always interested in your analysis.

In The Boys (Comic version, which I have complicated but more-positive-than-most feelings about) Garth Ennis very deliberately wrote most of the superhuman combat scenes as short, brutal affairs in which whoever was more powerful or better-equipped would just slaughter the other side in a matter of seconds; if the sides were more evenly matched it was then a matter of who swung first. To my memory, there were only a handful of fights blocked like fights instead of like curbstomps. This was in service to Ennis's artistic vision; violence as a swift, brutal thing, only glamourous in the sense of black-comedy dismemberments or the grim satisfaction of being alive when the other guy isn't, and with the majority of all conflicts playing out through via prep-work and intelligence-gathering done in advance of the first punch being thrown.

It was an aggressive refutation of how superhero fights go in more straightforward superhero fiction, with clever tricks, drawn-out dramatic brawls, violence as a palatable form of spectacle, something marketable after-the-fact. A lot of the fights the titular team got involved in consisted basically of jumping distracted supes; one of Homelander's jobs was to just unceremoniously decapitate any earnest upstart supervillain and then have the marketing team at Vought write a comic portraying the fight as something with genre-typical stakes. To this day, I feel like there was a level of honesty about violence in this portrayal. In real life, it's not fun!

But! It did introduce some problems. Namely, a series in which almost every single fight is something Nasty, Brutish and Short created, for me, a form of doublethink about how seriously we should even take the Vought capes as threats. A series in which every fight is deliberately uninteresting (if you aren't entertained by curbstomps) is a series in which every fight is deliberately uninteresting, and from there your enjoyment of the series rides or dies on how interesting you find the non-fight political intrigue, character dynamics, and so forth. The version of Garth Ennis who isn't writing capes is, in my opinion, pretty damn good at that other stuff, so I inched through.

The show patched the majority of my difficulties. It retained the broad thesis that cape fights would largely be curbstomps, and the other broad thesis that capes would largely be useless or counterproductive at their supposed role, but combined this with a number of actual fight scenes. It made Butchers team significantly less powerful, with a significantly greater focus on the sneaky bastardry necessary to flip assets and find weaknesses. It made killing any given supe much, much more of an endeavor, something genuinely very difficult and impressive, and it made every given supe death much more of a plot point or a character beat than it would have been in the comic. The supes being less interesting than typical for their genre, that was preserved- but the situations involving supes that we, the audience, are privy to? All very interesting still!

Now on the other side of the spectrum, you've got Worm, and you've got Jack Slash-as-an-examination-of-Joker. "Your philosophy is ill-considered and fake deep, and you aren't funny" is actually a fairly common clapback against The Joker within officially published DC comics properties, but it butts up against the fact that he's taken pretty seriously as a threat regardless of that fact! Jack Slash is an attempt to reconcile that, to figure out how someone as LOlrandom as Joker could last longer than three minutes as a serious contender, and the answer is "subtle secondary powers that puff up his win rate, in a way that his self-absorption prevents him from recognizing as anything but his own innate talent." He's blatantly shallow. Everyone talking to him is palpably rolling their eyes within the text, but he's got the brute-force necessary to undercut anyone trying to one-up him (Theo's interlude, Tattletale in the parking garage.) It's called out multiple times that's it's mysterious that he's doing so well when he's so mediocre. The candidate he picks for the 9 is a dud. He can't come up with anything more interesting for Cherish than having her do all the other tests over a second time. His big comeback is just Slaughterhouse 9! But More of them! Fuck Yeah!

But! Despite the text being aware of how shallow he is and how thin his ideas are, all of his ideas keep working. It doesn't matter that it's edgelord bullshit- it's edgelord bullshit that everyone else is forced to take seriously and respond to, which is where the actually-great character work in the S9 arc happens. And at this point I think there are basically two camps within the audience. Camp one consists of people who, despite Jacks clear shallowness, nonetheless are entertained and engrossed by the batshit combat scenarios he masterminds, even if he shouldn't be able to mastermind them. I am a counselor at Camp One. Camp Two consists of people who call bullshit on the ability for such a shallow guy to mastermind all that crap and bend everyone to his will, who don't really find anything redemptive in the eventual reveal that it was powers-enabled because they still had to sit through the implausible bullshit. This is a position I have no choice but to respect because it's the position of my cousin, who I adore and want to remain on good terms with at family gatherings. The things we do in service of family, amiright

#parahumans #worm #wildbow #the boys #garth ennis #asks #ask #meta #thoughts #the boys amazon prime #worm web serial #worm web novel #jack slash #media analysis #the boys comic #worm analysis #worm spoilers #the boys spoilers

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swagexpertsong · 3 months

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Hazbin Hotel Zestial X Alastor's Ancestor Female Reader {Part One}

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{POV. 2 Person}

You were an ordinary twenty-year-old woman living in New Orleans, Louisiana. At least that's what the people of this town could call you. But if they knew the truth about you, they would definitely change their mind. You called (Y/N) Hartfelt and you were secretly a serial killer under the nickname "Bloody Rose".

You had your first homicide when you were fourteen. Your victim was one of the teachers who taught at your high school. One day he asked you to stay with him after school. Naively, you agreed, thinking he wanted to talk about your grades. Oh how wrong you were.

As soon as you entered the room, he immediately pinned you to the wall. You thrashed around, cried and screamed for help, but no one came. He was too strong and your weak body couldn't handle him. You were about to give up, but suddenly you remembered one thing. Namely, about the penknife that your uncle gave you for Christmas the year before. He gave it to you so that in case of any emergency you would have something to defend yourself. This was exactly the situation.

You somehow managed to wrench your hand from the teacher's grip, reaching into your skirt pocket and taking out your pocket knife. You took a deep swing and plunged the blade into the man's eye. He immediately let go of you and grabbed your bleeding eye. He was screaming and cursing at you, but you didn't care at all. You took one more swing and this time stabbed the pocketknife into his shoulder.

The man fell to the ground, writhing in pain, and then began to retreat, wanting to avoid your next attacks. But you persisted. You walked towards him as he walked backwards. Eventually he reached a dead end.

"P-Please! Stop! H-Have mercy!" - he begged the teacher, holding one hand over his eye and the other on his shoulder. You were slightly surprised that he hadn't fainted yet from blood loss.

"Mercy? Do you even know that word? I don't think so. If you did, you would have let go of me and let me go when I begged. Now I'm going to pay you back. See you on the other side, Mr. Smith." - you said with an evil smile on your face. You took one last swing that finally determined the man's fate. You stuck the blade into his heart, enjoying the sight of the life draining from his body and his skin losing color.

It was only after a few minutes that you realized what you had done. You killed him. You killed a man in cold blood. And you had no remorse. He deserved it. He wanted to take advantage of you and God only knows how many other children he hurt like that.

You looked out into the hall to see if anyone else was at school. Nobody was there. You left the room and went to the bathroom to clean yourself up a bit. You washed the blood from your hands and then changed your clothes. You burned the old one, which was already soaked with scarlet blood, in the smoking room so that no one would find it. Then you went to get cleaning equipment to wash the floors and walls in the room.

When everything was finished, you started hiding the body. Luckily for you, your school was close to the forest. Perfect place to bury a body. But before you hid Mr. Smith's body, you used a penknife to carve a beautiful rose into his skin. On that day, the famous serial killer, "Bloody Rose", was born.

Years passed and your popularity in the city grew with each passing day. By day you were (Y/N) Hartfelt, a famous radio presenter, but by night you were "Bloody Rose", a murderer of justice. This secondary title was given to you by the townspeople because you only killed those who deserved it.

One day, you became curious about your family's history, so you went to your grandmother's attic to look for some photo albums. You searched for a few minutes until you found something interesting. In a rather old black and white photo there was a man who looked very similar to you. You had the same skin color, hair color, eyes and similar facial features. You did some research on him and found out that the man's name was Alastor Hartfelt and he was your several-times-great-uncle. Like you, he had two identities. He was a popular radio host in Louisiana, but also a murderer. Surprisingly, he was not arrested by the police and sent to prison. He died from being shot in the head by a hunter, his dog mistook Alastor for a deer, so the hunter accidentally killed him.

"Hm?~ Apparently we have a lot in common, uncle. But unlike you, I kill those who deserve it. I wonder if we will ever meet." - you said and then closed the photo album.

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#hazbin hotel x reader #Zestial #XF!READER

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contentloadingandstuff · 1 year

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Can I get NSFW headcanons for Rosaria & Lisa?

NSFW Headcanons - Rosaria & Lisa

A/N: Hello, puppteer! My pleasure. Enjoy!

CW: CBT, pegging, estim, femdom, humiliation, M!Reader.

NSFW under the cut.

Rosaria is as horny and kinky as they come.

She’s a switch with her whole being. She can be your cruel, sadistic dom, or your bratty sub. It all depends on her mood… which changes pretty often.

Most of the time, Rosaria is frustrated. Frustrated by everything, from her job to the people surrounding her. And what better thing to take her frustration out on than your manhood?

Rosaria had plenty of one night stands in the past, so she knows how to handle cock. She also has a very rich imagination. And in a scenario where she has you tied and at her mercy… those are not good things.

Rosaria played with a lot of men in the past, and she knows that the key to male torture is to go for the balls.

Expect her to give them plenty of ‘love’. With hard and long squeezes, with her dull, metal claws nonetheless. The pain is unbearable, but she just can’t help but chuckle at the sight of your tears and your whining. Also, she likes flicks. Absolutely evil.

Seeing her boy toy in pain is the biggest turn on for Rosaria. Her favorite thing to do is to tie your hands behind your back, put a ball crusher tightly over your nuts, and make you lick her out while she enjoys a cold glass of wine… a specific fantasy for sure, but what a hot one!

Expect her to use her feet on you a lot. But don’t get your hopes up - no footjobs. Just stomping on your dick and balls, placing her feet on your head, or moving them to your mouth for kissing… she doesn’t like feet, she just loves to humiliate you, and see just how pathetic you can get for just a few strokes to get you off.

When she’s too lazy to mess you up, she will lay on her stomach and spread. She doesn’t care much for her pussy, just for her ass being absolutely ravaged. Sometimes, she just wants to scream her soul out from a merciless fucking.

Once she knows you can please her just right, expect to see the submissive side of her more. But don’t forget yourself, else… Mistress Rosaria will remind you of your place.

Oh, and the fishnets? Just rip them open. That said, whoever sells them must be a millionaire by now, seeing how much of them you two go through weekly.

Her thirst is nearly bottomless. The only way to please her is to either give her a nice background of moans and groans of pain for jerking off to, or making her walk funny for a week.

What she doesn’t like is tying herself. She has severe trust issues, so bondage will be a thing for her only after she gets very comfortable.

The body part she likes the most? Your cock, of course. Second favorites are your thighs. They tremble so beautifully when she tortures you…

“Oh… does it hurt? Ha! Like I give a damn… now, spread wide for mistress…”

Her boring work at the library, coupled with the limited time she has, makes Lisa horny. Very horny.

With all that time on her hands, she went through most of the books in the romance category. It’s by far her favorite genre - especially the more… heated novels. That made her quite kinky and creative in bed.

She is a pleasure dom with just a little hint of a mommy kink. She loves to see you moan and whine in ecstasy, and the knowledge that she is the one pleasuring you makes it worth all the effort.

Her pleasure is secondary when you’re tied up beneath her, unless some tongue action is what turns you on. Normal sex is going to be out of the equation, since your dick will get quite busy with all of Lisa’s assets and equipment.

The woman has a large collection of toys, mainly geared towards taking care of your desires. From dildos for gentle pegging, just the right length and width to be pleasant but still exciting, to fleshlights in the most exotic of shapes.

Toyjobs are her favorite way of making you cum your brains out, especially if she spices things up with her vision, and some good old edging torture. A hand-held pussy gives her much more control over the pace, and that’s useful for keeping you needy.

Loves to turn you into a mess with her vision. Give her a probe, a conductive cock ring and some pads and she’ll give you the best hands free orgasm of your life. She knows what’s just the right amount of stimulation to leave you both overwhelmed and begging for more.

On lazy days, when she just wants to care for her boy, she’ll offer her tits to suck on and her hand to keep your dick company. While she’s nursing you, soft words of affirmation and encouragement will fall into your ears. A good boy’s dream, that’s for sure.

The gloves stay on when she entertains you. Not because she is disgusted by you, but because it gives her a confidence boost.

Lisa is the queen of dirty talk. Whether she pegs you, edges you or gets her slit devoured, she finds just the right words to make the experience unforgettable.

This witch loves a flat, soft stomach. It feels great to stroke, and it looks so pretty with your cum all over it.

She knows just how important your balls are, and how sensitive they can be. Expect just the gentlest touches and squeezes while she’s milking. She’s not afraid to worship them with her tongue and plush lips as well.

“No, you can’t come just yet, dear. Good things come to boys who wait, hehe…”

Thanks for reading!

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missamyrisa2 · 2 months

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Tickle cleaning anon here again. First of all, OH MY GOODNESS that cleaning story!!!!!!!!!!! Second, I just happened to see a commercial just now for some cleaning product and it included a split second clip of someone's tummy (including belly button) covered in soap suds 😳😳😳😳😳

In my opinion the sexiest thing would be to be tickle bathed by a team, but it would also be super hot to have a machine give me a bath while the team watches and adds in their own teases and maybe reach around the machine arms to get their own tickles in where they can

And yes absolutely keep making me ticklegasm so I need to be cleaned all over again...but I would add that every time they start over they add a couple more people to the cleaning team, because I'm clearly making a tough job for them and they need all hands on deck!!!

Gahhh~~ you're getting me riiiight where I falll aparttt instantly my sweet lovely cleaning anon~!! There was a clip I saw once, I can't remember where or when or if it was just a fever dream, but it was a belly at a beach coated with water and a finger playfully dipped in making this little splash and it just has always captured my imagination of likeeee~ being at the beach and getting alll sandy and going up to the showers which are y'know, out in the open where everyone can seeee ~ and oooh someone set up a new automatic body cleaner which activates immediately and locks the feet into brushyyyy boot-like arches so the sprayers can start working the sand and salt water from the bodyyyy~ and tiny detail brushes need to spring out and sweeeep sweep away all the particlesss~ which of coursee is all being seen by the now growing crowd, this cutie was silly enough to try the wicked automatic cleaner, and is now stuck~ giggling and blushing as sprayers move about sending tickly jets of water and dousing with gentle suds while scrubba brushes work around the ribs and tummy and waist and legssss~ and down below the brushy boots are endlessslyyy swishing like a tiny car wash on those feets~

And y'knowww it's never gonna end when some pranksters are suddenly standing to the side with knowing smirks.... and buckets of sand~ to which their fingers dip in and playfully sprinkle it on youuu activating moreee cleaning proceduresss~

Whewww~ okayyy that was silly~ yesss the team ticklesss in the science lab~~ all those matter of fact faces, some buried in their tablets or notes others just watching with satisfied grins while you are taken through another cleansing routine, the implements calibrating for your squirming bodyyyy ~ aiming at your sensitive zones which have been of course, thoroughly soaped up with soft teasing cloths~

Certainly the ladies with the big shiny nails aren't going to be able to resist stepping closely, feigning to be looking at their notes before reaching up to start tickling at your exposed tush or side or thigh~ giggling at your reaction as the machinery keeps your naked sudsy self held taut and ticklishhh~

And that's before you're brought over to the big round tub for the machine to dip you in, with your feet sticking out the edges and arms held snug while endless buffers and brushes spin out in the water to start massaging and working away the imperfections on your sensitive skin ~ the feeeet~ as it turns out, are getting the personal attention because two members of the team are equipping themselves with scrub brushes, strapping them to their fingers and setting aside their tablets as the machine drips plentyyy of soap onto their tools and they merrily go to work on your ticklish feet, following every kick and struggle~

The team breathes a sigh of relief as it seems like the cleaning is finished with the machine lifting you out for a quick scan~ but ooooh that tinglyyyy beam goes around your royal area and uuuhhooohh~ warning alarms blare as your legs are gently spread and further inspections are made, with a secondary investigation quickly launched to examine your royal chest buttons for any swelling ~ ooooh naughty naughtyyy~ your thighs and regal spots are quickly coated in suds for a renewed cleaning ~ and the techs fire up their spinny buffers, this clean job definitely will take a collaborative effort~

Soo as you wiggle and struggle ~ the machine sprays and facilitates with massaging grasps and vibrations on your legs and chest~ so the team can work around with their detail brushes to buff and buff awayyyy ~ and uh ohhh~ you're getting sooo rapidly aroused again that they neeed more hands~ the doors fling open to welcome the emergency team, armed to the teeth with cleansing brushes and sprays and detail tools and big buffers~ now you're reallllly in for itttt ~ suspended and held by the machine as a whole gang of certified world class cleaners reach in to polish your inner legs to your girly bits with very attentive soft cleanings applied to your pearlyyy~ not to mention the top to bottom treatment your royal chest buttons will be getting, buffed right to the tip and down and around ~

And with an unceremonious drop, you're back into the water, splashing and thrashingggg ~ clamped into place so the machine can hold you while the team has their way, working soft cloths and elegant fluff brushes around you through every splashhh ~ alll so they can sooo perfectly undo all that cleaning and get you alll worked up again for the machine's ready to start scanner~<33

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methed-up-marxist · 9 months

Text

This is my reading of the first chapter of the first book of a multi-media project I've been working on for over a year now but hoping to resume making serious progress on. It's about how the boy i had a crush on in secondary was really mean to me, about being physically disabled and loving football in primary and ofc about the relationship between militarism, autism and the body aswell as how I really love stupid sci-fi shit. I'm sure you've seen me post some aspect of it before and ignored it, and if you tried to read it but got bounced off by the clunky grammar and tone, but if you would ever engage with it I encourage you to engage with this - I think I've made something atleast exciting to listen to and genereally more clean in purpouse. Most direct influences are starship troopers, "queer new wave" or whatever and warhammer 40k. This is really important to me and if u consider me important to u I'd really recommend giving it a go. Below the readmore is the first 3 paragraphs, to access a transcript of whole thing and read along click the hyperlink

“WAKE UP, WAKE UP THIS IS A DRILL, I REPEAT THIS IS A DRILL” the 2am drill alarm rang out through the barracks. “I guess it’s drill time” thought Fuckjaw to himself as he rubbed his eyes and slowly swung his legs around so they hung off the bed. “I love drill time” he murmured to himself. “I know you do” came the voice from the bottom bunk, that was Shitarm and Fuckjaw would’ve done anything he could to have been waking up in the same bunk as him, but the rule was one marine per bunk and if Fuckjaw liked anything more than cuddling marines he liked rules. Tragically the rule was part of a larger collection of regulations, guidelines and dictates known as the parameter protocols designed to prevent any affection getting out of hand. “Do you feel we talk too much?” Asked Shitarm as they put their armour on, the alarm blaring constantly. “Well you definitely do” Fuckjaw responded, gently helping him place his helmet on. They weren’t allowed real power armour for training, the barracks coup near the start of the war had made sure of that, and the pliability of the far weaker plastic made it possible to feel the hole in the back of Shitarm's skull where a bug had skewered him last year. Both of them sunk their shoulders in a despondent recognition, but they had agreed not to talk about it. The rest of the room was going about much the same. The armour, even its weaker version, was too cumbersome to put on alone. Formally the protocols insisted no one help another put on his equipment, but you try to find room in the budget to put an armour-equipper in every bedroom.

Marching, albeit with little care for pacing or formation, out to the training arena revealed the same wide open space as usual. Grey fortification-like walls lined the perimeter while the area was little more than a sand pit filled with target ranges and cabinets holding guns, knives and the remnants of first aid kits. In all honesty it was a deeply impractical arrangement, the corridor through which they had marched was the only point of access to the arena and yet the targets mostly lined the space near the entrance/exit (many people had been accidentally shot upon entrance/exit) while the cabinets sat on the far side in the middle of it all stood instructor Verbnoun. Verbnoun barked at them as soon as the first two of their formation set foot on the sand "Decaysquad! Line up against that wall: the drill was not a drill, I repeat the drill was not a drill". As the squad fanned out and stood with their backs fast against the wall, exactly an arms length plus just a little bit more apart from each other, their minds raced with questions. This was explicitly a training camp for injured marines. "We woke you up last, given your undiagnosed damages” the barking continued, although "undiagnosed" is a cumbersome and hard word to yell even for a man as used to yelling as Verbnoun and it stumbled out of his mouth. "The city is under attack" he continued, less loud now clearly embarrassed by his difficulty with the word 'undiagnosed', “obviously we don't trust you right next to the bugs but conveniently… almost too conveniently” he muttered suspiciously “we have 6 turrets that we need the 12 of you to operate”. Lieutenant Fuckjaw couldn’t restrain himself in the immediacy of his correction “it's not a coincidence sir!!! the turret batteries are designed to be operated by one squad in an emergency” he blurted out as quickly as he could, already covering his mouth with his hand in apology before he had finished the sentence. The gesture was itself pointless, the communication module of the armour was located in the chest due to its clunky nature, but Verbnoun’s embarrassment led him to accept it as sufficient apology and simply point to the turret battery sitting on the far side of the base with a subdued “get going”.

Back into the entrance/exit corridor they ran, a glance back to the closing door showed a frantic instructor yelling into his mic as the two diagonal metal panes finally slammed shut meeting in the middle. “What do you think he’s doing?” Shitarm asked, looking to Fuckjaw as well as one can while running. Before there was a chance to respond, sergeant Exilethroat yelled back from the front of their formation “he’s doing his job, which is exactly what you should be doing”. He always was a bossy little bitch, that’s why they made him sergeant. Barreling through the absolutely empty military industrial complex (complex like the building) would have most likely been a deeply eerie experience, if there had been someone to turn off the 2am drill alarm. The bugs always attacked at night, or at least they did following the breeding accords [of (date)] signed with the bats - echolocation was a distinct advantage in the dark. Arriving now at the turret battery entrance after a good 20 minute run, the newer members of the squad were visibly exhausted, used to the mechanised armour doing most of their running for them. Fuckjaw and Shitarm always ran up the back, their war torn bodies a threat of embarrassment to anyone who found themselves struggling to keep their distance. They huddled into the elevator to take them up to the controls. It was a service elevator, the exact same one used in the construction of the tower the controls were at the top of in fact. With each step someone took they felt it move gently, then creak slightly less gently. There was piss on the floor and frankly it could've been the piss of the person who built the thing. As it only went between two floors the control panel was just a cracked little glass button - press to go up if you're down and down if you're up. Pressing it began the ascent and every bump or wobble as it moved up rippled through the marines, armour clanking together. Fuckjaw’s arms dropped to his sides, trying to make himself as small as possible and while he couldn't get a proper look through the needlessly large shoulder pads that displayed their rank and squad he was sure he felt the pressure of Shitarm’s hand pressed against him.

#Bandcamp

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hometoursandotherstuff · 11 months

Text

This 1989 home in Madison, New Hampshire looks familiar to me. It's been on the market a long time - 271 days. So, I decided to post it again, b/c the decor would appeal to a special buyer. It has 4bd 2.5ba and asks $895,900. Check this out.

Here's the entrance hall. I'm wondering what that green fabric is over the stairs. Is it a canopy?

Look at that ceiling. I can't quite figure out the decor style of this home- it's rustic, but then it looks jungle-themed, then it gets provincial and traditional.

At first I was confused by the microwave on the counter, but it's definitely the dining area. The home has mulitiple terraces that the rooms open out to.

So, this floor is very large and has a very open concept.

They've painted over some of the original kitchen cabinetry and made it black.

This is like a family/rec room area and the decor changes again. The ceiling looks like it's painted a dusty pink and there's floral carpeting.

There's a piano and a bar around the back of the fireplace. Look at the fancy chairs- they look too big for the bar.

On this side of the fireplace there a pool table, a folded game table, and some gym equipment.

Here's a built-in bench and some storage closets.

This looks like the main bd and it has access to a terrace.

And, this is a secondary bd.

One of the 2 baths.

The house is situated on 1.3 acres on top of a mountain.

#saltbox style house #houses #house tours #home tour

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 1 year

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ok.. bagginshield: bodyguard au, bilbo is a paramedic, and has amnesia. PLease i'm BEGGING

Sandy. My dude. I told you I had an idea for this but it became SUCH A BIG THING!! 😮‍💨😍 So I hope you can forgive the late due date with almost 3K of Bagginshield...where I couldn't use Thorin's name! 🤣 So without further ado...

Pairing: Bagginshield

Warning: Blood/Gore-ish

Words: 2638

“Back again, Mr. Baggins?”

Bilbo whirled around to see the nurse at the desk smiling sympathetically at him. It honestly only made Bilbo feel more pathetic as he played with the stems of the flowers he carried. Three days ago, he had done everything he could to help keep a John Doe alive in the back of his ambulance, and still he couldn’t get the comatose patient out of his mind. His cousin, Siggy, was right. He needed help. Or at the very least a vacation.

“You caught me.” He laughed nervously. “No one’s claimed him yet, have they?”

She shook her head sadly. “No, but he did wake up last night briefly! Dr. Greyham is very optimistic about his recovery.”

That was great news. Bilbo certainly hadn’t held much hope when they found him. Bloodied and beaten in an alleyway, responding to a good samaritan call hours after what they presumed to be a mugging. His pulse had been too low, and with the severity of the head wound, Bilbo had been afraid they wouldn’t find much brain activity. If he was in fact waking up though, it did make Bilbo’s visits a bit more awkward.

“Go on in.” The nurse encouraged. “He may appreciate having someone to talk things out with.”

Bilbo nodded and thanked her as he worked up the courage to enter. His relief was palpable when he saw that the man was still asleep. Just as he had been, Bilbo set his flowers in the vase next to his bed before taking a seat in the visitor’s chair. The man had gorgeous dark hair that was starting to get oily at this point. Bilbo knew he had been subjected to sponge baths for sterilization, but Bilbo mourned the lack of bathing for him. Luckily, they hadn’t had to cut much of his locks when they were stitching his head back together, but there would be a noticeable balding on the right side underneath all of the bandages. Bilbo hoped the man wasn’t too vain about his appearances to pitch a fit at that. Certainly Bilbo has treated plenty who were. The ‘saving their lives’ part falling secondary almost immediately.

Bilbo finally heaved a sigh and pulled his bag of knitting equipment off his shoulder as he settled in for his usual monologue. The first time he had done this, he had felt quite silly and was afraid that the man would wake up at any time to tell him off. However, he has come to find it almost therapeutic, talking to someone who can only listen.

“Well, Mr. Oakenshield. Not much to add on today. I finally got the last of those stubborn weeds out of my vegetable planter. Only I fear they will just return in a few days. With the rain we’ve been having lately, I wouldn’t expect anything less. You might be pleased to know that Detective Inspector Bard is looking into your case, but has yet to come up with any definite answers to who hurt you. Well, maybe he has. It’s not like I’m privy to police investigations after all. And well, let’s just look at your chart here…oh this is promising!

Dr. Greyham says that you are showing massive improvement. If you can ever finally pull away from this nasty coma, you shouldn’t expect any lasting damage. That’s quite lucky. Just last week my partner and I responded to a man who had gotten himself crushed under an air conditioning unit and…well I’ll spare you the gory details. Let’s just say that he won’t quite have the motor functions he used to.

I can imagine this is very good news to you. I’m mean, I’d hate to assume, but I’d imagine you enjoy spending time at the gym. After all, nobody your age looks like…that is to say you’re very…oh what the hell, you’re probably about the fittest person I know Mr. Oakenshield. Of course, even though Theo and Hamfast and Siggy all think that’s why I keep coming to visit you, it’s not. You see I’d quite hate for anyone to wake up alone after an ordeal like yours. I’d do it for…any John Doe you see, but I must admit there is something about you that I’m quite…AHH!”

Bilbo jumped out of his chair, dropping his knitting on the bed, as he backed up with a hand over his heart. The man blinked his drowsy, but confused bright blue eyes at Bilbo as if trying to make sense of him.

“I’m so…so terribly sorry.” Bilbo explained breathlessly. “This must all be rather confusing. Let me introduce myself. I’m Bilbo Baggins, I’m the paramedic who worked on you after we found you in that alley.”

“Alley?” The man repeated roughly as if the word were foreign to him.

“Um, yes. Let me just call your doctor real quick.”

Bilbo moved to press the ‘assistance’ button above the man’s head, when his hand snaked out to grab Bilbo’s arm. He felt himself gasp, both at the speed of the reflex and the tightness of his grip. No loss of motor skills, that was for certain. The man mumbled something to him, but it was in a completely different language. Bilbo felt his heart sink. He hadn’t accounted for this. The man was a tourist? That might explain why no one had come for him yet. The only problem was Bilbo was quite sure he didn’t speak whatever language the man was muttering in as it wasn’t Westron and certainly not Sindrian.

“I don’t…understand.” He breathed slowly. “Can you…understand me?”

The man furrowed his brows together before he slowly nodded his head. That was good! He was bilingual at least. Bilbo thought it was best to start with the basics.

“Can you tell me your name?”

The man opened his mouth only to close it and open it once more. After that, a look of horror crossed his face, and Bilbo’s attention was grabbed by the spiking heart monitor.

“No, no! It’s okay.” Bilbo rushed. “This is totally common for an injury like yours.”

Instincts took over, and Bilbo grabbed his hand in comfort as he slowly tilted his chin towards him looking for signs of a concussion. His pupils were certainly dilated and when Bilbo asked him to follow his finger around, it definitely seemed conclusive. Concussions and short term amnesia would be common with this type of injury.

“We’re going to start slow. You don’t remember your name right now, and that’s okay. What do you remember?”

The man took a deep breath as his eyes turned towards the ceiling. Before he could say a word though, there was a knock at the door. It didn’t seem unusual until Bilbo’s gaze fell upon the dry erase board next to the door. The John Doe wasn’t due for check-up for another hour, and Bilbo’s finger never made it to the assist button. Bilbo got up cautiously when his arm was grabbed again, but this time the man’s eyes were wide with panic.

“I remember someone was trying to kill me.”

Cold seeped into Bilbo’s chest as his heart thumped along to the adrenaline surging through him. Bilbo barely had a chance to say anything when the door was forced open. After that, it was like a scene from an action movie. Bilbo was thrown over to the other side of the bed as gunshots rang through the room. Cutting through the mattress that had previously been occupied. Bilbo instinctively covered his head, screaming over the noise, managing to wrench his eyes open just enough to check on the other man. What he saw, stunned him to silence.

The man was calculated, calm, and seemed to be running off pure muscle memory as his eyes remained wild and afraid. When the gunfire stopped for a moment, the man leapt into action. Taking one of Bilbo’s knitting needles, he shoved it through the throat of the assailant reloading his pistol, using him as a human shield against the second one as he barreled into him. Using his own gun to shoot him in the head. In seconds, Bilbo had gone from thinking he was certainly going to die, to staring at two gruesomely murdered bodies. The man certainly wasn’t done there. He poked his head out into the hallway only to curse and close and lock the door. He looked through the pockets of the dead men on the floor for another clip that he loaded into the gun in his hand with an ease that made Bilbo realize he was dealing with some sort of professional.

“Clothes.” He barked.

Bilbo raised his hands above his head slowly. “C-Clothes?” He repeated.

The man growled before pulling at his hospital gown with impatience.

“My clothes?”

Bilbo pointed at the cabinet behind him. As soon as the man spun around, Bilbo made a mad dash for the door. Before he could reach it, he was pushed up against the wall and held there by the deranged man.

“There are three more out in the hallway ready to kill the first thing that comes through that door. Do you want that to be you?”

Bilbo shook his head rapidly.

“Then help me get out of here.”

“Who are you?” Bilbo gasped after he was released.

The man had his back turned to him as he stripped down to nothing pulling on his bloodied and torn clothing from days ago.

“I don’t remember.” He grumbled.

“So how do I know I can trust you?”

“Considering the ease I just killed those guys, if I wanted you dead, I would have already done it.”

That was a rather grim, but valid point.

“Let me ask you something. Earlier, when you thought I was still asleep, you called me ‘Oakenshield’. Why?”

Bilbo could feel his mouth go dry at the question before pointing to the pin on the man’s chest. It seemed to be a coat of arms; only one of the symbols on the shield was an acorn. The man looked down at it as well, his face betraying some amusement. However, he didn’t deign commenting on it as he moved towards the pocket door that was shared between rooms.

“Don’t you think they’ll be waiting for you?” Bilbo asked.

“Only one way to find out.” The man explained before opening the door, pushing the heart monitor through it, and immediately closing it.

There was a shout, the sound of feet running towards the room, and more gunshots. The man quickly closed the door again before he or Bilbo could get hit before moving towards the outer door.

“Go! I’ll cover you.”

Bilbo didn’t have to be told twice as he raced for the stairwell hoping to find safety from this nightmare. He felt the bullets whizzing by before he heard them, and was definitely aware of the man returning fire as he followed after him.

“Only three!?” Bilbo complained throwing himself down the stairs.

“So maybe four!”

They went down a floor, but rather than keep going, the man shoved them into the door for the ER. It was utter chaos as doctors and nurses were trying to secure and placate patients and guests alike.

“This way.” The man urged, pushing Bilbo through the throng of people trying to get out.

They found a break room and shoved their way inside.

“Are we just going to wait here until the police get here?” Bilbo asked hopefully.

He could tell from the stern look he received that was not going to be the case. So what Bilbo was learning was this man had assassin level skills and didn’t trust the police. The situation he found himself in was looking bleaker by the second.

“Paramedic? Right?” The man questioned holding out a jacket with the hospital’s logo on it.

Bilbo had a sneaking suspicion the plan the man had was going to get him in a heap of trouble. Sure enough, seconds later found him pushing a gurney through ER to the doors on the other side.

“Sir! Just where do you think you’re going?” Bilbo was stopped by a frantic nurse.

Bilbo flashed his ID.

“Ma’am, this is a comatose patient of Dr. Greyham that can’t be off life support for more than twenty minutes. I’m supposed to get him in a bus and to Tuckborough Medical ASAP. Doctor’s orders.”

She hesitated before nodding, going as far as to call in the ambulance for him. Bilbo was going to have to remember how much he owed the staff at Hobbiton General another time. As soon as Bilbo had the man loaded up, he pulled away the sheet and climbed into the passenger seat next to Bilbo.

“Okay, you gun wielding, knitting needle stabbing manic! I have done everything you asked. I’m most likely going to lose my job for this if they don’t see fit to throw me behind bars. So you better have something you can give me or I’m pulling over at the next police precinct.”

The man grimaced. “I told you. I. Don’t. Remember. I just know they are the bad guys. And they want me dead.”

Bilbo gave a little sarcastic laugh and head tilt. “Oh, great.”

“There is one more thing.”

Bilbo slowly looked over at the man as much as he could without crashing the ambulance.

“It only started to kick in when you called me ‘Oakenshield’, but I was…protecting something…or someone.”

“That’s…vague.” Bilbo complained.

“But this…” The man sighed with impatience before pointing towards the pin on his chest. “Is the clue. It’s the coat of arms for the royal family of Erebor.”

“Erebor?! Like halfway across the world Erebor?”

“Really? Halfway across the world? Where exactly am I?”

Bilbo drew in a shaky breath starting to finally hit the point of ‘too much’. It’s funny. One would think that moment was…oh, about fifteen minutes ago with all the shooting. The other man seemed to realize it as well.

“Look, I’m sorry. You’ve been very kind to me and if you want me to…walk away, I wouldn’t blame you. I just feel like if I’m able to retrace my steps, I’ll find out what was so important it was literally worth dying over.”

“This isn’t a spy movie. You could just be patient and let the healing naturally take over.” Bilbo suggested with a huff.

“Judging by our friends back there, I don’t think I have that kind of time.”

Bilbo looked over at the man one more time. That lost look that has been in his eyes since the moment he woke up was still there. And despite everything he’s seen, everything he’s experienced that should have him running for the hills, Bilbo really wanted to believe him. And help him if he could.

“Alright.” He sighed. “I’ll show you the alley where I picked you up. But after that, I’m done. And if I get picked up and questioned by the cops, I’m telling them the truth!”

“Fair enough.” The man shrugged. “But could you do me one more favor?”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow.

“Could you stitch this bullet wound in my side?”

Bilbo cursed at the red staining the man’s dark shirt as he pulled over to the side of the road.

“I expect to be billed for all the times I have to play ‘personal physician’ because I can’t imagine this being the last time.” He complained.

The man let out a roaring laugh that had Bilbo’s cheeks warming all the way to the tips of his ears. This was very not good. It was bad enough when he had a crush on his comatose patient. He had no idea how to handle falling for this bodyguard/assassin/psychopath. Jury was certainly still out on which one he may turn out to be.

#modern may #the hobbit #bagginshield #sunny's drabbles #amnesia au #yes yes i know this could be a full fic #DON'T REMIND ME #I MIGHT START TO WANT IT

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hello-there-cyarika · 11 months

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More Hive Troopers <3

More bee troopers! ... Boopers.... BEE-PERS (all of my file names that feature these boys so far have referred the them as "the beepers" lol)

Anyhow, I figured I'd add some more information on how the hive troopers operate below, so keep on reading!

At the start of the war, the venators were outfitted with barracks for the troopers that were fully furnished with bunks and such things

The troopers.... didn't really like the bunks... like at all

The would take the bunks and push them all over to one side, and use the rest of the room as a building space for a huge wall of honeycomb!

Eventually the Jedi caught on, and helped the troopers remove all of the unused bunks

The troopers build huge, ceiling to floor, winding walls of honeycomb to act as the hive's living quarters

The honeycomb compartments come in a variety of sizes!

The biggest compartments are longer than a trooper is tall, and about 2x a trooper's width (wings and secondary abdomen included) in diameter, so these compartments are the ones for sleeping in!

Some are even wider, for those who like to share :)!

The sleeping compartments are filled with comfy pillows and blankets left from the bunks

Various smaller compartments are perfectly sized for storing extra pillows and blankets, datapads, personal items, and all sorts of things!

The gear lockers, which came with the original furnishing of the room, are built into the thicker walls of the honeycomb

The troopers will only very begrudgingly admit that the gear lockers are more suited for storing their kit than the honeycomb (they're very salty that the locker is not an optimal shape to fit in with the rest of the honeycomb)

Gear lockers are not honeycomb optimized

Anyway

Troopers are capable of creating beeswax just like any bee, albeit for much longer during their much longer lifespan, and in much larger quantities

Hence why in the doodle above, Wooley, who is off duty and helping to build up the honeycomb, is not wearing upper armor.

Bees produce wax from the underside of their abdomen, and trying to reach around to collect that while in full upper armor is... less than comfortable lol

Speaking of anatomy, despite being clones, all troopers' wings are entirely unique!

Well, almost entirely- twins have identical wings!

(this may or may not be a Secret of the Wings reference that movie is so good)

Clone trooper twins are grown in the same tube, and have a special connection

Twins are also SUPER rare

The iconic @cacodaemonia invented this concept for me, and as far as I'm concerned their OC Kom'mrk is 10000% canon and has matching wings to Boil!

(please for fucks sake yall go read Open Skies I stg my life has not been the same since)

Cadets have very weak wings when they're first decanted

It takes until they're about 3.5-4 standard for their wings to fully develop and strengthen enough for them to fly

Until then, they practice by buzzing a whole lot to strengthen the muscles in their torso

On another anatomical topic, the way that troopers communicate in the "hive mind" is via pheromones!

Just like bees, they have extremely sophisticated and complex pheromone signals that can only be detected by other troopers via their antennae

During the night cycle/sleep hours, troopers will try and keep quiet and communicate primarily via pheromones

If you're not a trooper (or a Jedi lol), the only way you'd be able to figure out their silent communication is with super complex and specialized equipment

On the other hand, troopers have to watch out for weapons from the Separatists that involve pheromone-mimicking gases

The gases could cause them to lose their sense of direction, get cut off from the rest of the hive, or other disorienting things

Speaking of directions!

(fuck i have so many ideas to get out lol)

While the idea of the troopers doing a proper bee waggle dance is absolutely hilarious and so cute to me, I think that in reality it'd be a bit more calm

Instead of lots of crazy shaking back and forth, it's more of a purposeful sway!

This.... does make dancing at 79's significantly more confusing when they first start learning to dance for fun

Echo: "are you telling me that there's something I need to go find 400 klicks away at 32 degrees??"

Fives: "what no I'm just having fun"

Unlike bees, who only use the sun, troopers can also use the moon to calculate their maps!

On planets with multiple moons and/or suns, the commander will choose one sun/moon to be used as the reference for all maps

When on a moon for a campaign, the moon's planet can also be used

In rare and difficult situations, troopers can also use particularly bright stars! Usually only the ARFs are skilled enough for that, though

I think for my next doodle I'll either do wolffe, fox, thorn, tup, and dogma OR the bad batch + omega... haven't decided yet! let me know if you have a preference lol

anyway thank you all for giving so many lovely comments on my previous post about these boys! i love yall so much <33333

<3 I do not give my consent or my permission for my art to be re-posted or reuploaded on this or any other website <3

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