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gremlingottoosilly · 2 months

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Someone, take Lego away from Konig (yandere!loser!Konig x fem!Reader)

AO3

Konig is keeping you in his basement. Turns out, this is still not the worst part. His interest are. Tags ans Warnings: Dub-con, obsessive behaviour, possessive behavior, yandere loser Konig, size difference, kidnapping, weird fluff.

König can play women’s bodies like fine musical instruments.

After he spent 10 minutes vigorously rubbing your outer labia, you concluded that he was thrown out of musical school on day one.

He flicks your clit occasionally, clearly not considering it something worthy of attention and, obviously, not something that actually brings you pleasure – he fidgets with it mechanically, like it’s a part of his riffle, and you almost want to say that his dismissive approach is kind of hot. He edges you perfectly, always giving away just enough pleasure that it feels nice, but not nearly enough that it brings you to orgasm – and he does so with zero idea of what he is doing, which makes you…almost proud. Of him. Of your angry crazy incel loser kidnapper who thought that bringing you lego flowers would make you suck his cock.

Well, it kinda did. Not the flowers, the whole…kidnapping thing. He did use it to get into your pants – and you aren’t even allowed to wear those now. Only his shirts, maybe a hoodie on a cold day, and a pair of lacy panties that he slips on you every morning he is at home.

You have a system – and König does his best to maintain it. You are getting fed at the same time, to make sure that your pretty little self is not malnourished, you are getting roughly clean clothes — most of it belongs to him, of course, like it’s not embarrassing to wear, and sometimes he even asks how your day was. Sometimes you look him deep in the eyes and say that you didn’t move from your usual spot the whole day because, well, you are kidnapped. Sometimes you are trying to be funny and make some silly jokes — and then he either gets too comfortable laughing and then trying to get his hand all the way down the depths of your inner thighs, or he gets angry.

König knows that a petty flower like you doesn’t want to be in captivity for so long, but there really isn’t much both of you can do about it.

He brings you different lego sets from time to time, trying to find out what you like the most. He doesn’t quite understand that, working in a Lego shop, you were utterly sick of most of the boxes lying around. He tried to gauge the reaction out of you, but you’re either ignoring him, crying or begging him to let you go…and he can’t exactly have that. He, kinda, can, of course, but it would mean sliding off your brain so you would never tell anyone about your experiences, or getting into a showdown with the police – and knowing that he hopped you through the border illegally to be his captive wife, wouldn’t really give him any brownie points. He is fucked, utterly and completely, if you’re ever going to be free without falling madly in love with him…

Which is why König is trying to make you love him. Thoroughly, utterly, and spending copious amounts of time with his tongue buried between your folds in the meantime.

Like now.

— You like it, ja? When I move like this…

He was spending too much time caressing and fondling your thighs – but you must admit that having his lips travel across your skin and sending goosebumps right into your core wasn’t so bad…he touched you a bit awkwardly, just a tad bit shy – like he wasn’t so sure how to approach a soft, female body instead of a cold rifle he was probably used to…he knows that he can’t just treat you like another one of his guns but, by god, if he doesn’t adore the way you look at him. All scared and nervous as he pushes his lips upwards, as he covers your soft skin with bite marks – you were so sure that he will be too nervous to even touch you, but you know better now…this guy doesn’t care that he is your captor. He only wants you to accept him, and if giving you gifts didn’t work out…

You needed to be a bit more diligent about the whole accepting his kindness thing. Maybe he would have been satisfied with a handjob – but now he wants to put his hands on you and do his job.

— Too…too much, Ko…

— Call me “sir”.

There is steel in his voice, and you stiff slightly. This is new – he was never like this before, even though you kinda got that he was in some sort of military. He was way too bulky and had too much money to be a regular gun nerd, so you settled for some special forces or elite war crime unit…then again, you weren’t in Germany anymore. Guy would have to get another citizenship to get into a more serious “I fucking hate my fellow man” forces.

He flicks his tongue over your clit and you remember what you’re here for. To get fucked. Because you are fucked. Not right now in physical sense, but you will be in a few minutes, and you’ve been mentally fucked for a few another hours and-

— Sir, ple…too much, re…really…

König fuckijng adores you.

He loves your trembling voice, your trembling hands, your trembling everything. The way you squint your eyes as he finds all of your special spots – it took him some time but ladies are just like riffles – come undone if you press on a few parts. You look perfect under him, and he couldn’t have you any other way even if he wanted to…god, you’re too fucking perfect for your own good. So, so pretty, it’s insane how he didn’t fuck you the first night you’ve been in his basement. Perhaps, he was trying to be a gentleman – fuck this, now. If he knew how sweet you would sound, he’d abandon any rotten chivalry on day one.

König didn’t have a lot of experience – a few sex workers here and there, some in the more exotic destinations while the others were, embarrassingly enough, from his hometown. It was a sense of domesticity, that he isn’t a fucking loser who can’t get a lady in his bed without wavering either his gun or hit wallet – but he has you now, and you don’t really care about his money or his guns…unless he counts your obvious activity. Which he doesn’t. Good golly, you’re too fucking pretty to count that.

He flicks his tongue over your clit and dips lower, deeper, sucking the sweet nectar straight from the source. You’re embarrassingly wet even as you try to push his head away – he would handcuff you, but he likes your little resistance attempts too much. He moans every time you tug on his hair and, with time, you should finally understand that everything you do only makes him want you more. Maybe, you do – but you keep doing this because you’re such a good girl who wants nothing more but to please her dearest…not exactly husband, but he can work on this. He has friends in places. Same ones who used to get him out of detentions when his quiet kid violent tendencies weren’t quite quiet enough.

He is moaning as he eats you out – the sound reverberates from your walls and makes you clench around his tongue, your brain already getting fried from pleasure. You never wanted to get off from your captor’s tongue buried so deep between your legs, but you surely enjoy it now…

You try to pry his head from you when he gets a bit too eager, when it feels like his nose is smashing your clit and you can only moan some mindless bullshit.

— You want to talk about lego instead?

He presses his head on your thighs, his cheek angled against the soft skin. He has a bit of a stubble that burns the soft skin, but the look in his eyes is far too eager. He is not bullshitting – and this is the most terrifying he is ever been. You try to imagine another three-hour lecture Star Wars and the history of lego sets combined with his awkward attempts to fuck you in between turning his affection spam from one thing to the other. The picture is vivid in your mind. You can almost hear it.

You consider your options. It is a hard decision for you.

— You know, they weren’t able to sell the sets to girls up until…

You grab a fistful of his hair and push his face all the way down your dripping pussy.

It looks like the only sure way of making your captor shut up is literally forcing him to fuck you…there were many such cases – you embarrassingly easily fall to his charms, even though he has the aura and charisma of a serial killer who got a freshly baked orphan for his lunch and then tried to talk you into destroying a small country’s economy.

König eats you out with the vigor of a starving man, and there isn’t a place he would love to be more than here and now, listening to your heavenly moans. This is the best motivational song he heard so far – and as he pushes his big, flat tongue deeper into the gummy walls of your clenching pussy, he thinks about recording your sounds and then listening to them in the gym. Could probably break the poor lifting pole with the strength of his fists.

He brought you to an orgasm – not easily, he had to lick the reaction out of you, your heat coming down to both of you like a wave. You feel tired immediately, knowing just how much energy you just wasted listening to his blabber between your legs – but you honestly can’t be arsed to react right now.

König lifts his body up so he can kiss you – you taste yourself on him and, admittedly, it’s a lovely way to make him shut up. You still tremble as you get down from your high, your legs finally giving up, even though you were already laying on that shabby mattress. You shift slightly so he won’t crush you under the weight of his body. A Lego piece pocks at your side, making you wince.

You hate this fucking place.

— What’s wrong, Liebling?

He nuzzles your neck like a needy dog, pressing light kisses all over your skin. He is marking it, too – you can’t keep comparing him to a dog, but this is exactly what he is. Simply a war hound that you have to tame in order to get a somewhat normal life while still belonging in his basement. You thought you knew how to play this game – then he pushed you on your tummy and fucked you because, apparently, you were too good at playing him. Even now, he acts more like a lover – if only you could see past his homicidal tendencies…

But you can’t.

But he doesn’t care anyway.

— I…

You bite your lips, trying to come up with a lie that wouldn’t make him fuck you. König thought you looked beautiful like this, all holed up in your thoughts. So, so pretty, he couldn’t help himself – he needed you, as much as he kinda hated playing the psychological game and trying to understand what you’re thinking. Ladies are too mysterious for him, after all.

— I want to sleep in a normal bed.

Oh.

Well, he…didn’t expect this.

He was ready to combat your desire to run away or to be let go willingly. He was ready to put you on your knees and make you beg for him to not let you go - after all, you did belong to him in all of his right. He didn’t…didn’t expect you to want something so simple. Something that he can do. God, you’d look fucking divine on his bed instead of the tiny basement he put you in. He can already imagine you on your tummy, face buried in his pillows as he pounds into your soft ass and explains every superhero poster he has in his room. He will show you all of his figures and knives and guns, and you’ll finally see just how amazing he is and how interesting his hobbies are – and you’re bound to finally love him the way he deserves.

You stare at him, blankly. He kinda loves when you look like that – sometimes he imagines you being a mindless little bimbo who can’t think of anything besides his dick, and it helps him get off when you’re too sleepy to play along with him. He tried to bring you more sets, something childish, something meant for girls – but you tossed away the rose bouquet and you didn’t even spare a second glance at some fandom set that he thought you’d like. God, you’re difficult. Women are difficult. Why can’t you be as straight as a riffle?

— Normal bed, Katzen? You don’t like it here?

He puts a hand on your shoulder, his fingers too big to rest on your body carefully – he easily reaches for your neck and he knows that you’d go out like a light with the smallest squeeze. You’re adorable and soft like this, and he can’t wait to finally try choking with you.

König imagines your pretty, soft body all helpless under him – maybe you’d claw at his hands and beg him to stop, maybe you’d enjoy it, drenching the small mattress with your juices. Maybe you’d push your hips towards his, desperately searching for release. You can be a nasty, dirty girl, he knows this all too well – mostly because he did go through your phone and searched for your browser history. Who knew that a simple lego store cashier could have so many kidnapping and overpowering fantasies. Who knew that you could be so wet just because some military-obsessed loser wanted to shove his cock into you and wasn’t nice enough to ask first.

— I…I don’t like the basement.

Smart girl. You know how to be sot and obedient when you have to. Too bad, this behavior also made you all the more desirable for König – compared to the rowdy recruits and dumb enemies, your quiet voice is everything he needs to not go crazy. His hand plays with your neck, squeezing it slightly, playfully. He can feel your pulse quickening every time he does this and he is sure that if he’d drop his hand between your legs again, your pulsating pussy would be wet enough to indicate a second orgasm.

Shit.

He goes too far again.

— You don’t like the basement? Why?

You stare at him, blankly. He seriously thought there is nothing wrong with the basement – it’s small, yes, but probably just about the size of a studio apartment you were able to afford while working in Berlin, of all places. You have a mattress, a loving boyfriend, you have all the food and snacks you want, your pussy is filled with cum and your mind should be filled with endless love and adoration for the coolest guy in the world who just so happens to be in love with you, so…

He looks at your face again. Ja, you don’t like the basement. You’re a surface girl after all.

— You really want me to answer that? It’s the basement.

He snorts, still dragging the conversation.

— I spend most of my childhood in the basement. It was nice.

— I could tell.

— What?

— Nothing. Let me out, please.

He sighs with deeply settled tiredness. He thought you’d be nicer about it, too – but he knows what ladies want, he is a ladies' man at heart. He doesn’t have one, of course, not unless this charcoal-black shrapnel-filled thing deep in his chest could be considered one, but he tried his best to be good for you. You deserve something nice, something good. He wants to kiss you all over and he will do it on his own bed, while trying to talk you into watching some old nerdy TV show with him. Maybe you’d agree to play with some Lego after this and it could be considered a really nice and thorough foreplay.

— I can’t.

— Let me sleep on a normal bed, then.

Well, this, he can do.

Carefully unlocking your shackles and immediately catching your legs so you won’t kick him in an attempt to escape, König picks you up like a kitten. It’s scary, almost, how easy it is for him to just manhandle you into the position he wants. He is a big boy, admittingly, so it really doesn’t matter how big or how small you are. He can abuse you easily, and this is why you’re trying to keep him gentle. Using all of your womanly charms even if this guy would get off just from you calling his name.

He covers your eyes so you won’t see anything – not like you’re interested in the amount of weirdly specific movie posters on the walls or an alarming amount of firearms. He knows he is not the most charming person out there with the most interesting hobbies, but you will learn to appreciate all of his anime figures, or else you’re going to suffer the fate of a recruit who dares to ask his late thirties colonel of who the fuck Ayanami Rei is. Rumors are held that this guy was never seen in the army again.

He only puts the hand away from your face when you are sitting on the soft bed. You stare at the navy sheets – fucking obviously – and, surprisingly, a bed frame. Then your gaze travels a bit further, to the walls and…

God.

Oh fuck.

You almost want to cry from how much of a loser your kidnapper is. He is a threatening mercenary, a fucking colonel in military uniform who holds you at gunpoint occasionally. You stare at the anime posters. You contemplate your options.

— Can I go back to the basement?

If god is real, he is a fucking anime girl from the poster in your kidnapper’s bedroom.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #cod x reader #yandere konig #yandere cod #call of duty #konig x you #konig smut #cod konig #loser!konig

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stainedglassthreads · 10 months

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Saw someone mention something about 'of course Gabriel would get along with a demon, he's an awful person--' and no no no you're missing the point. Like yeah, he does suck and has been awful to Aziraphale, but he's not Uniquely Awful, nor is that the reason he gets along with Beelzebub. He gets along with Beelzebub because they are fundamentally the same, because there is no difference between angels and demons in Good Omens.

One of the things reiterated again and again in the book Good Omens is how Heaven and Hell is fundamentally the same. It's noted that demon wings are not black, but white, and during what while the showdown between Adam and Satan in the series, all the angels and demons actually appear on earth and square off against each other--and the narration specifically says that you couldn't tell the angels apart from the demons. That's why Gabriel and Beelzebub get the same complaints from both Heaven and Hell about how hard it is to get the angels and demons to back down from a war, that's why Crowley says at the end of season 1 that the real Armageddon will be the combined hosts of Heaven and Hell versus humanity. It's why it was mentioned, when talking about season 1, that Heaven and Hell were envisioned as being the upper floors and basement of the same basement--is why the methods to get to both places are always in the same location! The escalators and the elevator!

And that's why Gabriel and Beelzebub got along. Because they were in the exact same position experiencing the exact same difficulties and complaints, and because they the exact same amount of actual care for Heaven and Hell--precisely zero. They fell in love because they're similar, but at the end of the day, all the angels and demons are 'similar', because the demons used to be angels too! Which we are reminded, when Crowley correctly analyzes angels like Muriel, Heaven as a structure, and guesses that they STILL haven't changed the passwords. Crowley recognizes that Heaven and Hell are the same, and are plagued by effectively the same problems, and so he rejects both. He rejects Beelzebub's offer to become a Duke of Hell, even if it would protect Aziraphale. He rejects Aziraphale's offer to become an angel again. Crowley knows that both sides are rife with systematic problems, and so he goes all-in on our side. And on humanity's side.

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable bureaucracy #aziraphale #crowley #gabriel #beelzebub #good omens meta #good omens analysis #also when the demons keep stepping in the circle #aziraphale doesn't say 'yeah demons can't handle heavenly conduits'#he says 'if you're unprepared you can be discorporated'#because the same thing happened to him! in season 1! we saw!#yeah hellfire and holy water and consecrated ground #but on a thematic level they are The Same

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forhappysake · 4 months

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"Because I love you."

A/N - Guys I'm really into these sappy pieces recently. Pls feel free to send requests for something else if inspired. Also, I might be doing a pt.3 to Teach Me at some point, I just have to pick where the story is going.

Summary - A showdown with an unsub leaves you in the hospital. Spencer can't help but feel guilty. Could almost losing you push him to confess his love? (spoilers: yes it does)

Warnings - spencer x reader, BAU level violence, some angst on Spencer's part, fluff, and a love confession

You stared down at your hands, battered and bloodied from your futile attempts to fight back. Caught off guard during an interview with a man who was only supposed to be an eye witness, not the unsub himself, forced you to fight for your life. By the time the neighbors heard the scuffle and called the local police to come to your rescue, you figured you looked like you’d been through seven rounds of an MMA fight. Your head ached, your eye was swollen shut, and you nearly cried in agony with every breath as you were certain you’d broken a rib.

After a tense standoff with the local police, the unsub was in custody, leaving you on the floor with your many wounds. You managed to stand yourself up and walk out the door to the waiting ambulance, only to collapse into the EMT’s arms. You felt yourself being loaded in the back of the vehicle as they started an IV. As consciousness drifted away from you, you couldn’t help but wonder where your team was.

***

You awoke in the hospital to the steady sound of your heart monitor beeping and muffled conversation from outside your room. Your bloodied clothes had been traded in for a hospital gown at some point, and your midsection was bound tightly with some sort of bandages, you assumed to keep your rib in place. You managed to open your good eye in an attempt to find the source of those muffled voices. Your eyes landed on Emily and JJ speaking in the corner of the room, voices hushed.

“He can’t blame himself. None of us saw this coming,” Emily said, her voice stern but laced with concern.

JJ shook her head. “He feels terrible, Emily. I’ve seen him come in and out of here crying three times in the last two hours. He rarely cries.”

Who could they be talking about?

Emily looked at the floor in silence, trying to formulate a reply. JJ cleared her voice to speak again. “They’re partners, Emily,” JJ said, “Of course he’s going to blame himself.”

Spencer.

Deciding you’d had enough of eavesdropping, you did your best to sit up, only to let out a whimper when a sharp pain pierced your side. JJ and Emily turned to face you, surprised looks on both their faces.

“Hey, just lay back,” JJ encouraged. She rushed to the bedside, placing a soothing hand on your arm.

“How long have I been asleep?” you asked.

Emily shook her head, “Only twelve hours, which isn’t very much considering what you’ve been through. I’ll tell the doctors you need another IV and some pain medication.”

As she turned for the door, you shook your head, “Emily, wait.”

Emily turned to face you, coming to stand at the foot of your bed. “What is it?”

“Where’s Spencer?” you asked. Emily looked to JJ, the two of them sharing a knowing glance. You and Spencer had always been close, as partners and friends.

“He’s been going back and forth between pacing the parking lot and the lobby for hours. I can’t imagine how many steps he’s taken,” Emily joked. “I’ll go get him for you.” With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you and JJ to catch up on what you’d missed in the last few hours.

JJ explained what happened after you’d passed out: how the unsub was in custody, finding another victim in his basement, and the team realizing that they’d sent you out to interview the lunatic on your own. “We just thought he was going to give you some information about the case. We had no reason to think that he was the one who-”

You shook your head, holding up a hand to stop her. “I didn’t think so either. It’s why I agreed to go alone. Nobody’s at fault.”

JJ nodded, a solemn look on her face. “I’m just so glad you’re okay. We were all so worried once we connected the dots. I was telling Emily - I haven’t seen Spencer so stressed in years.”

As if on cue, both you and JJ turned to the sound of rushed footsteps coming down the hallway. Spencer’s tall frame was running (no, sprinting) down the hospital corridor. You felt a small smile tug at the corner of your lips as he burst into the room, hair danging in front of his eyes and clearly out of breath.

He approached your bedside, leaning down so he could be face-to-face with you. You could only see him with one good eye, but you did your best to smile to show him that you were doing alright. You brought a hand to his face, pushing the fallen strands of hair out of his eyes so you could see him more clearly. “Hello to you too,” you joked.

“Y/N-” Spencer started, the tears quickly gathering in his eyes, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve gone with you. I should have known that-”

“That the guy who called into the tipline was actually the unsub? Spencer, be logical. None of us knew. I was just telling JJ, nobody is at fault.”

A single tear fell down his cheek as he examined your injuries. With each scratch and bruise he found, he felt another crack forming in his heart. He hadn’t protected you. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? He was your partner. Your best friend. He loved you, that he knew. He’d forced that love to be as platonic as he could make it, trying to avoid ruining your perfect friendship. It was moments like this that made that more difficult than ever, as he tried to reckon with his love and his guilt.

Your bruised hand was still cradling his face. He could feel the bandages against his stubble, and he cursed himself again. It was only then that the other presence in the room became known to him. JJ stood on the other side of the bed, another knowing smile gently painting her lips. Spencer knew what he had to do. JJ knew what Spencer had to do. He looked at her, his eyes subtly asking her to leave the two of you alone. JJ took the hint with a small nod, leaving the room without another word as you and Spencer continued to examine each other.

“So, JJ’s filled me in on what I missed,” I said, breaking the silence. “Sounds like a pretty exciting half day,” I joked.

Spencer shook his head, pulling away from your hand. He didn’t go far, though, intertwining his own with yours as he leaned back from the bed. “I was worried sick,” he said.

“I can tell, Spence,” you said, trying to prop yourself up with your pillow. “You really shouldn’t have been. You know I always come out of these things relatively unscathed.” He raised an eyebrow at your statement, taking in your swollen and bruised features. “Well… maybe not unscathed. Alive, at least,” you quipped.

An eerie silence fell over the room. You could feel the tension increase as the gears turned in his head.

“But what if you don’t someday?” he whispered, his voice far away. You looked over at him, his eyes fixed on your heart monitor and the gentle green lines rising and falling accompanied by the signature beep-beep-beeping.

You squeezed his hand in an attempt to bring him back down to Earth. “I’ll always come back, Spencer. It’s what you and I do. We come back alive for each other.”

The tears that had pooled in his eyes earlier spilled over his cheeks as he let out a small whimper. He leaned down, gently wrapping his arms around you as he wept. “Hey, it’s okay Spencer,” you tried to calm him.

“No, it’s not. It-it’s not because,” he trailed off. You could still feel his shoulders shaking as he cried.

“Why, Spencer?” you asked once more. “Please, you can tell me anything.”

Suddenly his sobs slowed. He pulled back from your embrace, taking in your features. Bruised and battered as you were, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. He felt like his heart was going to explode. Before his brain could catch up with his mouth, the words came tumbling out. “Because I love you,” he said simply.

Your jaw dropped open at his words. While you should’ve seen this coming, nothing could prepare you for the way your heart jumped. If it wasn’t evident from the expression on your face, the heart monitor picked up its beeping, nearly doubling its pace. The sound wasn’t lost on Spencer, who frantically looked at the screen.

“Oh no,” he mumbled, quickly walking to the monitor. “Did I upset you? I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ve just felt this way for so long and if I keep pretending like I don’t-”

“Spencer,” you cut him off, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in minutes. “I love you too.”

The look on his face was priceless, and you wished you could have taken a picture, but you did your best to engrave it on your brain forever. His brown, teary eyes brightened in a moment, a glimmer of hope shining from within. “You do?” he asked.

You laughed, allowing your head to fall back on the pillow behind you. “Spencer, I volunteer to work with you during nearly every case. We split a room every week. I only wished that you’d said this sooner so we could’ve split the bed, too.”

He stared at you in shock. The tears in his eyes long forgotten as a smile crept on his face.

A soft laugh left his mouth as he leaned down to you once more, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, careful to avoid any injured area. “Well, I promise that next time we can,” he said. “And,” he started once more, “I’m never letting you go anywhere by yourself again.”

You smiled up at him, running your fingers over his own. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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doliacuddles · 2 months

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CHASED BY SHADOWS.

𝖧𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇! 𝖠𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋

❝In the darkness of the forest, the hunted becomes the hunter.❞

In the midst of a dark and dense forest, the moon barely illuminated the path between the trees. It was a quiet night, at least until Alastor, the feared hunter of those times, began his hunt.

You, being one of Alastor's many victims, found yourself running through the forest, your heart pounding and breath ragged. You knew that escaping him was an almost impossible task, but you were determined to try.

Footsteps echoed in the night, Alastor's sinister laughter pursued you, like an echo of your worst nightmare. Every time you glanced back, you could see his dark figure among the trees, moving with inhuman grace.

But then, by a stroke of luck or perhaps by the intervention of fate, you stumbled over a protruding root and fell to the ground. Quickly, you got up and realized that you were near your home. With your heart in your throat, you hurried towards it, knowing that your only hope of survival was to reach it before Alastor caught up with you.

Upon reaching your house, cold sweat ran down your back as you closed the door with a dull thud. You tried to control your agitated breathing, but fear embraced you tightly. You knew you couldn't stay there for long. Alastor was relentless, and sooner or later, he would find a way in.

You ran to the basement, where you kept some provisions and old weapons, inheritance from your grandfather. Among the dust and gloom, you found a rusty axe that you barely remembered seeing before. You took it with trembling hands, feeling its familiar and comforting weight.

You heard a noise downstairs, a sharp squeak that chilled your blood. Alastor was close. There was no time to lose. With the axe in hand, you climbed the stairs with determination, prepared to face your destiny.

The front door swung open with a crash, and Alastor's dark figure was silhouetted against the moonlight filtering through the entrance. His eyes gleamed with unfathomable malice as he looked at you with a twisted smile on his face.

With the axe firmly gripped, you faced Alastor with determination, although your heart pounded in your chest. The breath of both filled the tense air as you prepared for the final showdown.

Alastor advanced with a supernatural elegance, his movements fluid and lethal. But you did not retreat. You knew you couldn't afford to show weakness in front of this ruthless being who had pursued you for so long.

The first blow was fast and accurate, but Alastor dodged it with astonishing grace. His red eyes gleamed with malicious intensity as he threw you a defiant look. You knew you couldn't afford to fail. You had to stop him here and now, before it was too late.

The fight continued, each of you exchanging blows and dodging each other's attacks with skill. Blood began to flow from superficial cuts, painting the scene with a dark red in the moonlight.

But then, in the midst of the furious combat, something changed. A distant noise broke the silence of the night, a familiar yet perplexing sound. Alastor stopped for a moment, his expression changing from surprise to confusion.

A figure moved among the trees, emitting a strange and guttural sound. To your amazement, a group of hunters had burst into the forest, drawn by the noise of the fight. However, they didn't seem to be interested in you.

The hunters, armed to the teeth, advanced determinedly towards Alastor, their rifles pointing directly at him. But in the darkness and confusion, they made a terrible mistake.

Alastor, confused by the sudden intervention, instinctively retreated, seeking to escape the hail of bullets that was coming. But in his desperate flight, he stumbled over a hidden root and fell to the ground, exposing himself to the attack.

The sound of gunfire echoed in the night, mingling with Alastor's cries as he was hit again and again by the bullets. His sinister laughter faded into the air, replaced by cries of agony.

You stood there, astonished, as you watched Alastor's dark figure slowly fade into the darkness. The fear that had dominated your heart for so long dissipated, leaving only a cold and hollow emptiness.

With a trembling sigh, you dropped the axe and walked away, knowing that this night had changed your life forever. The forest whispered with a somber silence, but now, at least, you were safe from the hunter's clutches.

Alastor, with a sinister smile and a malevolent gleam in his eyes, gazes towards the stars and says in a chilling tone:

"Darling, you know our paths are destined to cross time and time again, even beyond this night. Prepare for an eternal dance where there will be no rest or respite. My thirst for vengeance will burn like a perpetual flame until I find you, and then... then it will be your turn to face the darkness that awaits you. We will meet again soon in the abyss, where our destinies will intertwine in a macabre dance of torment and despair."

With a final gasp, Alastor succumbs to the darkness, his menacing presence fading into the air as his body lies inert on the forest floor.

Intellectual property of @doliacuddles.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor

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doyoulikethissong-poll · 4 months

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Because yay more polls :D

These are the songs I've chosen from each Showdown polls for the first 100 songs, that didn't get as much love as their tougher competition.

What song did you personally like the best? Did a song make an impact right away or did it require the full version? Did the artist reveal change your opinion of the song itself for better or for worse? Tell me in a reblog!

(note: this is not a popularity contest or to vote for a favourite artist out of loyalty 💖 it's still about the song.)

#showdown #ultimate showdown #finished

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jeeaark · 1 month

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GREYGOLD'S BALDUR'S GATE 3 ADVENTURES Pt.2

ACT 3 (not including final showdown)

As chronologically ordered as spoilery as possible

Act3 Party Crashers Monks vs Rangers Dat Plot Twist Plot Twist Bonus Plot Twist Aftermath Tadpole Upgrade Fret Vacation with Lae'zel Shopping for Clothes Plotting Pina Coladas Not PJs Share? Revisiting Rolan and Voss Romantic Sunset Dryad Boon Elfsong Tavern Basement Orin Shirtless Disaster Pt1 Shirtless Disaster Pt2 Shirtless Disaster Pt3 Shirtless Disaster Pt4 Shirtless Disaster Pt5 (holy crap so many) Babe Knows This is just silly To Tadpole or Not to Tadpole Consummate GloomGold Iron Throne Broken Lamp Mizora Flirt Mizora Pt2 Balduran Statue Ansur pt1 Ansur pt2 Astarion and Puns Off to Kill Cazador Cazador fight Minsc Patch 6 kisses Haarlep Raphael Showdown Shotdown Curtains for Raphael Insurance Personal Quest Problems Gather Your Allies

Bonus Ask Comics

Greygold's Personal Quest

Durge Help

Durge Flirt Alert

Durge Go Evil

Dame Aylin

Out of Spells

Thoughts on Raphael

Die For

Vlaakith Bargains

Lae'zels 2nd choice

MASTERPOST ACT 1&2

MASTERPOST ACT 3 Final Showdown

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #greygold #bg3 fanart #bg3 comic #I'm probably missing a few but at least all the story-related ones should be here

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anthurak · 2 months

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Okay so Salem steamrolling into Vale, as we find out in the Volume 9 Epilogue, honestly makes PERFECT sense both in-universe and narratively.

See, going back to Volumes 4 and 5, we know that Salem hasn’t been able to actually FIND the Beacon Vault yet. So assuming that’s still the case, it honestly makes perfect sense that after getting the Lamp and Staff, Salem would set up shop in Vale in order to deal with locating the Vault herself. As to why she’s going after the Crown in Vale and not the Sword in Vacuo?

Simple; she KNOWS where that vault is, plus she’s already got Tyrian, Mercury and her two latest patsies the Asturias siblings handling that. Plus I imagine Salem’s gotten a bit annoyed at the lack of progress at Beacon, so she’s decided to handle locating the Vault herself. Not to mention that unlike with Vacuo, Salem already has the key to the Fall Maiden Vault (Cinder), so once she locates the vault, she can just swipe up the Crown of Choice no problem.

And from a narrative perspective, Salem now being in Vale nicely streamlines and ties together multiple story threads for the final battle against her: Now Team RWBY and co. can do a ‘triumphant return to Vale’, ‘retaking Beacon’ AND a final showdown with Salem all at once!

Now for a bit of fun theorizing on what’s actually gone down at Vale and the status of the Crown of the Choice:

First off, I don’t actually think that Ruby’s and Yang’s home and adoptive father have been overrun by Grimm. Let’s not forget that Patch is an ISLAND off the coast. And that Salem coming to Vale was almost certainly less about totally subjugating/destroying the kingdom and more about finally getting to the Vault under Beacon. Meaning that Salem is likely satisfied with simply securing the city and probably doesn’t care about a random island off the coast.

Which in turn nicely makes Patch, Ruby’s and Yang’s home, very important going forward. Both as a last remnant (pun intended) of resistance against Salem in Vale, as well as a natural beachhead for when it’s time for our heroines to finally take the fight to Salem.

In fact, this could neatly explain why Taiyang isn’t in Vacuo: He’s still on Patch helping to organize evacuation/resistance efforts, and more importantly to provide Raven a portal-anchor to the island. Heck, this could even mean that Team RWBY might be taking a trip to Patch during Volume 10 via Raven. Particularly if there needs to be a STRQ family meeting…

Then we have the status of the Crown of Choice, and for that I think we have to go back to a little line from Ozpin back in Volume 5: He mentions to Ruby that the Crown is safe, and curiously does NOT seem all that worried even with Salem’s Grimm infesting and presumably strip-mining Beacon and the Fall Maiden herself currently in her employ.

As I have brought up a few times in the past, I’m pretty sure at this point that the Crown of Choice ISN’T actually under Beacon, and may not even be in a Vault. Instead, Oz pulled a fast one and squirreled the crown away in a place much more inconspicuous.

Which in turn, by law of narrative foreshadowing, means that the Crown is almost definitely squirreled away on Patch. Effectively hidden right under Salem’s nose at this point. (I won’t say it’s been in Tai’s basement this whole time, but you never know…)

And by the way, this would also nicely set up our heroines to secure the Crown in the leadup to the final battle against Salem. They get the Sword of Destruction during their time in Vacuo, and then pick up the Crown of Choice when they arrive on Patch in preparation to retake Vale and Beacon.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 9 epilogue #rwby volume 10 theory #rwby theory #Salem

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theresattrpgforthat · 26 days

Note

any ttrpgs for spooky dark boarding school stories? gotham academy, the boarding school: las cumbres, wednesday, that kinda thing?

THEME: Dark Boarding Schools

Hello there, at first I felt like this overlapped with all of my magic school recommendations, but once I did some digging, I realized that there's a lot of big differences! That also means that there was a good number of games I haven't recommended before, so I hope there's something here that fits what you're looking for.

Tangled Blessings, by Cassi Mothwin.

On the eve of your final exam at Brackroot Academy, what mysteries, secrets, dread, and drama will you recall from your last four years of schooling?

Tangled Blessings is a solo journaling or two-player RPG inspired by dark academia media, ghost stories, and graduate school. Featuring a wizarding college, wandering specters, assigned houses, curses, devils’ bargains and more supernatural flavor, Tangled Blessings blends horror and the fantastical to help players craft a story that spans their time at the academy — culminating in one final showdown against their rival.

If your favorite stories ever involved sneaking around an ancient building, uncovering dangerous secrets, studying in a dusty library, practicing spells on the lawn, or making perilous deals with creatures lurking in the darkness… This game is for you.

Tangled Blessings is a game about discovering the dark secrets hidden behind the allure of a secret magical world. You use a tarot deck to determine your character’s placement at the school, the nature of their rival, and the ghosts and creatures that will emerge throughout your years at the school. Each year is represented by a series of card draws, which will represent events that you have to decide how you respond to. If you play this game using the 2-player variant, each of you will play each-other’s rivals, comparing your results to see how the school year affects the both of you. The game culminates in a Final Exam that will determine whether you or or rival comes out on top.

St. Hornbeck, by belsaas.

Welcome to St. Hornbeck College/

Atop a small hill in the woods just outside the small town of Southfield, WI sits a College. Old, copper-rimmed limestone buildings huddle together against the harsh winters, while herds of students wander between them in search of wisdom, kinship and the occasional party. Soon, those herds of students will include you. There are two main reasons for enrolling at St. Hornbeck. Firstly, they have a leading program in the field you want to major in (yes, whatever you may choose). Secondly, there are only a handful of colleges that accept monster-teens in America…

This game relies on traditional teenage tropes to inform your character background, and leans fully into the allegory of monstrosity being a metaphor for young adulthood. Gameplay occurs over a series of scenes, marking various days in the calendar of the school year. In each scene, you can roll for or choose complications related to your monstrosity as a way to invite tension and obstacles for your characters to overcome. If you want to see something that’s a bit darker, you might want to check out this game’s inspiration, by snagging Midnight Oil from Jay Dragon’s Patreon.

Lost Years, by Summerwood Games.

The boarding school in this game is any boarding school, every boarding school. The walls are old stone or red brick, the dormitories are filled with young people going through the agonizing process of becoming themselves, classrooms retrofitted with ceiling tiles and modern lighting.

There are spaces of this school that belong only to us students, sacred rites performed in them that mean nothing to others and everything to us. We smoke cigarettes in the basement, make out in the tack room, make meaningful eye contact across the cricket pitch. I will tell you two truths and a lie: no one can take these years from us, none of us will be the same when we leave, no class will teach us more than we learn from one another. Can you see now which one is the lie? We couldn’t.

Lost Years is a Belonging Outside Belonging game set in a boarding school menaced by a mysterious force that threatens to empty the students of everything that makes them themselves. Meant for 3-5 players, it can be played as a one-shot but is most suited for multi-session play.

Lost Years looks to be a game that focuses on the emotional highs and lows of being a teenager trying to survive in a strange environment away from the eyes of their parents - but still under the control of some form of authority. Your characters will fill the roles of various tropes from boarding school media, such as the Sporty One, or the Witchy One.

Because this game is BoB, the school itself will fill the foreground, with various locations such as the Attic and the Greenhouse being fleshed out by different players around the table. If you want a game that focuses on the themes of dark academia and how they affect the relationships of these students, you might want to check out Lost Years.

Never & More, by Small Stories.

NEVER & MORE is a quick-play roleplaying game and Edgar Allan Poe-inspired hack of John Harper's Lasers & Feelings.

You are the newest recruits of The Society of Ushers, an occult secret society. Your mission is to prove yourself to your superiors, master the rituals required to move up a rung, and learn how to talk to ravens. Your direct superior and teacher, the Belfry-Devil, has finally deemed you suitable to circulate by yourselves amongst greater society, trusting you to remain faithful to the Ushers in the face of attempted poaching, targeted seduction, and superior parties.

This isn’t necessarily a game about academia, but I think it carries similar elements of learning, dark secrets, and hierarchy. Lasers and Feelings games balance your characters between two qualities; in this case, you are torn between your desire for safety and your hunger for knowledge. You can play this as a one-shot or draw it out if you like, just keep in mind that these types of games usually don’t have resources for character advancement, so your characters won’t gain any new abilities - although whether or not they learn from their mistakes is up to you.

Precarious Prep, by Seaworks.

Welcome to Precarious Prep.

Something dark is going on at Precarious Preparatory School, and one detective - your GM - needs somebody on the inside. In the daytime you'll take classes, get to know the students and faculty, figure out who you can trust. The better you do in class, the faster you'll level up. At night you'll investigate the campus, search for clues, and unlock puzzles. Report your discoveries to the detective to gain points.

Instead of having 6 universal stats, Precarious Prep uses a curriculum - the stats your character takes on are determined by the course load you pick up each trimester. The better you do in classes, the more firepower you’ll have in your investigations. Classes can be fully relevant, partially relevant, or irrelevant to the checks you need to make throughout the game, so coordinate with your team and round out your education with a variety of skills.

Precarious Prep uses something called Discovery Points to indicate how close your students are to revealing what exactly is going on at this preparatory school. Your characters use the things they are learning in class to investigate the mystery, while trying to avoid generating enough suspicion to get them kicked out. Many of the rules strive to generate a number of different gambles that the players can take while trying to gather information - will you do something that increases your chances of success while also increasing your chances of getting expelled? Can you get enough information before the school year ends - or before one of you gets killed?

This game is still in open beta, which means it’s free, but also that it might still have some kinks that need to be worked out. The designer is very eager for feedback, so if you take a look at this game, you might be able to contribute to the final product!

I’d Also Recommend….

The Gardening Club, by Wizard of Ox.

#dark academia #tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #indie ttrpg

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 5 months

Note

I've been binging your x readers the past few days, and they're so well done!! If it's not much trouble, could you do a 2k3 Donnie x GN Reader during the Adventures in Turtlesitting/Good Genes arc? I've been turning the thought of (Y/N) witnessing his transformation and going "Like Hell I'm not gonna do something about this" and doing what they can to make a cure; even standing up to Bishop and Stockman. I'm a sucker for "You helped me, it's the least I could do to help you" stories. >u<

Secondary Mutation (Angst)

2003!Donatello x reader

A/N: Thank you so much! That’s so sweet of you to say💚 This arch goes over three episodes, but I’ve tried cut it down and make it more precise, making the main focus the showdown and all that at Area 51. Hope you enjoy💜

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Warning: Spelling (was a little tired towards the ending. Long day😅), Donnie with a secondary mutation, Bishop and Stockman being assholes, a little hostage situation like?

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You were there when it happened. You witnessed the whole thing as it unfolded. Leonardo, Raphael and Michelangelo and dropped you and a sick Donatello off at April’s place. It had been Leo’s idea, citing it would be good to keep both of you out of the sewers, while he and the other’s went on a hunt for Bishop’s mutants. You too thought it was a good idea, except it meant crashing April and Casey’s long awaited date night.

It had started out great. Or as great as it could. Your boyfriend was continuously sneezing and sniffling, bags running under his eyes, and shaking even when covered by several blankets. The poor guy was going through it.

But then the black out happened, leaving all of New York City in darkness. That was the last thing you needed, sitting with your shivering boyfriend’s head in your lap, trying to sooth him with your fingers tracing across his head. But nothing helped. Donnie felt horrible, and the darkness only made it worse for him.

As Casey went to look for a flashlight, Donnie started groaning out in pain, complaining that the cut on his leg was beginning to act up. He said it felt like it was burning, causing you even more worry than before. April wanted to help, but with her own boyfriend knocking things over in her room, as he looked for the flashlight, she had to leave to make sure he didn’t bring the whole apartment down over the shop. But that was when the trouble began.

Donnie groaning almost turned to screaming, his thigh convulsing. You were terrified, asking him if he was okay, begging him for an answer, but Donnie could not speak. The pain was too much for him. Then suddenly he let out an ear piercing scream, his thigh doubling in size. He sat up, hugging onto his legs, screaming and shaking as sweat ran down his face. His body started to grow, his belt, elbow pads and knee pads ribbing before he hurried up from the sofa, as if he frantically tried to find a solution on his own.

“Donnie?”, you asked terrified, trying to find him in the dark, grabbing your phone in your pocket.

“(Y/N)”, you heard Donnie’s strained voice call out from the corner of the room. You quickly turned on your phone's flashlight, pointing it in his direction. There he stood, double in size, red eyes, sweat dripping down his face with an expression of pain. “Help me”.

“Don?”, you asked in confusion, stepping closer to him. “What’s happening?”

“No!”, he exclaimed, just as April and Casey came back into the living room. “Stay back!”

“Don!”, they called out.

“No!”, Donnie yelled, before pushing past all of you, making a b-line directly for the door, breaking it off the hinges before he ran downstairs. “Get away from me!”

The next few hours were horrible. Finding Donnie had turned into a giant alligator-like creature in the basement, before you and your friends had to defend yourselves against your boyfriend. Casey even had to go as far as mashing him over the head with a vacuum. It was even more horrible knowing he had run off into the sewers, leaving you scared and worried while the guys looked for him.

All of this led you up to this point, you and your best friends seeking out Agent Bishop in order to find a cure for your horribly inflicted boyfriend. Seeing Donnie like this broke your heart. Tears rolled down your face as you watched him unconsciously float around in the round glass bubble. Somehow this was even worse than having watched him slam against the glass or the other containment unit, roaring like a wild beast, trying to claw at whatever he saw outside the glass. Even you. You almost broke down when he snapped against the glass, wanting to bite you.

You paced around Bishop’s lab, unable to sit still. Because if you sat down you would stare, and if you stare you would cry. And you did not want to cry, you wanted to act. You wanted to do something. You couldn’t just sit around and wait for his brothers to get whatever Bishop had asked of them. Especially not when Leatherhead and Splinter kept reading Donnie’s vitals, giving each other sad looks. You knew what they were saying. You could not hear it, but you knew it. Donnie’s time was running out. His second mutation was breaking down his body. And there was nothing you could do but wait. And you hated it. You felt like you were going mad. Time was ticking and you could do nothing but watch, feeling the need to scream and cry.

“Doctor Stockman”, Splinter said, turning to the walking brain on a stick that had been testing your patience ever since you got to Area 51. “Agent Bishop told us that you would administer the cure to Donatello”.

“To think that I’ve sunk so low”, Stockman spoke to no one but himself, testing out different liquids on a creature in a different bubble. “That my unparalleled genius, would be used to save the life of one of these freaks”. You bite the inside of your cheek, holding from the temptation of smashing the glass that harbored Stockman’s brain. "Unfathomable".

“Where’s the cure, Stockman?”, Leatherhead asked, doing his best to keep his tone civil. But Stockman ignored him, moving from one console to another, still talking to himself as he went.

“I’m pulled from sweet oblivion, for what?! This?!”

Getting tired of Stockman’s rambling, Leatherhead grabbed onto the walking stick, forcing him to face him. “Show us the cure, now!”

“Cure?”, Stockman asked. “You stupid animal! Agent Bishop lied. There is no cure”.

“What?!”, Splinter exclaimed, his eyes wide. You felt your own body going pale, stopping dead in your tracks. For a moment you stopped breathing. Leatherhead growled, anger bobbling inside of him.

“You inhuman, soulless, monster!”, Leatherhead yelled, slamming Stockman against the keyboard, before getting ready to punch the glass head himself.

“Leatherhead, please”, Splinter called out, putting a hand on the mutant’s shoulder. “I share your anger, but this will not help Donatello! We need solutions not vengeance”.

“According to me, that piece of gum needs a good chewing!”, you yelled, pointing at Stockman.

“You too, (Y/N)”, Splinter said. “Please, my child. For Donatello”.

“You’ll be wise to listen to your inlaw”, Bishop’s voice sounded as he walked into the lab. Leatherhead growled and you felt your fists tightened at the sight of his smug smile. Both you and Leatherhead started seeing red, your anger so great that not even Splinter could hold you back.

“I’ve waited a long time to do this”, Leatherhead said before grabbing Stockman by the metal throat. “Now you’ll know the meaning of pain!” He threw the lump of metal onto the ground, before making his way to the well dressed man. You wasted no time stomping your foot onto Stockman’s back, making him lay flat against the floor.

“Doctor Stockman is working on a cure”, Bishop calmly said. “He’s the best change Donatello has for survival”. You sucked a breath in, staring directly into Stockman’s lone eye. Leatherhead fought the urge not to jump on Bishop. “Harm me, and Stockman stops. And your friend has no chance!”

You reluctantly let Stockman go, just as Leatherhead decided to back away from Agent Bishop.

“Fine, for now villain”, the large mutant said, before turning to the robot human hybrid that had just managed to get off the floor. “Doctor Stockman, show me what you have so far”.

The scientist sighed, before moving to the console with Leatherhead and Master Splinter. You however went straight over to Bishop, anger still fuming off of you. “This better work, Bishop”, you growled. “Or else you’ll personally have to deal with me”.

Agent Bishop faked a kind smile. “Your care for your friends is admirable, Miss (L/N), especially your care for Donatello. Although, I’m right to assume that your care for the turtle goes above just that of friendships?”

“How I care for my friends is none of your business”, you calmly said, keeping your anger in check. “What is your business, is making sure Stockman succeeds”.

“If you say so, Miss. (L/N)”, Bishop said, before walking away, leaving you back alone in your anger and sadness. How you wished you could be hugging Donnie, just one more time.

—

Leatherhead and Stockman made great progress on the cure, with the first test subject being a success. Who would ever have thought that you would be happy with Stockman’s work, even if it actually had been Leatherhead that had done the most out of the two? But all that slight happiness disappeared the moment the Bishop opened his mouth.

“Impressive, Mr. Leatherhead”, he said, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “And to think, I was going to dissect you”. Leatherhead growled. “What a waste that would have been. You’re even more brilliant than Doctor Stockman!”

“That doesn’t take much”, you mumbled, Splinter lifting a finger, telling you to behave. For the sake of Donnie.

“What?!”, Stockman questioned, not believing what Bishop had said.

“Then, it works?”, Splinter asked, watching as the test subject turned human again.

“Doctor, prepare an airborne version of the cure for the New York outbreak. As well as a sample for Donatello”, Bishop said, turning directly towards you and Splinter. “If his brothers fulfill their side of the agreement”.

“Don’t worry, Bishop”, you said, engaging in a stare down with the agent. “They will”.

“Brave of you to trust the life of your sweetheart with his brothers”, Bishop said. “Or maybe even foolish”.

“We trust them”, was the last thing you got to say, before there was news on a returning base helicopter. You sighed a breath of relief. They were back.

You went up to the main entrance, meeting the brothers as they came in. Bishop did not greet them, instead demanding that they handed over the item he was wanting. They looked to Master Splinter, waiting for his confirmation, before Mikey handed the stone over. The moment the stone was in Bishop’s hand, the alarm sounded, red lights shining all over the base.

“Base destruct sequence initiated”, sounded the alarm over your heads, making your ears ring.

“This base has been compromised by your presence”, Bishop said. “You have 15 minutes to collect your brother, and vacate the premises”. Then Bishop turned, smiling over his shoulder before he left. “Pleasure doing business with you”. You felt your fist clench.

It took you less than a minute to find Leatherhead. He was already working the cure on Donnie, leaving you all anxious in anticipation. Fog built up inside the machine, before the door finally opened, letting out a dazed and confused Donnie, rubbing his eyes as he took in his surroundings.

“Hey, guys”, he said tiredly. “What’s up?”

“Donnie!”, you yelled, running to him, throwing your arms around him before bringing him into a thigh hug. He wobbled slightly, leaning his weight on you as he found his footing.

“Hey, babe”, he smiled, still a little confused. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

“That’s a story for a different time”, Leo said. “Now we gotta go before this place blows up!”

He didn’t have to say that twice. Quickly you all ran outside, finding the chopper before taking off. You just managed to get up high enough, before the base blew up, sending red, orange and yellow light across the sky.

You all breathed a sigh of relief, happy to have Donnie back, safe and sound.

“Welcome back, my son”, Splinter said, taking a hold of Donnie’s hand.

“Thanks Sensei”, he smiled, still a little tired. “But I hope you guys didn’t go through too much trouble for me”.

The reaction on everybody’s faces spoke volumes. None of you had the guts to tell him, and neither should you.

You took Donnie’s hand in yours, smiling at him. “For you, nothing’s too much trouble”, you said, placing a kiss on his cheek. Donnie blushed slightly, not sure how to react in front of his family. But in all honesty, it did not matter much to him at the moment. He was just happy to be back to normal, feeling your hand in his once more.

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malereader-inserts · 2 years

Text

Spite Goes A Long Way

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: BAU Team & Male!Reader Summary: Everything you do is through spite, you look at death and give him a middle finger. Word Count: 1,379 A/n: I apologise if this is not as good as it should be.

GIF by reidamancy

You have no idea how you ended up here. Well, you do, somewhat. Your memory at the moment was fuzzy and incoherent, one moment you were with your team and the next thing you were coughing up blood, bruised in multiple places, and you swear you've got a few broken ribs.

Oh, and you were no longer with your team.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

There was a lot going on even if you weren't doing much other than bleeding out profusely. You're an FBI agent, you know you're not going to die even with your injuries, and you live off spite - there are times you should have died and yet you still pull through.

There were a lot of gunshots around you, you kept your head down as you tried to crawl closer somewhere else, despite being in a lot of pain. From what you can gather in your condition, you were at the wrong place at the wrong time. You were held hostage in a library, and you remember that you were sent there to collect information by yourself - after all, no one actually targets a library, so everyone in your team thought it was okay for one person to go.

But, here you were, with many terrified people. Your heart sank as you could see some kids clinging to their parents, at least you were here you thought. The suspects quickly figured out you were part of the FBI team and focused on you primarily.

There were no casualties and you were thankful for that, even if that meant you had to take the brute of their violence.

There was a gun showdown, and the suspects (there were five of them) were too busy gunning down the police that were outside, there was a fair assumption that your team were out there as well.

That was your moment, you groan quietly as you manage to get yourself on your feet, crouched down, you quickly moved as you could try to see if there was a back door.

No luck.

This was an old library with a hidden archive room, this place was locked down to prevent anyone from stealing anything. There was the main entrance and the back entrance was down in the basement, your best bet was the main entrance to get people out or create your own exit.

You noticed that the suspects brought multiple bombs with them, now you had to figure out how to get a bomb to a section that, hopefully, people won't mind destroying.

"He's in there," Morgan says, well, more like shouts over from behind the car, "He has to be!"

"I hope he's okay," Emily shouts back, unable to see you, but her focus at the moment was trying to get the suspects.

JJ scoffs and shakes her head, "We are talking about (Y/n)! The guy who refuses to die in any situation."

"But, one day it'll catch up to him," Hotch reminds the team, even knowing you - you weren't invincible, "I just hope it isn't today."

Suddenly, there was a bang on the side of the library, causing everyone outside to duck behind cover. The shooting from the inside ceases for a minute or two before it starts up again, but this time it's only three of them shooting at them.

"Emily, Morgan with me!" Hotch called out as he looked at his other team members, who nodded at him to go.

The three of them start moving towards the open entrance, noticing how people started to run out into safety. Noticing that there were police officers taking initiative by meeting them halfway and bringing them to safety.

But, there was no sight of you, and that worried them.

Bam!

You managed to headbutt one of the suspects, whose job was to keep an eye on you after creating an exit for people. They underestimated you, despite bleeding out from some stab wounds, broken ribs and mostly now a concussion, you were still in fighting ability.

You knock the man unconscious, and as you take a step forward, your knees buckled under you. And suddenly, you feel everything. You were running on pure adrenaline and when you needed it the most, your body betrays you as you found yourself on all fours.

You gasped, feeling your chest burn with every harsh breath. You were panicking and your chest was not getting any better with each breath. You started to hyperventilate, coughing and spitting out blood onto the floor, your vision starting the blur and your mind was convincing you that this was the end of you.

"(Y/n)!"

Your head snaps up at your name, and you choke on your breathing before letting out a slow heavy exhale, with that you push yourself up and crash against the wall. But, at least you were up from the floor.

"(Y/n)!"

Where are they? I can't see them, but you can most definitely hear them. Unless you were just imagining them, you blink a few times trying to clear your vision before sliding yourself up the wall, to your full height. You placed one hand against the wall, and the other on a stab wound that managed to break free from your homemade bandages from your flannel.

You pushed yourself off the wall as you walked out of the room and into the corridor of the basement. There you see three figures running at you, you bare a smile to see who it was.

"Oh, thank god," Emily expressed relief as she immediately hugs you, not caring about the blood, before pulling away to examine you.

Hotch placed a hand on your shoulder, casting your eyes to him, there was relief in his eyes despite the rest of his face not expressing as such.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking: that’s a substantial amount of blood, are you okay? And I’d like to assure you that I am perfectly fine.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow at you, his hand on your shoulder keeping you upright, “Your hands are shaking, you’re wheezing, and I’m pretty sure you’re going to pass out."

“Well. You’re observant. But I’m fine.”

Morgan was going to comment but suddenly there was another bang down the hallway, indicating that was your signal to leave quickly.

“Can you run?” Morgan asked, knowing full well that you were stubborn and did not want to be carried by him, even at a time when you could be dying.

“I can limp quickly.”

"Better than nothing."

Emily throws your arm over her as you leaned on her as support, limping quickly down the hallway. Morgan is on your six whilst Hotch is in front, you don't know if you managed to get everyone out successfully but you hope you did.

"Have we ever told you that you're borderline crazy?" Emily asked, laughing at you to chuckle - at least you still had some of your spirit left.

"I'm very much aware, but that's what you love about me."

"You give me high blood pressure," Hotch comments from the front as you grin, "I might have to start charging you my hospital bill."

"He jokes!" You exclaimed before laughing, "Man, if I die, at least I got to hear a joke from Hotch."

"(Y/n)."

"I'm sorry sir," You shut up immediately as Morgan and Emily snorted at the quick response, it was like watching a kid getting scowled at by their father.

The four of you managed to get out from the back, Emily reassuring you that you were almost with everyone else. As you get closer to the shooting, you cannot help but flinched as they immediately wave down any paramedic to you.

"How is he?" Rossi asked, as Hotch and Morgan returned, Emily decided to stay with you whilst you were getting tended.

"Exactly how you think he is," Morgan says as Rossi cracks a smile at that.

"You know, I gotta know how he does it," Spencer says, ducking in the cover, hoping that the battle of shooting would cease soon.

"Does what?" JJ loudly asked.

"How he looks at the face of death and spits on him," Spencer replies, looking at his team with a smirk, "His ability to not die is extraordinary."

"That's (Y/n) for you."

#bau team x male reader #bau team imagine #criminal minds x male reader #criminal minds imagine #x male reader

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isabelguerra · 3 months

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if pnat was a serialized cartoon it would absolutely be one of those non-plot (until maybe 3 seasons in) series that is monster of the week bullshit caused by various spirits. this weeks episode, a spirit causes a zombie outbreak and max and ed team up to save the rest of the club! this weeks episode, mr starchman has a secret double life in mayviews basement!? this weeks episode, isabel must face down the spirit of the wild west to save (mayview middle) the saloon! this weeks episode- uh oh! a spirit has swapped everyone’s bodies?! max has to learn to control paper, isabel must calm her emotions enough to not cause a thunderstorm, isaac must learn to express his creativity, and ed’s got to put their parkour skills to the test!

xiaolin showdown/gravity falls style. goofy gimmicky event of the week stuff. 3 seasons of filler fun setting establishing. yknow?

#paranatural

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genocidalfetus · 1 month

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The Final Showdown

Kerry gets taken by Vilem's father. Vilem agrees to meet with him, to trade places with Kerry. His life for his mainline's life.

Hiding in plain sight the whole time...

Dragged down to the basement, they meet at last.

They never checked him for internal weapons. A mistake on their part...

Nickolai likes to hear himself speak, so Vilem lets him. He bides his time...

Nearly there. They hear commotion upstairs. Dino and River cleaning house. Vilem has had enough of the scav boss' voice.

They were dead the moment they laid their hands on him, on Kerry. They just didn't know it yet.

Nickolai is dead, and Kerry is safe.

Vilem leaves alone. He needs to process what's happened.

It's over...yet, he feels...hollow.

Johnny pops in, with some words of encouragement.

Kerry enters the bathroom, and Vilem breaks down, apologizing to Kerry for him having to see him kill, to become a monster.

Kerry reassures Vilem, telling him that the only monster he saw, was the one in the basement who had him kidnapped and was pointing a gun at them all.

Dino joins his two mainlines. The three of them finally admit that they love each other. No more holding back.

Vilem avenged his mother and sister, and saved Kerry. A chapter in his life finally closed. Revenge is bittersweet.

Wanna read this saga in chapter form? Click down below

#cyberpunk 2077 #virtual photography #ao3 fanfic #vilem davydkin #kerry eurodyne #dino dinovic #photostory #getting mantis blades to cooperate with AMM is a pain in the tits. Don't recommend #Overall I'm proud of this set #there's things that could have been done better but I did what I could with the tools I have #I plan on doing shorter ones from now on probably but less is more in some cases

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sequestered-song-skirmish · 1 year

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Bequeath the Basement Bangers!

Do you enjoy music so niche that one must squint through opera glasses to find the niche?

Interested in discovering new music? Do more people need to know about a disco ska metal band from Lake Wobegon? Do you want to make fun of cringefail artists that flopped? Or perhaps you have a penchant for pretending to be a fan and using elaborate schemes to promote your music...

Then this is the tournament for you, pal!

Submission Rules

This is for songs with under 3000 views/streams (on whatever platform). (It was going to be <1000, but I wanted to be able to put in OrcaMind songs. Basically just the less popular the better.) Songs with more views will still be considered, though. It depends on how many submissions I get. It’s preferable to be able to listen to the song online somewhere. Since obscurity is key, though, inaccessible songs on physical or lost media still qualify, they just might not get many votes.

Submit songs in this form or the ask box. (The linked form is preferred, to keep it organized, but whatever.)

Submissions will close on… I don’t know, July 4th maybe? Depends on submission quantity.

How this will work

I don’t want to deal with complicated brackets, so the bracket will be single-elimination, and will have a power of 2 (or maybe 3, depending?) number of songs. In determining which songs will fill that number, the following will be considered (in order of priority):

Obscurity

Submitter enthusiasm/provided description and reasoning

How good I think it is

Propaganda is allowed and encouraged.

These folks couldn’t compete in the big leagues, so now we’ll make them compete against each other, but for no reward!

Inspired by stuff like: @musical-song-competition @best-fnaf-song-competition @fictionaladoptionpolls @4thwallbreakersshowdown @obscure-hottie-fight @hit-song-showdown (Mine is like the opposite of that) @guess-that-ship @purpleboytournament @arrowtossingtournament @christian-denominations-poll @theater-kid-throwdown @obscuremilfoff @ponysongbracket @weird-song-bracket @songshowdown @fuck-you-upmusicbracket

#polls #tournament #song tournament #musicians #music #indie #underground music #submissions #explanation #favourite songs

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willshipanything-blog · 4 months

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Breaking the Rules- Epilogue 2 of 2

Here we are. The final, FINAL piece of this fic, and the culmination of two stories and nearly two years of writing.

As always, I hope you enjoy, and thanks as always to my dear friend Abracadabras (Aly) for reading and making suggestions that are always so valuable and nuanced!!

Read on AO3 here

Full story index here

Epilogue (2 of 2) Would It Be A Sin?

The months succeeding the would-be confession, that terrible showdown between you and Al, were perhaps the most bittersweet you’d faced. The cocooning cloud of happiness and relief offset only by the occasional thunderstorm of guilt and sorrow. The long winter nights balanced against a new year, a symbolically fresh start.

There were some hard truths you both had to answer, ghosts you had no choice but to confront. But now, you would descend those depths together. Literally- there were two basements that the two of you needed to visit. First: the house across the street.

Each of the boys’ little trinkets were placed atop the dirt near the bottom of each makeshift grave. Al had carried the wooden box, had held it out to you and opened it in a sort of ceremonial fashion, wherein you’d taken each item out with care. Four small items-seemingly innocuous, workaday trinkets-but heavy in your hands as you lay them down. They were placed on the corresponding graves with a silent reverence. Stepping back, Al had closed the box with a quiet, echoing snap before putting it aside on a table towards the back of the room. You’d both been quietly penitent, as if unsettling the dust beneath your feet might be a dishonor to any presence still in the basement. There were no words spoken, no eulogy- they’d already been said in private ceremonies by families speaking to empty coffins. You would receive no forgiveness from any remnants of those boys. So you stood there beside Al with a silent solemnity and an unspoken promise that it was over. Neither of you had spoken much that night, even after leaving the second house.

The basement in your house was next. Despite everything that had happened in that stone room, you found the staircase easier to descend. Hardly surprising, given the task you were to perform. There was no reluctance in destroying it beyond recognition- ripping out features that had resided in that stone cell for decades. The mattress dragged out and loaded into Al’s van; the sturdy brackets that had held the bed in place unscrewed and hauled off to the van, too; the metal grate on the window torn away and discarded. And when Al took a sledgehammer to the black phone bolted to the wall- when he swung hard, the thing shattering with a final broken jangle of notes- you thought you caught a satisfied glint in his blue eyes. Not enjoying the violence per se, but snatching just a little joy in destroying those final few traces of his past self, and demolishing any trace of his father’s crimes before him. Al had promised the basement would just be an empty room someday, after he’d freed you from its confines. Now it stood truly empty and that promise, like all promises these days, had been fulfilled.

For a little while, Al had been loath to play any of your usual games, even suggesting the masks be thrown in the garbage. But to you, they didn’t signify any danger or threat anymore. Their meaning had adapted, sculpted itself to be unrecognizable from the fear and uncertainty they once possessed when worn by the Grabber. When you’d taken the two halves that made up that deep frown, brought them out and held them out to Al, he’d acceded your request, and you fixed the mask overtop of that smirking, devilish smile. You slipped back into those salacious games easily: as smooth as the silk sheets that Al tossed you on before going in for his wicked, killing blow, happy to oblige his little dove’s request, eager to make her scream and writhe under him.

The aftermath of the thankfully-failed confession had caused some truly polarizing moments in its wake. The grief and guilt of it all sat like a poisonous lead weight in the pit of your stomach, unable to be digested, insisting on being carried and unforgotten. But it brought some of the most affirming moments, too. No more secrets. No more lies. The burden of guilt had been alleviated; shouldered partly by another, lightening that load. Your love had cemented itself in the very foundations of the house you both had learned to call ‘ours’. It felt like an ending, in a way- but in the same breath, it was a whole new story yet to be told. And rules of the story be damned - from now on, you and Al would write that plot together.

_______________________________

With a final flourish of crimson lipstick, you were nearly ready. And not a moment too soon; as you spritzed a cloud of jasmine and peach-scented perfume, you heard the familiar sound of the van pulling into the drive, practically skipping to meet Al as he walked through the door.

“Heya, dove, h-,” Al stalled as his eyes fell on you, standing there with a smirk at the immediate effect you’d had on him. “Holy sh- I mean, wow! You look…breathtaking, sweet.”

“What, this old thing?” you mused with mock incredulity, brushing your hands down the flared skirt of your new cocktail dress. You feigned surprise, knowing that little coquettish act rivaled Al’s own theatricality, knowing it charmed him as much as any provocative outfit.

Al’s eyes darkened, and he stepped towards you, his work boots nearly toe to toe with your black heeled pumps. You looked up through heavy lids, the lashings of mascara and flick of dark eyeliner an extra little effort, today of all days. Al’s eyes darted quickly to the bare expanse of skin exposed by the daring bardot neckline, but it was the faded lines of pink, that indelible mark on your skin where he’d craved his name across your heart, that had dragged his gaze downwards. AL. Still, you were sure he sneaked a peek at the cleavage and the suggestive trail of love bites along your neck before those cerulean eyes snapped back to your face.

“Really, dove. You look perfect. So beautiful.”

“You know Al, I’m still waiting on my birthday kiss.”

Who was Al to deny your command? He cupped the nape of your neck in his palm and drew you in close. A deep, electrifying kiss, sending a buzz skittering down your veins. He pulled back, a soft, warm smile settling on his face as he wished you a ‘happy birthday’ with sweet sincerity.

“My girl’s special day,” he beamed, hand still clasped softly around your neck, fingers laced through the soft waves of your hair.

“Not just mine, Al. You know it’s been a year since our first real date?”

Al’s knitted eyebrows had you wondering if that was a little too raw to be mentioning. A bizarre thought (perhaps even a little morbid) that last year, your last birthday, had been spent as Al’s prisoner. Your date had begun in the basement, being made to dress, being escorted upstairs, being made to sit, to eat, to dance. Still a captive by definition. But one thing hadn’t been forced that night. That night, you’d taken Al’s hand in yours, and asked him to take you to his bed. He’d finally admitted his feelings towards you, and though you hadn't echoed the same sentiment, it was still there. Concealed, but barely contained inside of you, ready to burst like a black balloon. Your mind snapped back to the present. Worried, you backtracked somewhat, not wanting to dredge up any memories of the past. Not tonight.

“Sorry Al, do you think it’s a little…strange to be celebrating that?”

“Aren’t we a little strange?” Al mused. You replied with a small laugh huffed through a smile, your tense shoulders relaxing when you realized Al wasn’t worried at all. He continued. “Okay, our special day, then.” Another lengthy kiss followed before you pried yourself away from his ravenous grip, shooing him to go get changed into something more suitable for the occasion.

As you ate dinner, eyeing Al across the table, you wondered if your gaze looked as hungry as Al’s. He’d mirrored you; his jet black shirt and trousers matching your dark dress; the blood-red cravat at his neck echoing the color you’d swept across your lips. Even his woodsy scent of cedar and tobacco seemed to flirt with the sweetness of your perfume across the dinner table. After you’d finished eating, when Al had asked you to choose some music while he freshened up, your dreamy, carefree mind didn’t question when Al bypassed the bathroom for another room entirely.

Your fingers rifled nimbly through Al’s record collection, as if already playing a soft melody on invisible piano keys. Figuring an older tune would match the evening’s mood, you grinned when you pulled out the Elvis record to see the singer donned in a Hawaiian shirt on the album cover, reminding you so badly of Max. You really couldn’t get away from either of the Shaw brothers, could you? Slipping the vinyl from its sleeve, you put the record on the turntable, dragged the needle to the outer grooves, and set it gently down.

When Al strode into the living room, giving you another amorous glance as he did, neither of you needed encouragement to dance. You reached out to each other silently, spurred on by the dulcet tones of the King singing about fools in love. The song coaxed you into a slow sway, Al’s arms so natural around your waist, your head leaning against his chest as you were lullabied into the reverie. Al’s thumping heart provided a strong backbeat to the music, though perhaps its pace was a little faster than normal. The excitement of the evening, maybe.

As you swayed in unison, you couldn’t help but silently answer Elvis’ melodic questions:

Shall I stay? (yes)

Would it be a sin? (yes)

If I can’t help falling in love with you.

You couldn’t help it. You’d traversed every emotion imaginable before reaching this point with Al. Disgust, rage, hatred, confusion, trepidation, attachment. And now, you’d opted for love. Opted, because it was your choice. Your want for him, need for him, had rooted itself deeper than your guilt. In the annals of your mind, you thought about the situation as you swayed softly, silently to the music as Elvis sang of rivers flowing out to sea. You’d sail into the darkness with Al and drown in the oblivion. But that was further down the line. For now, you were content to drown yourself, bask in the warmth of the two of you, bodies pressed close.

“D’ya want to play a game?”

“Huh?” you asked, pulled away from your blissful introspection by the unexpected question. Not that you would deny such a tempting offer. Your heart picked up speed to match Al’s quickened pace. “What kind of game were you thinking?” Your voice had instinctively taken on a sultry tone, already enthusiastic to play.

“Oh, it’s a long one.”

“How long?”

“A lifetime, hopefully.”

Any question about to slip from your lips was shoved back in your mouth when Al made his next move. He fell to his knees- no, he fell to his knee, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a small velvet box. Looking up at you, his blue eyes entreating, he opened the box, his hands clutched together like an oyster, the contents of the box a precious pearl at its center. But no- not a pearl. On closer inspection, the ring nestled in the box was gold and red, a single, pear-shaped jewel sitting atop a simple gold band. Like a teardrop. Or, given its sumptuous color, a single drop of scarlet blood.

“Will you be mine, dove?”

Not ‘will you marry me?’. No chance of such a formal, legal proceeding in the real world. But in this world of yours and Al’s own making, such a gesture would amount to the same thing. A bond, a forever promise. You held out your left hand, trembling slightly, though Al’s tender grip on it steadied you, warmed you as he slid the thin band on your fourth finger. He looked up, eyebrows raised as if in expectation, and you realized you’d not replied to him. There was only ever going to be one answer to his question.

“Yes. Yes, Al, I’ll be yours. Always.” You already were, had been for a long time. Longer, probably, than you dared admit to yourself. As Al rose from his knee with a slightly strained groan, you flung your arms around his neck, crashing your lips into his; Al met with a matched enthusiasm. You could feel his smile mirror yours through the kiss, and when you pulled back, the happy tears gathering at the corner of your eyes were duplicates of the watery blues staring back at you.

Gripping each of Al’s shoulders, your glance fluttered to each of your hands in turn. To the promise band on your right hand, then the jeweled red stone on your left. Those small gold bands like tiny manacles binding you to Al. There had been no choice at first, then anguished choices that would end in your shame or your demise. But then- those choices had shifted, had freed you. Freed you to be with Al unburdened by shame or sorrow. You felt complete.

You thought Al was complete now, too, looking up at him with an enraptured smile as he brushed your cheek softly, took your left hand and pressed a fierce kiss to your knuckles. Once, it had been the Grabber shadowing Al, that overbearing dark side that irrevocably connected the man and the monster. But the monster had been slain. You slipped into the gaps left by its absence, clawing into each crevice of Al, until he had been remade into a complete whole.

“It’s a garnet, the gem in the ring. It was my mom’s,” Al said wistfully, hand brushing your knuckles still warm from the touch of his mouth. “For a long time, it was the only thing of real value I kept in the house. Until I kept you.”

That wording. It was twisted, morose and sick. But then, why did you find those possessive words so charming, perhaps even a little beguiling? You could only hope that the melancholy expression on Al’s face as he looked from the ring to you signified his continued penitence of all that had come before. Otherwise the happiness you both found would feel hollow, undeserved. You thought so. You hoped so.

“I’m glad you kept me, Al.” If his wording was fucked-up, you’d match it with your own skewed viewpoint. It was a strange comfort, knowing you weren’t alone in your madness.

A dog barking from somewhere out on the street turned both of your heads to the window. A heavy feeling, like packed dirt on top of a coffin, descended, only the white noise of the record player filling the silence like a ghostly static. It was as if fate brought about the reminder of the past, the house across the street dominating the landscape out of the front window. Fluorescent orange street lights threw the shadowy silhouette of the tree across the house, dark branches reaching across the mottled brickwork. Thin fingers prying at the door to let those secrets out.

It was a steep price, shouldering a portion of Al’s heavy burden. Knowing that staying was not the moral course, that each day spent inside this house with Al was a day your soul became a fragment more tainted with blackness. Al’s price was steeper yet: memories of the Grabber he would never scrub from his soul. Of his unforgivable killings, and his treatment of you. Even the torment of never quite knowing if one day, you might snap out of some daydream- the hypnosis worn away like a frayed rope- and escape him.

They would all be powerful reminders: the memories, the house across the street, the ever less frequent news bulletins about the Grabber and his crimes. You and Al wouldn’t- shouldn’t- forget. Couldn’t forget what Al had done. Couldn’t forget that your relationship was fucked up. How you had broken the rules which dictated how normal people ought to live their lives. But only through playing that twisted game with Al had you found love. And right now, you wanted to play. You allowed yourself to forget, for a little while.

“You know, Al- I got you a present, too.”

“You got me something?” his voice cracked a little in surprise, turning from the window to look at you.

“Well, yeah. I thought black lace would match the dress pretty good.”

It took two beats for Al to work out your meaning, the small, confused gape of his mouth morphing into one of lustful knowing. That trademark smirk, dimpling his cheek slightly, always did bring out his playful, rakish side- his most handsome, you thought. Somewhere in the last few moments the music had ceased, the needle scratching the dead wax of empty space, as if ceding its song to allow Al to command the room.

“Naughty girl, keeping secrets from me,” he tutted, lathering on the dramatics as his arm snaked around your waist, yanking you close as he began to unfasten the dress. The sudden movement hitched your breath, stealing your speech. No noise apart from the slow, growling zziiippp as Al glided his hand down your back, savoring every inch of the undressing. His finger brushed the small of your back as he finished unzipping you, letting the dress pool around your feet with a soft fwhump as it fell. He stepped back, perhaps a little stunned, or perhaps to get a better look at you in the provocative black lace panties and bustier you wore.

“Fuuuuck,” he growled under his breath, but seemed to collect himself for his next words. “You’re coming me with, Mrs. Shaw.”

“You gonna grab me?”

“You’re damn right I am.”

And with a sudden lunge, he made good on that promise, hoisting you over his broad shoulder as you shrieked wildly, a half-laugh, half-scream of pure pleasure. You pushed your arms against his back, lifting your head to speak into his ear as he carried you down the hallway.

“I’m all yours, Al.” you whispered.

Al turned his face, a flash of that crooked smile as he replied.

“And I’m yours, dove. Always have been.”

The record was left spinning on the turntable, the needle forgotten and left tracing the run-out groove.

Sometimes, it was ok to forget.

#the grabber #the grabber x reader #the black phone #albert shaw x reader #black phone fanfic #albert shaw #the grabber x you #albert shaw x you #the black phone fanfic #black phone

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tanglepelt · 1 year

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A blizzard of his own creation

Ao3 next

Summary: Danny has a breakdown creating a blizzard.

It was all gone.

The town. His friends. His family. The portal into the realm. Vlad just had to mess with the king.

Of all people, he had to mess with the one that had been sealed away. The one who had brought terror to the ghost zones. Ghost fled the zone far from the king. The king that took several ancients to seal away. Just for some stupid crown.

Vlad caused the king’s outrage.

In the Kings fit of rage to retrieve the crown and ring. He stole Amity from Illinois. Trapping the citizens in the ghost zone. Surrounded by a green dome. There was no escape and even if there was the ghost zone was not friendly.

They would only ever be seen as trespassers. Too many rules had been broken.

Danny had gone to find a way back. To reverse what the king had done. Danny wanted to save everyone and rescue the town. Vlad was only trying to save himself; he was never going to change. It has and will always be only about him.

Danny heard the commotion from the school. He went to go help; Vlad followed. After only the ring.

The Fright Knight in all his glory stood guarding a sword. The one emitting the green light forming the dome trapping them. Valarie is behind him. On the ground. A failed showdown. It wasn’t a fight she could have won. The Knight looked at her seeing the ring Vlad planted on her.

Valarie had always been smart. She threw it away from her. The knight went for it.

Vlad lunged for it. The fright knight stopped him. Pulling the sword from the gound. The sword in his hand still emitting the green dome. Vlad was struck down. Trapped in a nightmare. The sword plunged back into the ground right after. The attention was back on the ring that had fallen. Valarie is ready to strike.

Grabbing the sword with full intentions to stop any more injuries. Pulling it from the ground he charged at the knight and the ring.

A flash of green

He was in a crater. Where his town once stood. Where the town wasn’t any longer.

Alone.

Exposed water lines and sewers were visible. The crater slowly fills with water higher and higher. Still pumping in from out of town. The outskirts of Amity had power lines missing their connecting pieces. Everything was gone. Remnants of basements. Nothing from FentonWorks. The one place that would help him.

Sam’s theatre remained. The city hall's panic room. Even the school's boiler room. No people, no buildings. Just reminders of what had been.

Everyone is trapped in the ghost zone. Him alone in the human realm

What was he going to do? Even if he went to Wisconsin, it wouldn’t do him any good. Vlad's portal went up in an explosion from not changing the filter. The only reason he had been here.

Why did Vlad have to ruin everything?

No one else had a portal.

In the middle of the crater, he fell to his knees. Clutching his jeans tight. He had been forced out of his ghost form upon being kicked back into this realm. Danny struggled to breathe. Breaths were rapid and shallow.

He felt hopeless. What was he going to do? How was he going to save everyone? How was he going to get to the ghost zone? How? How just how?

There were no solutions. No answers. Just more and more questions.

The temperature around him began to drop. He didn’t notice. Not the snow with no clouds. Not how the water in the crater started freezing from him out. Danny was only focused on his thoughts. His alone.

If someone was to look at Danny, they would see his blue breath the ice around his fist spreading into the jeans. The way his skin began to get a blueish tint. The way his eyes glowed blue. A green tint on the edges.

There was no one to notice.

He was all alone.

The more he thought the harder it got. Lost in his thoughts. He’d never be lectured by jazz. He’d never see Tucker or Sam. He’d never see his parents. He’d never hear his dad rant about fudge again. His mom's experiments. He’d never see the fruit loops mug. He’d be all alone.

The ice only spread faster. The air even colder. Snow starting to stick to the ground.

Danny wouldn’t be able to make a new portal on his own. He wasn’t the genius in the family. He can’t do it alone. He was only 14. It wasn’t time for him to be on his own. He should be with his family. His friends. Not on his own.

The snow fell faster. It got larger.

The snow now sat about two inches tall.

Unbeknownst to him it began to spread through Illinois

Tears began to fall. Landing on the ground around him. Completely ice. The tears clinked as the ice hit the ice.

Danny still didn’t notice. Consumed by his emotions.

No more being threatened by his parents. No more school. No more Lancer telling him he could do better. No more friends. No more family.

Who would play Doom with him? Who would lecture him on vegan food? He’d miss it all.

The world around him was covered in snow. Snow falling so hard you couldn’t see. Snow piling around him. Never on him but surrounding him. The walls around him act as a barrier to the outside world. If he could see it would only be white.

The snow was at least three feet now.

He doesn’t know how long this went. Danny doesn’t know nearly the entire US and the bulk of Canada were now in a whiteout condition. A blizzard the world never saw coming. Danny did know one thing.

His family wouldn’t give up.

His parents had the ghost shield. A suit they were working on.

Sam and Tucker had anti-ecto weapons stashed everywhere

They had weapons stashed everywhere.

The theater and broiler room had weapons hidden in them. Attacks happened all the time at school. They had prepared for ghost attacks. They had contingencies. They had stashes of weapons everywhere.

The trio had commandeered weapons from his parents. The awful ones. Not the poorly designed ones. Only awful because of the pain they caused. The ones that hurt ghosts, beyond the standard ant-ecto weapon. The ones that could be dangerous. And the most important one on his mind. The ones that sent beings back to the realm.

He only ever saw his mom use it once. The town meeting that Walker caused. They had determined it unsafe for them to have. They hid it away in a place his parents would never be welcome. Sam’s house. The theatre specifically.

He looked up. Seeing the snow. Finally feeling the chill in the air. The wind was blowing he could only see the snow. He had to get away. As his breathing got fast and his panic rose the blizzard got worse. Blue breathes coming out of his mouth.

It was his blizzard.

One based on his feelings. The ice on his jeans, holding his hands up to his face, the blue in his skin. He had caused this storm. He needed to calm down.

A Deep breath.

The snow became lighter. He could now see the wall of snow in front of him. Air still freezing.

Another breath.

The air began to warm up.

The thought of getting to his friends. Getting to the weapons. He could shoot himself. Get to the ghost zone. Just like his mom had done in the town meeting where Walker took control.

The snow began to disappear.

Newfound hope. A plan to get into the zone forming.

The wall began to vanish. No melting just gone.

Every breath, every good thought. His blizzard dissipated. Gone from existence as if it had never happened.

Standing up he heard a clink. A black ring had fallen as he stood up. The same one he had gone for.

The ring of rage. It was in front of him. Just on the ground. The very thing the king was after, he needed both halves to complete his powers.

This could work.

Danny knew what to do. He would get back into the ghost zone. Charge Pariah for the crown. With the right weapons, those made to maim and the element of surprise he could take the crown. He’d then have the power.

He would save them all.

#danny fenton #danny phantom #dannymay2023 #dannymay day 3 #blizzard #i messed with the timeline #deal with it #pariah dark #vlad masters #sam mason #tucker foley #jazz fenton #jack demon #Maddie Fenton #hopeful ending #uploading via phone #formatting is probs off

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