it's not even a moving target

???-BLAQUA [Black-Aqua]
-The Sea Monk Pokemon
-Ability: Suction Cups - Serene Grace(HA)
-Dex: “This pokemon are often compared with monks due to their bald shapes, their calm attitude, and their low vocalizations that sound very similar to praying. Despite their calm nature, if this pokemon are disturbed they can stir the water creating devastating waves that will sink any ship, while they fixate themselves to the spot with their tentacles to avoid being swept away by the tides. ”
    -Water Pulse
    -Ominous Wind

–>Evolves at lvl. 45<–

???-BLANKRAKEN [Blank/Blanco-Kraken]
-The Cryptic Pokemon
-Ability: Levitate- Serene Grace(HA)
-Dex: “This solitary giants prefer to be alone, so they make their homes in the colds and unexplored waters of the far south, where they can be seen both under and over water, always swimming, even on air. If this pokemon is disturbed, it will grab any ship in its way with its large tentacles and drag it down into the ocean.”
-Sig. Move: Cold Shower “The user shoots freezing water at its target. This may also leave the target frozen. If the opponent is Burnt, this attack will heal its condition”
   Type: Water
   PP: 15 (max 24)
   Power: 80
   Accuracy: 100
    -Shadow Ball
    -Wring Out

  • Canon McCree: Ran with the notorious Deadlock Gang as a teenager, a gang so strong it had lasted nearly a century and needed to be taken care of by Blackwatch. Trained under Gabriel Reyes at 17, joining Blackwatch where they only accept the best of the best. Extremely skilled with a gun, fires a revolver as if it were a sniper, and can lock onto targets with deadly accuracy without any known enhancements (see: a tactical visor, prosthetic, cybernetic eye) and in the dark as well. Can sit atop a train moving 640 kilometers per hour with ease, and has a bounty on his head bigger than both Junkrat and Roadhog's combined.
  • Fanon McCree: "wow gee oh golly darling i'm making a whole mess of myself what a complete shame ive absolutely retired and am completely useless in even the most basic maneuvers because of how rusty i am wow partners it's a sure good thing im gay and married to hanners and say a bunch of cutesy phrases and make lots of cowboy jokes along with m' hat otherwise there's no real tactical advantage in keeping a liability around. lovable and useless, can't even hold my own in combat but that archer sure as hell ain't ugly"
Two Views Of Fantasy Warfare...

The D&D game is clearly rooted in the medieval warfare tradition. 

Soldiers wear chain-mail or plate armor, and they wield weapons such as swords and bows. 

Knights gallop across the battlefield on horses, and catapults bombard castle walls. 

Yet, the presence of fantastic creatures and magic supports a more modern kind of warfare, in which flying creatures provide air support, soldiers use camouflage or magic to hide themselves from enemies, and spells that affect a large area can devastate clusters of troops. 

It’s useful to think of D&D warfare as a continuum with historical medieval warfare on one end and modern warfare on the other end. 

Before you take your D&D game to the battlefield, decide where on that continuum you want your battles to be.

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Who owns me?

Bucky x reader

Notes: mentions of past trauma, violence, past torture/brainwashing, fluff, smut, discovery of past self.  

Summary: when Bucky’s in hiding in Romania, he finds a girl he’s sure needs his protection. He doesn’t remember who gave him the mission; but he’s so sure some one gave it to him. After setting it all up, he notices that there’s more to this girl than meets the eye. She might need him watching over her more than he initially thought. 

(This takes place after TWS and before CW)

A/N: Hi guys! It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything; I just had to get something out there. Part two will be here soon, there might be more parts after that, because I have an open ending atm. (I do love me some open endings now and then)

Originally posted by caps-bucky

He doesn’t know who she is. He doesn’t know why she’s important, but she is. He knows the only thing that matters is that she’s safe. It’s his mission to protect her from all harm, to make sure she lives her life however she wants, without any disturbance. Often he tries to remember who it was that gave him this mission; maybe it was Pierce, maybe Rumlow, which would indirectly mean it’d have been Pierce. Or maybe it was the Captain. The last time he saw the Captain was about a year ago, before he ran to try and get all of these things floating around in his mind in order. He’d listen to the Captain. He used to, he thinks. Before his commander was Pierce; even before it was Karpov. He sometimes imagines that the Captain was good to him, and the others.. Were there others? He thinks so.

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Types of Overwatch Players
  • The Semi Casual: You're an average gamer whose here to have fun but still wouldn't mind wining. Maybe you just want a new loot box, maybe you've been invited to a friend's rad new custom game-whatever the reason, you have time off from work or school and need to unwind. If you need to play healer, you'll play healer. Your team could use a second tank? You can play Widowmaker the next game right? You're comfortable with almost all game modes but will dive into Competitive if you're feeling confident. Your POTG is a welcome surprise and something you likely worked to earn through teamwork.(Possible Mains: Lucio, Orisa, Zarya)
  • The Glory Hound: You have one objective and it's definitely not the one you're supposed to be defending. You want your Play Of the Game and anyone who steals your kills is getting cussed out in the group chat. You could care less about team composition, you have your main and anyone who tells you to switch is just jealous of your awesome skills. Similar to The Single Player, teamwork is not your priority as everyone is just a pawn to your inevitable success. Your team winning is cool and all, but what you really want is for YOU to be the winner. You are a monster in Competitive but in the worst possible ways. (Possible Mains: Bastion, Hanzo)
  • The Sore Loser: You define unreliable. You may as well change your last name to Left The Game, because that's what you're always fucking doing. If a team isn't upholding to your standards, you'll ditch before you even see the inside of your spawn room. If any of your teammates are any less than three stars, they don't deserve the right to brush screen names with you. And if you choose to stay with a team the whole way, you BETTER be winning or else you're out. Despite your incredibly selective choice of teammates, your friend list is completely empty and you scoff at anyone who dares send you one.(Possible Mains: Symmetra, Hanzo)
  • The Party Goer: You're here to have fun. "It's just a game" has been hardwired into your code as you don't do jack shit for your team, you're more concerned about showing off your new emote in the heat of battle. You're a talkative fella with a whole wheel of the most grating voice lines your character currently has. Who cares if you win? At least you'll be in a hilarious pose in all of the kills cams. Your teammates may admire your casual nature, though you're so casual that you've become an inconvenience. Yeah, you'll get eliminations every once in awhile but it's only because no one laugh emoted back at you yet and you have ten seconds left to move this truck (Possible Mains: Junkrat, D.Va, Winston)
  • The Grudge Holder: You are out for blood, my friend, and it's rooted in a deep, personal hatred from a certain someone on the enemy team. Your worst enemy is the kill cam because it has the audacity to catch an image of you dying and forever cementing your target throughout the rest of the game. Fuck your team, you want to get even with that one Pharah who blew you up from across the map. And that McCree who had the nerve to shoot a Deadye in your direction? He's screwed once you get out of spawn. Your teammates have been spanning Group Up for five minutes straight but you're still waiting for that bullshit Symmetra to show back up so you can kill her again and teabag the corpse. (Possible Mains: Widowmaker, Roadhog, Mei)
  • The Single Player: You are a lone wolf through and through, here to carry your team with a twenty player kill streak with a single use of your Ultimate. You're the guy who rushes into enemy lines without a plan, relying on your own bravado to keep you alive before you're spamming for heals half way across the map. You're likely oblivious to what you're supposed to be defending...Or are you attacking this time? Nah, doesn't matter! You got your main before anyone else did so you get to show off your rad skills. God help anyone playing healer. (Possible Mains: Genji, Soldier 76, Reaper)

172-VOLBUN [Volt-Bunny]
-The Static pokemon
-Ability: Static - Vital Spirit(HA)
-Dex: “With almost 2/3 of its body weight being only fur, this pokemon spends most of its life gathering static energy as it hops around. You may know one is nearby as the hair on your body will start to rise up.”
    -Cotton Guard
    -Thunder wave

–>Evolves with max. friendship<–

025-LEPOX [Lepus-Box]
-The Electrified Pokemon
-Ability:  Static - Vital Spirit(HA)
-Dex: “This energetic pokemon is very sociable and will spend most of its time tossing around with its mates, accumulating energy on its long fur. LEPOX are known for the "boxing Matches” that seems to occur among them, used as a way to release saved up energy when it becomes too much.“
    -Thunder Punch
    -Jump Kick

–>Evolves with a thunderstone<–

026-THUNDARE [Thunder-Hare-Daring]
-The Supercharged Pokemon
-Ability: Lighting Rod - Heroic Spirit*(HA)
-Dex: "This pokemon lives alone yet it will always remain nearby where wild VOLBUN and LEPOX live together, looking out for them when they need help. This noble behavior doesn’t stops there, if it hears a pokemon, or even a human in peril, it will jump on its aid immediately.”
-Sig. Move: Lightning Kick “The user launches a kick that lands a critical hit more easily. This may also leave the target paralyzed”
   Type: Electric
   PP: 10 (max 16)
   Power: 85
   Accuracy: 90%
    -Wild Charge
    -High Jump Kick

*This pokemon can’t be put to sleep and its attack cannot be lowered.

Zombiezuku, Ch.2

<< Previous Chapter

Chaotic Entrance Exam is chaotic

Izuku is not quite sure how this happened, but Kacchan is dragging him up the path to the gates of U.A. High while a pretty girl chatters at them. Also, Izuku is floating. This seems like a pretty important fact to mention. Izuku rarely defies gravity on his own.

“Keep him that way, Roundface,” Kacchan had grunted and started dragging the floating Izuku by his tie after the girl had used her Quirk to save Izuku from tripping. “Can’t run off to be fucking stupid that way.”

“I could sleep like this,” Izuku had realised.

The girl found that very funny. “You’re not nervous at all, huh?” She’d laughed sheepishly. “I’m so excited!”

“I’m just dead inside,” Izuku explained to her.

“Deku’s a fucking idiot, is what he is.” Kacchan looked like he was contemplating chucking Izuku into the sun.

He still looks that way now, actually. Izuku should probably not tempt fate.


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Advice from an (Amateur) Archer on Writing About Archers and Archery

Admittedly, I don’t have the widest range of experience when it’s come to archery. I’ve only been shooting for a year now, and the time that I do take to shoot have long months between them. Still, I think it’s important to outline the basics for anyone who wants to write an archer in their book and wants to save themselves the embarrassment of having the archer do something that an archer would never do in a million years.

- Archers usually unstring their bow after battle. Unstringing a bow is exactly what it sounds like: removing the string from the bow’s limbs. Usually, archers then wrap the string around the now-straightened bow so they don’t lose it as easily. Archers unstring bows because everytime the limbs are bent by the string, there is a large amount of tension in the limbs. If the string is on too long and the bow has not been shot for a while, the limbs will start to wear down and lose their power, resulting in an archer needing to buy new limbs or an entirely new bow.

- Archers always retrieve their arrows after battle. Arrows are expensive and take a long time to make, so archers want to conserve as many arrows as possible. Sometimes they have a repair kit with them at the ready, in case they find an arrow with a loose arrowhead or broken fletching that can easily be repaired. 

- Training arrows are not the same as battle arrows. Training arrows have thinner shafts and usually blunted tips so they can easily be removed from targets. Thinner shafts break more easily, and the blunted tips – whilst they can pierce skin – usually won’t get very far in the flesh. They’re also easier to make. Battle arrows are thicker, and their heads are pointed at the tip and have two pointed ends at its sides. This arrowhead is designed to easily pierce through flesh, and is incredibly difficult to pull out because its two pointed ends snag onto flesh. If you want to pull it out, you’d have to tear the flesh away with it, which can lead to an even larger wound.

- Arrows are fatal, and one can incapacitate a soldier for the rest of his life. Arrows are not easily snapped off like you see in movies. The draw weight is too strong, and they can sometimes be as strong as bullets. They will pierce through bone and tendons, which do not easily heal. Furthermore, if you want to remove an arrow, you either have to go through surgery, parting the flesh away from the arrowhead so it doesn’t snag onto anything, or you have you push – not pull – it all the way through the body.

- Bows are not designed for hitting people with in close combat. The limbs are specifically made to flex. Imagine hitting someone with a flexing piece of wood. If you hit with the middle of the bow, it still does very little because there is no weight behind the bow, and so you might as well be hitting them with a pillow. It might be annoying to the opponent, but it won’t save you. Archers need a secondary blade in close combat. They cannot strike people with their bows and expect to win.

- Draw weight affects speed, range, and impact. Draw weight is measured in pounds, at least in America, and it is measured in how much weight must be pulled when you draw back the string. A high draw weight means stiffer, thicker limbs that can shoot further and hit harder. But, this is at the cost of speed. A low draw weight means thinner, more flexible limbs that can shoot smaller distances and have low impact, but can be shot faster. Before you acrobatic fanatics immediately seize the smaller bow for its speed, understand that a bow’s advantage is in its range. No one can hit an archer from 300 meters away with their spear or sword. The archer has complete dominance over the battlefield in this way, and their arrows can kill anyone who gets too close. Not hurt. Not annoy. Kill. And a higher draw weight means a better chance of piercing through specific armor, then flesh, then bone. A lower draw weight means less range and, even worse, a lower chance that the arrow would even pierce through armor if the arrow even hits its target. 

- Bows will always be outmatched in close combat against any other weapon. Bows take too long to draw and shoot, and at such close range, the opponent has an easier chance to dodge oncoming arrows. I already explained that the bows themselves cannot be used to take down a foe. 

- Bowmen on horseback are utterly terrifying. Archers usually can’t move from their spot because range is more important than mobility, and at such a long range, you usually don’t need to move from your spot anyways. Bowmen on horses, however, are closer to the battle, and worse, they are faster than almost anyone on the battlefield. Not only are they difficult to hit, you have no way of predicting where they will shoot next because they can circle around you in confusing ways. If you want an interesting archer character, I’d advise trying these guys out.

- Never underestimate armor and padding. Arrows will never be able to pierce through plate armor because its curved surface will always deflect oncoming arrows. Arrows can pierce through maille because maille is made out of metal rings that can be bent and can fall away. However, padding usually lies underneath, which is surprisingly durable and can stop an oncoming arrow, as well as absorb some of its impact. Because of this, make certain that the archer is focusing on gabs in the armor. To know this, you MUST study armor. Gabs usually lie where the joints are because soldiers need those gabs open so they can move. Typical gaps lie in the neck, the armpit, the inner-elbow, the knees, and the palm of the hand. Impact is also an archer’s friend. A war arrow shot by a hundred pound bow, hurtling at incredible speeds and gaining momentum the further it travels, can evoke serious damage. To be hit by one of these arrows will feel more like being hit by a horse than being hit by someone’s fist. 

Negan Imagine ~ Pillow Fight

Negan and the Reader have a pillow fight that quickly ends up on the bedroom floor…

Originally posted by killernegan

“Negan, No!”, you said loudly as you raised one hand to stop the pillow that flew into your direction from hitting you.
You should have known what you’ve gotten yourself into when you had thrown a pillow at Negan as revenge for his non-stop teasing.

So there you stood in your shared room, the living evidence for the saying “In every man there is a child”, standing just meters away from you on the other side of the room while you had one pillow in your hand, two others laying in front of your feet.
“I’m waiiiting”, he sang as he looked with a provocative grin at you before you threw the pillow across the room, to your annoyance, without hitting Negan.*
“There goes the pillow, losing its goddamn target by light years”, Negan commented in tone as if he was reporting in a very Negan way from a sporting event.
You let out a small scoff, playfully glared at Negan who just stood there, chuckling and grinning widely.
“Come on baby, that wasn’t even close”, he chuckled as he grabbed the pillow from the ground and looked at you, moved his brows slightly in a teasing way up, before another pillow landed right in his face.
“But this one was”, you teased with a triumphal grin on your lips, as you heard Negan curse under his breath.
”Just you fucking wait, Sweetheart”, he said with a wide grin as he let his arm wind up and the pillow hit you within the next moment.
“Shit”, you mumbled as you crouched down and reached out to grab the pillow before another one hit you with that much force that you stumbled back and landed on the ground.
“Fuck, baby, are you alright?”, Negan asked concerned as he already walked over to you and you looked with a grin up to him.
“Yeah, I am, don’t worry, but you’re so gonna get that back”, you laughed as you took his hand and got back up, one pillow still in your hand and ready to use.
“You really don’t wanna do that”, Negan said with a grin, his tongue sliding quickly over his lower lip as he nodded to the pillow in your hand.
“Oh, I think I do”, you said grinning before you wound up and let the pillow hit him before you felt how he suddenly grabbed you.
With one movement and before you could do anything against it, you ended up on the floor, Negan on top of you while a big smirk was planted all over his face.

“You’re gonna surrender, baby?”, he purred smirking as he hovered above you.
“Never”, you said grinning while your tries to free yourself stayed pretty unsuccessful.
Negan’s loud and throaty chuckle sounded through the room before he pushed the other pillows around the both of you away and grinned widely at you.
With a quick move, he grabbed your wrists and brought them up above your head, pinning you completely down beneath him before he growled in a low and lingering tone.
“Fuck, now that’s a pretty sight”, he purred as he bowed grinning down to you, stopped shortly before your lips touched and you could feel his hot breath on your skin.
With a grin he leaned down to press his lips on the sensitive skin of your neck, letting a pleasant shudder run through your body while a deep rumble traveled up from his chest and escaped his lips.
For a moment your eyes fluttered and eventually closed as you felt how his lips brushed along your skin, up to your jaw.
You gasped as could feel him grinding against your core, letting you know that he could take you right there on the floor if you would just tell him what he wanted to hear.
But that really wasn’t your plan, at least for now.

His lips kept traveling over your skin until you felt how he pressed a kiss on the corner of your lips before he let go of you and made a small whine leave your lips as you felt the loss of his touch right before he looked back up to you.
“What about now?”, he asked huskily as his eyes stared with a wolfish glance into yours while you felt how your breath quickened.
“No”, you said back, seeing how his glance just intensified and knowing exactly what you were unleashing in him.
“Well shit, I feel like someone really needs a punishment…“

@jeffreydeanneganstrash @negans-network @sweetwittlebosco@myrabbitholetoneverland @amysuemc @ashzombie13 @trashimaginezblog @dragongirl420 @bananakid42@dasani-saraai  @jss-devlin @timeladyrikaofgallifrey @dinodiegos @missmotherhen @kinkygamertrash 
(In case you want to be tagged or untagged for specific things or everything I write, just let me know)

Radioactive Blood

Pairing: Peter Parker X Reader

Requested: Yes

Anon:  Hey can you do a au fic where somehow peters best friend/gf/bf gets his powers? Like in amazing spiderman 2 kinda through blood? Idek sorry it’s weird I though it would be cool but if you do can he like help her through it? Thanks love ur blog

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I’m not sure if this is very good, and I doubt it is on par with some of my other imagines… I kinda rushed to finish this?? Thanks for reading anyway!


It all happened so fast. But even Peter, with a reaction time faster than any regular human being, was unable to quickly register the situation at hand.
It felt like time was moving at a rate of one frame per second. He watched in horror as the gun went off; the bullet glimmered, taunting him. Then he ran, but his feet were heavy, as though he was running through wet cement. And finally, the bullet met its target. He was too late.

A strangled cry erupted from his throat as he ran towards your silhouette, which had crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

Within minutes, blinding lights flashed and ear-piercing sirens wailed, and you were snatched from Peter’s shaking grasp and loaded onto an ambulance.

The ride to the hospital felt like an eternity as Peter stared at you helplessly, your life relying on machinery that worked tirelessly to keep you alive. But this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t insisted on coming with him. This wouldn’t have happened if he had been just a millisecond faster. This wouldn’t have happened if you had never met him.

Tears drenched his face as he stared at your pale face that was shimmering with a faint layer of cold sweat and blood. The guilt bestowed upon Peter was more than the kid could possibly bear, and he let out a huge sob, the ambulance speeding its way through the bustling streets.


Peter twiddled his fingers anxiously as he waited impatiently by your bedside. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying and his whole body was trembling profusely. He placed his head in his hands and pulled at his hair.

The doctors had reassured Peter that the surgery had been successful, and now all that was left was for you to wake up. That is… if you woke up….

He watched you lie peacefully on the hospital bed, if he didn’t know the extent of your condition, he would’ve simply assumed that you were sleeping.

Peter twiddled his fingers anxiously as he waited impatiently for news regarding (Y/N). His eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying and his whole body was trembling profusely. He placed his head in his hands and pulled at his hair.

“Keep it together Peter, for her sake. She’ll be alright.” he murmured. However, a painful twinge of doubt came rushing out of nowhere, and he shoved it forcefully to the back of his mind. Memories of the previous hours started flooding back into his mind.


The monitor next to you started beeping erratically and a crowd of nurses rushed to your side.

“What’s wrong with her?” Peter shouted frantically, as he was pushed out of the way by several nurses. He saw you lying limply on the hospital bed, eyelids fluttering uncontrollably.

“What do you mean we’ve run out of her blood type?” the doctor urges next to Peter, muttering quickly into an earpiece. “No O negative either? You have got to be kidding me.”

“What’s your blood type, boyfriend?” he asked suddenly, turning on Peter. He gulped and shrugged his shoulders, he hadn’t ever thought of it nor gotten tested before. “Kids these days! They never know.”

He pulled out a needle from a drawer close by and eyed Peter sternly.

“You seem smart enough to understand what’s going on right now, I have no time to explain the situation at hand. Can I check your blood type quickly?”

Peter nodded without a second thought and felt a small sting on his finger as the doctor took a quick blood test.

“Perfect, you’re a match. Are you willing to donate some blood to Ms. (L/N)?”

Peter was about to nod but then he froze, deep in thought. He was more than willing to do anything to save your life, however, he was well aware that his blood was radioactive and who knew what it could do if he had some transferred to you? Would it help save you or would there be consequences? Was there perhaps a chance that his blood could kill you?

“Mr. Parker?”

Time was running out, the machine monitoring your heartbeat was beeping wildly in warning. One more look at your nearly lifeless body and Peter knew that he hadn’t another choice.

“O-okay… I’ll do it.”


“Peter?” you whisper, your eyes fluttering open with difficulty.

He leaps to his feet and grabs your hand, pulling it close to his chest. With his free hand, he brushes some hair away and gently cups your face.

“Shhhh, (Y/N). I’m here, you’re all right,” he smiles when your hand squeezes his gently.

But his smile falters when he reiterates the situation at hand.

“(Y/N), I’m so so sorry. It’s all my fault if I had been-”

“Don’t beat yourself up Peter, it’s not your fault,” you insist, giving him a reassuring smile. “If it weren’t for you if you hadn’t tried to delay the gunman, I probably wouldn’t even be here right now. Though you may not think so, you saved my life, Peter.”

In more ways than one, Peter thought sadly as he recalled the thin red tube of blood that had been prodding from his arm merely hours ago.

“I just would never be able to forgive myself if you had gone… especially without telling you that I loved you.”

“I would’ve punched myself up in the afterlife if I had gone without telling you I loved you.” you giggle, pulling his shoulders down to your height on the bed.

“I love you (Y/N).”

“I love you too.”

Those four words were all Peter needed to hear. A massive grin grew on his face and he brought his lips to yours. Relief flooded through him as you kissed him back with just as much passion, happy that you were still by his side. But there was something else, a surge of power and energy… Suddenly, you didn’t feel any traces of fatigue anymore…

“Ahem.” someone behind the two of you clears their throat, and you and Peter sheepishly pull away.

“How’re you feeling Ms. (L/N)?” the doctor asks kindly, ignoring your heated face and lightly swollen lips.

“I feel great, actually!” you answer with a bright grin and the doctor looks quite shocked.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that. Not that I’m complaining but that’s usually not the response we get from patients with bullet wounds. We have none other than Mr. Parker here for donating some of his blood to you…” your eyes widen exponentially as the doctor continues to talk but you don’t pay much attention. You mouth Peter a grateful thank you but he looked nervous. Almost paranoid?…

Peter clears his throat awkwardly, “Erm - (Y/N)? Are you feeling, I don’t know, weird?”

Peter racks his brain, trying to remember his first symptoms after the infamous spider bite.

“No, I feel fine,” you answer, hopping out of the bed, feeling oddly energetic. The doctor frantically tried to sit you back down but you politely shrug him off, feeling a little annoyed by the way he was babying you. “Thanks, doc, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But now, I want to get out of here. Come on Peter!”

With a content smile, you skip out of the room, Peter and the doctor hot on your heels.

“Ms. (L/N), I must insist that you rest for a little longer-”

“(Y/N), are you sure you’re feeling all right?”


Peter nearly trips over his own feet and the doctor stares at his patient in concern.


After some more shushing, precautions, begging and bewildered medical people’s shocks on how quickly you managed to recover, the hospital finally allowed you to go home.

“I’m free!” you shout gleefully, prancing out of the hospital with Peter by your side. Seating yourself on a bench that was nearby you take Peter’s hands on your own, lacing your fingers together.

“Really though, thank you, Peter. For everything,” you say, looking deep into his beautiful eyes.

“Anything for you, (Y/N).”

“Just one thing.”


“Never tell my parents that I have some of your bodily fluids inside me.”

“As long as you never say that sentence ever again.” Peter cringes and you laugh.


Peter sits up groggily from his bed when his phone starts buzzing uncontrollably.

“Hello?” he answers huskily, putting the phone to his ear. “(Y/N)? Are you okay?”

“Peter, I was hanging from the freaking ceiling, I broke a faucet and now my hand is stuck to a door and - ” Peter hears a loud crash from your line. “NOW I’VE JUST PULLED IT OFF OF ITS HINGED AND I’M STUCK TO A WALL!”

Peter sighs.

“Hold, on. I’m coming.”



Bonus: A few months later…

“I need a superhero name.” you declare and Peter furrows his brows, deep in thought.

“Spider-Girl!” he announces proudly, snapping his fingers.

You scoff rolling your eyes, “If you get to call me Spider-Girl, then can I call you “Spider-Boy?”


“Mr. Stark? Please let Peter and I come help you during the next mission! We’re ready!”

“Hmm. All right, I’ll get Happy to contact you.”


Happy checks the caller ID and with a look of pure indignation, chucks his vibrating phone across the room and it lands in a shattered heap on the floor.

“Happy? What’s wrong-”


Daily Bestiary: The Blob

CR 30

Chaotic Evil Colossal Ooze

Car Boys, ep. 32~38

One of the Biggest Bads released in recent media, The Blob was initially thought to be a benevolent and even playful force, until the Boys discovered the hideous, dark power and boundless malevolence bubbling just beneath the surface. The Boys found out that The Blob can use Charm Person as an at-will spell-like ability, and its Unfettered By Spacetime ability allowed it to Charm them from entire worlds away. While they broke through easily, The Blob can cast Charm Person as an immediate action each time it’s struck or strikes out in combat.

In combat, The Blob is a terrifying foe. It can make up to six Slam attacks (6d8+17) each round, able to Charm foes it strikes to muddle their minds and prevent them from fighting back, and its Unfettered by Spacetime lets it strike foes from anywhere. The most threatening ability, though, which can make even the godlike lvl 30 party hesitate to engage, is Reality Crack. It can only use this ability once every 1d6+1 rounds, it can attempt to use it each time it strikes a foe with its slam, creating a 15-foot bubble centered on the target where up and down, left and right, time and space, life and death no longer matter and no longer exist. Anyone trapped inside experiences a hell of maddening angles that rips through their existence; their ability scores are treated as if they were reduced to 1 (imposing a -5 modifier to everything), their move speed is reduced to a mere 5 feet each round, they cannot take standard actions but do take 8d8 untyped damage each round, and have to make a Wisdom save every round just to be able to move towards the edge of the event horizon. Even with godly rolls, it takes at least 3 rounds for a medium-sized creature to escape. The saving grace is that a Reality Crack only lingers for 6 rounds, so eventually they’ll escape… If they survive

Also, anyone grappled by The Blob is vulnerable to its Engulf, which carries all the horrific effects of Reality Crack and essentially meaning anyone it absorbs is absolutely, positively screwed, because even making their Wisdom save means the only thing they can do is move slowly towards The Blob’s edge to try and escape… An edge that The Blob will likely move just out of their reach over and over again. Because of Unfettered by Spacetime, it can attack, grapple, and absorb foes from planets away, meaning it could very well snatch up the party wizard just as they were divining its location in the first place, pulling them off their planet unless the rest of the party acts fast enough to save them from its grip.

Even if your party somehow does kill it, though, they have to deal with a few… side effects. First off is Reality Shatter, The Blob’s parting gift that affects a 2 mile radius with a version of Reality Crack lasting a painful, agonizing 10 minutes, which is more than enough time to turn that entire 2 mile sphere into a desolated, dust-filled crater. 10 minutes at 8d8 damage each round (each round is 6 seconds) is likely to destroy anything that isn’t a legendary artifact and anyone that doesn’t have some form of regeneration or contingency spell in place. Secondly, though…

… Is the fact that once The Blob is killed, it simply reforms at the edge of the universe and begins its inexorable flight to life-bearing planets to once again begin its cycle of enslaving, exploiting, and exploding them one at a time. Eventually, it may make its way back to the planet that repelled it in the first place, but It Only Works Once means that whatever killed it before will never work again, forcing the next generation it encounters to employ ever-evolving strategies, newer and more powerful magics and technology, against this world-ending threat.

You can see The Blob’s many powers here.

dustbreather  asked:

what are your favorite space battles from sci fi films?

Without a doubt, the battle above Scarif from Rogue One.

•The scene is set so clearly in 3D space- Two star destroyers on one side, the rebel flagship and a smattering of assorted rebel ships on the other, and the shield gate facility to the lower left of the rebels. This stays this way through the entire scene.

•Shots are held for vast stretches of time, allowing audience to very clearly understand where the ship is and what it is doing

•Lighting is consistent, shadows of ships are cast onto other ships and stark, as if from a star and not from a stage light

•Sound design is incredible, realistic physics be damned

•Com chatter correlates to what we see on screen, adding to the understanding of the battle strategies taken by the rebel fleet (see ion bombing below)

•The stark white coloring of the ships against the gorgeous bright cyan-blue water with the green and tan islands and Imperial facilities straight below

•very clear understanding of how objects behave in space, debris continues on in frictionless space and x-wings take far sharper turns (no air resistance), the behavior of the disabled star destroyer (which was down because of an ion bombing ordered by the admiral very early on, bombing run shown in one shot only) and Hammer-head Corvette hasn’t been shown in any space battle I can think of. I’ve seen ships colliding, but only in a similar fashion to a plane or boat would collide with the ground or another ship. It shows the real fragility of ships like that in space when it comes to force and momentum, not lasers.

•Upwards orientation of ships actually makes sense, relative to the “down” direction of Scarif below them, and possibly even gravitationally accurate because the facility is locked in place, not in orbit, meaning basically the same G as the surface

•The Death Star- actually conceptualized (not shown unfortunately) to move through hyperspace, justifying a bit of its ridiculousness, the amazing shot of it rising over the horizon paired with light wind instruments rather than the bombastic imperial march highlights its ironic beauty as well as implies the resignation of our heroes to their fate, and then it actually is shown with the weapon facing the target, not just a shot of the firing and then cutting to the laser hitting its target, and then the hyper-realistic nuclear-like blast it causes when it fires

All these tiny little factors just make me excited about this entire movie. Its characters are weak, but its not about the individuals, its about the Rebellion as a whole, and we truly feel that through scenes like this.

Attention to specifics and detail like this can immerse an audience completely and there’s really no excuse at this point in special effects progress to skip on making sure your audience can map out the battlefield and events that go on within it. Going back and watching the original trilogy, the nonsensical gaudy monstrosities shown in space are forgivable, and even enjoyable given the special effects of the time (and even the advancements they catalyzed), but the prequels? Forget it. Horrendously ugly, overblown, nonsensical, disorienting, and honestly unforgivable, given the technology they had access to.

Creepypasta #1282: In The South, We Don't Question Things Much

Length: Medium

Living in South Carolina has its own pros and cons that don’t involve the supernatural or abnormal shit that occurs but, when it does, none of us tend to play with the concept of speaking on it. Everyone just moves along and pretends that it never happened for fear of being the next target of whatever the fuck dwells in the woods late at night.

We just don’t question things. I guess now I’m playing with my own fate by even choosing to acknowledge it although I’d rather do it now then be forced to keep my mouth closed about it.

I’ll give you a little background about myself. I’m Indigenous and black, my tribe is Lumbee and although we aren’t federally recognized by the government we sure as hell exist in numbers out here. Growing up was a struggle for me as well as my family seeing as the south ain’t a really ideal place to live unless you have the money for it but we were all grateful for whatever came our way.

My momma always told me that little girls born here were meant to stay here and I guess she was right because I’m still around. I guess this place has a way of charming ya and I couldn’t really imagine moving into the city. Nevertheless, if you plan on moving here then I’d suggest being prepared for a shitfest of superstitions to be thrown in your direction.

I guess this’ll either help you or hinder you.

The first rule I can recall was told to me by my older brother. We were sitting on the back porch just watching the sun set when he ran back inside and returned with a plate of greens and sat it down on the edge of the step, positioning it carefully before instructing me to go inside. I didn’t really question it seeing as my brother wasn’t a bossy person and I wasn’t really a brat either however my curiosity only grew as he bolted the door behind us once we had stepped through the entrance, muttering something about “lousy Sundays” and “no-good fuckers.”

We both clearly knew that he was too young to be saying such things but it was never without reason and I couldn’t help but ask what he meant. With a solemn face, my brother leaned down in front of me and shook his head before reaching out a large hand to pat mine. 

“Sis, don’t question things much. Yous too curious and it’s gonna backfire on ya but I’ll let ya in on a little secret.” Leaning in, he whispered something that was enough to keep me awake for the following nights:

“If we don’t feed it, it’s gonna find its own food and when it does that it won’t be pretty. Collard greens is enough to keep it at bay and yous would do best to remember that because eventually I’m gonna make yous do it instead.” I was around 9 when the tradition was passed down to me and I’ve only missed one night in my lifetime.

My brother went missing a week later.

The next rule that was given to me came from the mouth of my neighbor as we were walking home. On the days where my Momma worked overtime, the old woman next door would walk me home once I got off the bus. I don’t remember her name seeing as it was so long ago but I do know that she always carried a pink sweater with her and I recall that being so peculiar because it was six sizes smaller than her person. Like what a child might wear.

Upon asking her, she smiled gently at me as an adult would with a naive child. “It’s always good to have an item on your person from someone you’ve lost down here.”

“Why?” I asked, my hand gripping hers tightly.

At this, she frowned momentarily. “Honey, don’t question things such as that. Lord knows why but my mama always told me that it makes it so you know that the person callin’ your name at night ain’t the one that died two days ago.” Looking back on it, after the disappearance of my brother I carried around a watch of his quite a lot. Now, when I hear him whispering my name at night, I know not to respond.

The last story I’ll tell you for now is one that I’ve experienced myself. A friend and I were heading home from the bar and were driving down a road that we usually took seeing as it was quicker when what looked to be a young man ran out onto the road in front of us. I immediately pressed on the brakes and my friend began to shout when I held up a hand, rolling down my window and managing to get out a shaky “you okay?”

The man, seemingly unhurt, ran over to my side and leaned down. Because of the fact that this road in particular had no streetlights it was rather hard to make out what his face looked like but, for some unknown reason, I had no desire to know.

“Ah, I believe I’m fine. I must apologize as I’ve been standing here all day and no one has stopped for me. I was wondering if I could tag along with you two." 

My friend gave me a look of concern however I nodded, pointing to the backseat and hearing a relieved sigh. My friend’s worried expression seemed to intensify when he settled up behind her although I could only see that he had by glancing into the mirror which hung overhead. For some reason, I felt compelled not to look.

I began driving. While my friend shifted in her seat, I once again did not look back even when there was a sudden flash of lightning and I was able to see horns rather than hair. Eventually, we reached a fork in the road and the man informed us to stop, thanking us for our time and removing himself.

I drove home without bringing up the odd encounter to my friend even when I noticed her uneasy look. Turns out, there’s been a rather large increase in accidents on that particular road.

Nowadays, when he makes himself comfortable in my car and I’m alone he chooses to sit in the front seat. The one time I chose to get too curious I ended up with a broken leg from the car overturning. The cops ruled it a drunk driving incident despite me not having any alcohol.

I guess in the south you really don’t question things.

Credits to: khoffeee (story)

“The only failure in art is when you move someone to no emotion whatsoever. I’d rather have people fiercely angry with me so long as they’re moved to some emotion. Even if the emotion was off-target — even if I was trying to move the audience one place and they go another. You missed, but at least they felt something.”

Happy 60th Birthday, Bryan Lee Cranston (March 7, 1956)

Peaches and cream (sweeter than sweet)

Originally posted by kthspjm

Credit goes to the original gif posters.

Trigger warnings: (This is a fluffy smut so there’s not too many trigger warnings) body worship, orgasm denial/edging, over stimulation, self-esteem issues, riding (cow girl position).

Playlist: I kept listening to Best Mistake by Ariana Grande ft Big Sean when listening to this (for anyone who is curious).

Inspired by some interactions with @joon-chaos (I hope you like it Hun.)

Enjoy some tame, fluffy Namjoon smut.

Bambi x

You couldn’t be happier, sun shine peaking through the curtains, illuminating the most breath-taking sight in the world, your boyfriend Namjoon. He may at times hate his own reflection, but to you, he was beautiful both on the outside, and more importantly, on the inside too. He had a beautiful soul and you wish he could see what you saw in him. Although you two could philosophize all night long, he wasn’t as talkative as you were. Words didn’t come as easily to him, so you learnt that you would have to display your feelings for him through your actions.

That’s why your index finger traced patterns and words across any his golden skin, starting from his wrist to the top of his forearm and back down again. You repeated the action of his other arm, drawing invisible musical notes on the soft skin, the tune familiar to him, as it was one of his songs

Once you had traced every inch of available skin on his arms, your hands moved down, under the duvet covers and to the skin of his inner thigh. You traced other patterns, little hearts and stars, even a moon, edging closer to the hem of his boxers.

Namjoon grew tense.

You removed your hand and started to shuffle away, afraid you had overstepped his boundaries and scared him. You would have gotten up if not for his arms snaking their way around your waist, pulling you back into bed.

“Don’t go Baby girl,” he mumbled in a soft voice, raspy from sleep. So you didn’t.

Just as you melted back into his touch, his strong arms, body heat and heady scent all his own making you feel secure, you felt him shift again. He moved, hovering over you, leaving you to lay on your back on the sheets, feeling cold and unwanted.

You wanted to question him, wondering what was up, but you kept quiet. Namjoon would tell you in his own time.

“Baby girl I just want to make you feel good, will you let me Babe?” You nodded and his lips started to trace your body, much like your finger had traced his earlier. Despite how plump they were, his lips felt like petals, their touch on your skin feather light.

God he was such a tease.

But even if he didn’t always see his own beauty, Namjoon saw yours and he was determined to make that known. His lips, believers devoted to the divine cause of your body, and their life’s calling is to make it sing. His hands removing the offensive and flimsy material that hid your bewitchingly beautiful body.

His kisses left no piece of skin untouched, each brush of his lips on your skin leaving a light tingle in their wake. However all these little tingles paled in comparison to the tingling feeling between your legs. A throbbing need making you let out desperate whimpers for more, for Namjoon to really kiss you, right where you needed it.

The more his lips touched your skin, the more confident he became, any shyness from before long gone, as he became engrossed in pleasuring your soft and supple skin. He became particularly engrossed with your hip bones, kissing the flesh with abandon. He was so close, yet so far from where you needed him.

God he was such a tease.

When those petals finally kissed you where you needed them to, your breath halted. Namjoon had a habit of taking your breath away but this was the best kind of example. There was no need for words, the feeling of his lips forming into a soft smirk spoke volumes.

Originally posted by jenorise

God could Namjoon be anymore of a tease?

Apparently he could. He insisted on just kissing you, his lips on yours, no use of the tongue that brought him fame. He was going to take his time worshipping at the temple that was your body.

Ever the attentive lover, all of Namjoon’s teasing had you worked you up more than you would like to admit, his lips already covered in your glistening wetness. You wondered how much longer you could stand just having his kisses, even the frustration at a lack of progression had become painfully pleasurable, making you practically hysterical yet so relaxed at the same time.

Even when he started to use his tongue, it was with a tenderness and yearning to make you fall apart in his arms. Namjoon used it first to trace your velvet walls, committing their feeling to memory, before it skilfully caressed a very special bundle of nerves. Each flick of his tongue better than the last, as his confidence grew and so did his desire to feel you flood his mouth with your juices.

When his tongue did leave you, it moved to its next target, your neglected clit. Ever the tease, he placed a few open kisses on the bud before giving it the same treatment as your g-spot. Each flick of his tongue again felt better than the last, driving you even closer to that edge that Namjoon was so insistent on making you fall off.

Just before you could do so, it seemed that Namjoon had a change of heart, his lips travelling to your inner thighs, away from where you wanted him. You could practically throttle him when he got like this.

God Namjoon was the worst tease in the world.

You had half the mind to tug on his locks until you ripped some of his hair out, a just punishment in the mind of a sexually frustrated and teased lover. 

But you were broken our of your reverie by his raspy voice.

“Baby girl, I’ll make you cum this time. I just wanted to take my time, make you melt with my tongue and edging is just a part of it Babe.”

Namjoon wasn’t the worst tease in the world. He kept his word.

His talented tongue softly entered you again, it curling and flicking against that special spot again. His fingers entering the fray by rubbing your clit, the added stimulation helping to build up that knot in your stomach that much faster.

With all the teasing before, you were practically soaked, your juices dripping down onto Namjoon’s face. He moaned at the taste, sweet like the peaches you’ve been eating recently. Namjoon had become ravenous, the taste of you giving him a greater resolve to make your body sing.

He held your gaze and that’s all it took. You shattered around him, your body drowning in the waves of your orgasm. Namjoon holding you whilst he lapped up your juices, his thumbs rubbing your inner thighs to soothe you.

As you came down from your high, catching your breath, you felt Namjoon smirk against your glistening lips.

God surely Namjoon couldn’t be anymore of a tease?

Apparently he could.

Originally posted by fyeahbangtaned

Namjoon’s plump lips wrapped themselves around your little bud again, sucking, nibbling, kissing and licking your clit, sending your body into a state of overstimulation. You almost wanted to close your legs, to protect yourself from the painful pleasure, but Namjoon’s thumbs continued to rub the skin of your inner thighs, to soothe you.

And soothe you it did. Namjoon’s attentive actions soon became even more pleasurable, his lips bringing you swiftly to another orgasm, his name falling from your mouth like a mantra.

As you came down from your high, the clouding white slowly leaving your senses, allowing you to see and hear clearly, you looked back down at your boyfriend. His soft smirk faded as the love and devotion he had for you shone through, softly kissing the skin of thigh.

His voice,still raspy from sleep, murmured “Babe, nothing is more beautiful than when you cum. Seeing you lose yourself to the pleasure, knowing I can make you feel that good, knowing you’ll let me make you feel that good is the greatest honour you could give me. You’re so beautiful Baby girl… so beautiful.”

Namjoon’s lips kissed back up your body, finally to the point where he kissed your hand, the chivalrous act matching his beautiful words, a sign of his devotion to you. Him latter wrapping you up in his arms, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear, another chivalrous act, touching your heart and making you feel a need to show your devotion to him.

Cautiously you kissed the arms that held you tightly, holding your back held against his broad chest, not wanting to frighten off Namjoon with signs of affection that came off too strong. The cautious approach worked as Namjoon melted, wanting more of your sweet kisses. So, you smiled against the skin of his forearms as he relaxed into the feeling, appreciating your affectionate actions.

Once you got used to kissing his strong arms, you turned around in Namjoon’s hold, hoping to kiss much more of his golden skin. You slowly lent in to his bewildered face, a silent ask for permission, permission to kiss those lips that drove you wild, that you were addicted to.

Originally posted by iwannaridenamjoon

Namjoon granted it and you didn’t waste your time. You weren’t a tease. Your lips melded together like your bodies had when Namjoon held you in his strong arms, another sign that you were the perfect pairing, his other half.

You kissed Namjoon with a gentleness, afraid of spooking him, but with a hidden fire behind each movement of your lips on his, wanting to show how much you truly adored the special person in your life.  

Your remark from earlier was wrong, Namjoon’s lips weren’t petals but peaches, perfectly plump and ripe for kissing all day. You were getting lost in the melding of your lips on his. You really could kiss him all day, it was addictive, Namjoon was addictive, but you wanted to make his body sing.

So your kisses trailed down his sharp jaw line and down his neck, paying close attention to the patches of skin where he was most sensitive, drawing out shaky breaths from Namjoon. It was your time smirk. You were pleased that you were having such an effect on Namjoon just from kisses but you wanted to do more than just kiss, you wanted to make love with him.

You wanted to give him the world but all you could give him was your heart, devotion and hope he could see his beauty and beautiful soul, just like you did. That’s why you tried to be as affectionate as you could on lazy days like this, to show Namjoon that, despite any difficulties you both may have along the way, you were in it for the long haul. Namjoon was your soulmate and you weren’t and the cynic you were, you weren’t even sure if you believed in soul mates. Namjoon was just that good.

So your hands slowly caressed Namjoon’s body, down from the tops of his shoulders to his lower abdomen, fingers softly taking hold of the hem of his cotton shirt. You kept kissing him through of all of this, like you said before, his lips were addictive but Namjoon pulled away.

“What’s wrong Babe? Am I going to fast? Do you just want to make out some more? Do you want me to stop?”

Namjoon let out a loud sigh,  his shoulders slumping before he replied, “Baby girl, I don’t want you to stop but I don’t think you’d want to make out with a monster like me.”

“A monster? Babe, unless you’re talking about a Rap Monster, I don’t view you as a monster. A monster in the sheets maybe… “

“Stop joking Baby girl, I’m being serious. I haven’t been eating as well as I should have recently and it shows. I’m not sexy like the maknaes and beauty like yours deserves an equal. An Aphrodite deserves an Adonis.”

You held in an astonished chuckle, afraid it would be taken the wrong way before responding. “Babe, I’m hardly comparable to Aphrodite and I don’t need an Adonis because I’m with the most beautiful person inside and out. You’re wise, a great leader, the perfect cuddler, a civic minded and passionate man. You’ve turned a lonely cynic into believing in a ‘Mr Right’. I will only accept that I’m Aphrodite if you are my Adonis. Now I only hope that you will let me show you how devoted I am to you, My Adonis.”

Namjoon’s hands held yours and guided you to peel of his shirt, slowly, still a bit insecure but becoming more secure when your lips touched again. Your hands drew the same shapes as before as you two locked lips, determined to show Namjoon how much you cared for him.

Namjoon didn’t resist as you went to pull away his boxers, the last piece of clothing covering him. Your words and your actions having made him feel greater than he had in a long time. He hissed as the cold air met his arousal, the temperature a slight shock to the system but nothing that would stop him from wanting to be inside you, to make love with you.

Your caresses travelled down to Namjoon’s thighs, tracing little hearts on his skin just like you did before, another small sign of affection. Namjoon appreciated it and tried to hold back but he’d been turned on the instant your hands were on him the first time. He was understandably a little impatient by now.

Noticing his restlessness, your hands soon moved to where Namjoon needed them most, giving him a few strokes with some lube, just to make the glide that little bit easier. It would help with another kind of glide soon.  

Namjoon initiated a kiss as you stroked him, not wanting to moan out so early on, his pride wouldn’t allow it. His lips were as addictive as ever and his kisses were sweeter than sweet. You really could kiss him all day, his kisses were what you needed, not silly little frivolous things like oxygen.

If his kisses were sweeter than sweet, Namjoon’s caresses were sickly sweet. His hands were just as great at teasing as his kisses. His hands, butterfly-like, only a whisper of a real touches fluttered all across your body, including your little bud, causing more of your sweet nectar to flow.

Just before you could drip onto the sheets, the butterflies became vices, gripping onto you hips, insisting you ride him. Namjoon’s grip became gentler, as you lined yourself up and slowly sank down, draining any roughness from him. 

The slow descent allowed you to indulge in the feeling of every vein on Namjoon’s member caressing your velvet walls in best possible way. You were frankly too tired to set a fast pace but you didn’t care, to you, lazy morning sex was the best, it gave you time to truly appreciate the man you were with, to truly savour the moment.

Namjoon felt the same way. He couldn’t think of a better way to wake up.

You rolled your hips, getting your grinding into a steady rhythm, drawing out soft moans from your lips and heavy breaths from Namjoon. His hands, gently caressed and guided your hips, making sure your movements maximised the pleasure felt by both of you.

You were both treating the other with care, as if the other was a china doll, too fragile and ready to break at any moment. But that’ s what you two were in this moment, fragile, letting your guard down, intimate and exposed, ready to break into a million pieces when your orgasm hit you.

You guided Namjoon’s hand up to your heaving chest, allowing him to feel how frantic your heart was beating, how it was beating for him, allowing him to feel how hard your nipples were, how they were hard for him.

He gave you a loving smile before moving his hands, using them to guide yours to his heaving chest, allowing you to feel how frantic his heart was beating, how it was beating for you, allowing you to feel how hard his nipples were, how they were hard for you.

Your hearts were in sync. In sync with each other, in sync with the rhythmic rolling of your hips. The knowledge that he was just as in love, just as affected as you were drew you closer to your end. It also drew Namjoon closer to his own end.

Namjoon moved your hands one last time, placing them by your hips, along with his, interlocking your fingers, his grip soft but secure. You need that secure grip as an increasingly desperate Namjoon started thrusting up into you, whimpering into open mouthed kisses that you shared, making you that much more desperate yourself.

His thrusts turned into pounding, pounding up into your deliciously tight and wet heat, the angle allowing him to hit places much deeper inside you. Each pound of his hips on to the bottom of your cheeks, creating an audible clap, a sinful rhythm only fitting for a musician like Namjoon. 

The pounding also drew you closer, as he kept on hitting that special little bundle of nerves, causing you to involuntarily clench around Namjoon’s throbbing length.

Namjoon felt how close you were and he was just as close, his fingers squeezing yours, another sign of affection. He spoke up in that raspy voice you loved to wake up to, “Baby girl, look into my eyes, cum for me, cum with me.”

His words was that last light push you needed, allowing you to fall into the abyss of blissful pleasure. The pleasure threatening to make you close your eyes but you didn’t, the sight in front of you was too good.

Sweat dripping down his forehead, the beams of light escaping from a gap between your curtains lighting his body, making look more ethereal than usual. The sounds were better. Namjoon let out little grunts of your name and soft whimpers as his thrusts became erratic, your clenching walls driving him insane to the point where he burst, painting your walls white.

As you both caught your breath, resting your head in the crook of his neck, Namjoon squeezed your hands again, a little sign of gratitude and affection.

“I know sometimes that I hate my own reflection but you never fail to make me feel wanted Baby girl,  thank you for that. I can’t promise to give you the world, but I can continue to give you my heart, I hope that’s enough Baby girl.”

“Namjoon, Babe, it’s more than enough. I just hope you can continue to accept and look after mine in return.”

“Baby girl, I know I have a habit of being a bit clumsy but I promise it’s in safe hands.”

And that’s how you spent the rest of your morning, curled up in the sheets with Namjoon, tracing his skin like you did before, sharing kisses and enjoying one another’s company and affection.


So that’s it, I hope you liked it. :)

Here, have some more adorable Namjoon gifs while we’re at it

Until the next time I write,

Bambi x

The Sad One (Black Hat x Reader)


Black Hat x Reader

A/N: This is for @beachcitysweetheart !! I had fun with this and I’m hoping it is actually sad to someone other than myself… x)&

How did this happen? Black Hat…dead. Your mind could still hardly comprehend it. Black Hat, the person you loved, gone from this plain of existence.

And he left it alone. You should have been there…

Tears rolled down your cheeks. Everyone knew how you felt, so there was no use in hiding them. As if you could with him in front of you…like this.

Handsome as ever, Black Hat laid in a coffin in front of you. The empty feeling in your chest grew more cavernous just looking at him for what you assumed would be the last time. The room was empty, but soon, you figured, it would be full of people there to pay respects to the infamous super villain.

“Black Hat I’m…I’m so s-.” You attempted to speak, the first time you’d done so since hearing the news, but sobs broke up your words. When you tried again, your voice was higher in pitch, “I’m sorry. I should have been there. You were my mentor, I looked up to you… I’m not really sure what to do. I love you, Black Hat.”

There. You finally said it. Years of holding it in, and you finally admitted your feelings to him. Late though you may have been.

Your knees gave out and you sunk to the floor. Sobbing quietly to yourself, and praying no one would see you. You looked up to the coffin, trying to take deep breaths and calm yourself down. But then you saw him.

Black Hat rose from the coffin with vampire-like ease, and stared down at you with bored eyes.

“I knew it.” He said coldly, stepping over you and walking out the door, “You’ve gone soft.”

And so you were left, confused and alone. Angry, yet relieved. Embarrassed, but whole again.

However, the effects of that night soon manifest themselves. Black Hat avoided you constantly, you were called to help less and less. Days went by with no contact or request from your boss at all.

Two weeks later you sat alone at the breakfast table, trying to put a dent in the oatmeal you’d made for yourself. You always got up before the others, and before the sun. The mansion was quiet, and you enjoyed the company of silence.

However, a dapper young whatever-he-was soon walked into the kitchen, looking at you with unenthused eyes. You looked back to your food.

Black Hat went for his coffee without a word to you. Why couldn’t he have just fired you for unprofessionalism or something like a normal person would?! Anything was better than living like this, with your guts on the table for him to see. He had centuries of secrets, you had one. Yet he knew everything about you and you didn’t even know what was under his hat.

You sighed, about to throw what was left of your breakfast away, when suddenly, an alarm went off. Relief flooded over you, the sweet call of duty rescuing you from the awkwardness of the morning.

You were the all in one security team for Black Hat Inc, a job that came with a surprising amount of action. More people wanted to rob that maniac that you originally anticipated when you signed on. Still, a job with Black Hat was better than watching him from the sidelines. Even with the past events, you loved your job, and you were good at it too.

Black Hat followed, bored, as you sprinted down the hall to the warehouse where orders waiting to be shipped were kept. “Probably curious to see just who’s trying to rob him this time”, you thought reaching for the gun strapped under your jacket.

Sure enough, a demonic looking man was rummaging through the section of the storage house that contained Black Hat’s more deadly products. He was bright red, with large horns. Perfect target. You put three holes in his head before he even knew you were there.

Somewhere behind you, Black Hat chuckled. “Very good y/n.”

You turned back to him with a small smile. That was the first nice thing he’d said in a long time.

But your inward happiness was cut off when you caught sight of another horned man, this one purple, with a gun aimed right at Black Hat. Your legs moved to intercept the blast that made its way towards him. You’d lost him once, you weren’t letting it happen again.


A sudden pain hit in your chest, intensified and spread throughout your whole body in a blinding blue flash. The world moved in slow motion as you fell to the floor. Your e/c eyes made contact with Black Hat’s. He looked shocked, even…like he cared about you. But that couldn’t be right, he hardly cared when people, even those he worked with, got hurt. Still, there was something in the way he looked at you fall, something like…concern.

The ground was cold and hard, and you bounced a bit upon landing. Black Hat looked up to the attacker, and you saw a red laser shoot from his monocle, presumably getting rid of that problem. Your vision was blurred, but you could see 50 or so others like him in your field of view running down the corridor at you two. And who knows how many more were there that you couldn’t see.

Black Hat chuckled wickedly before transforming into a large grotesque demon. They never stood a chance. You laughed, but then began to cough up blood. What exactly did you jump in front of?

One glance down to your chest and you felt dizzy. The initial impact of the blast left your clothes and skin burned, and a sickening dent in your chest. Blackness and blood from your coughing marked the rest of your skin and clothes.

Black Hat returned moments later, back to his normal self. He looked down at you with a large frown on his face. You tried to laugh again and sit up, but he pressed you down again.

“Dammit.” He muttered surveying your wounds.

“N-Not so s-soft after all, boss.” You mumbled, lightheaded, “Tough enough to block the blast pretty well.”

“Shut up, you idiot.” Black Hat said, pressing a button on his wrist to call for Flug, “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“To late.” You smiled, grabbing hold of his hand, “I-I’m glad….I- I’m glad I…”

Darkness ate at the side of your vision, Black Hat looked more concerned than before, you were slipping from consciousness, and that worried him.

“Y/n?” He asked, eyes (if he even had two) widening as you slipped away.

“I…love…you….” you smiled, the darkness finally claiming your vision as you closed your eyes. Black Hat’s voice seemed far away…

“I love you too, idiot…”

Warmth filled you at the sound of his voice and you let darkness overtake you, not sure if you would wake up or not.

America on the Eve of World War One 

The 42nd Parallel.

The almost universal reaction of Americans to World War One was a determination to stay out of it. Let the old, corrupt European monarchies (and France) kill themselves; meanwhile America was skyrocketing toward boundless wealth and prosperity. America’s industrial growth in the late 19th century was more astounding than anywhere else, even Germany. By 1913 America had quadruple as many railways, double as much coal production, and more pig iron than any other great power, and its population, near 100 million, only lagged behind Russia’s colossal 170 million. However, most American production was for its vast home market.

Nevertheless, Americans were content to grow richer still from the war. East coast banks extended liberal lines of credit to Britain and France, and by 1917 they had collected most of their gold reserves. New York, not London, was becoming the global center of finance. Investment and employment thrived. Without German competition, steel production, shipbuilding, and chemical making soared, and farmers savored a vast increase in in demand for wheat, which rose from .70 cents a bushel before the war to $2.20 in 1917.

Banking and free trade on the sea enormously favored the Entente over the Central Powers, however, and this began serious problems between the U.S. and Germany. American foreign policy jealously guarded its neutrality but also free trade. Yet strong peace lobby protested to any move to a war footing, while German and Irish-Americans held a natural proclivity for the Central Powers. Woodrow Wilson campaigned, and won, his reelection in 1916 on the slogan “He kept us out of the war.”

But even the most ardent pacifists, and Wilson’s cabinet held few of those, could halt Germany’s incredible string of provocations. The sinking of the Lusitania in 1915 resulted in the deaths of several American passengers. Then, in 1917, the renewed German unrestricted submarine campaign deliberately targeted American vessels. Eight US ships were sunk in February and March 1917. Germany’s feeble promises of goodwill were not helped by such zany schemes as Arthur Zimmerman’s proposal to invite Mexico into a war against the United States.

The German generals, however, had decided to gamble against the Americans. The U.S. had phenomenal industrial capacity, certainly, but it was also astoundingly unprepared for war. The tiny American military only had 145,000 men, no more than Britain in 1914. Moreover, it had just embarrassed itself on a year-long wild goose chase in Mexico, eluded at every turn by the revolutionary warlord Pancho Villa.

If the submarine sinking did not stop immediately, America would certainly enter the war against Germany.  But by the time the Yanks had recruited, equipped, and shipped an army over to France, it would be mid-1918 at least. Russia was failing, the British and French were taking as good as they were giving on the Western Front, over 147 British merchant ships had been sunk over the last few weeks alone - if Germany played its cards right, it could starve Britain to submission, win the war in the East, and knock out France with its unified army, all before America’s endless manpower entered the war and made Allied victory certain. It was to be a race against time.

Dusk Mane Necrozma,Dawn Wings Necrozma & Photon Geyser Details

Dusk Mane Necrozma

CATEGORY: Prism Pokémon
TYPE:  Psychic/Steel
HEIGHT: 12'06"
WEIGHT: 1,014.1 lbs.
ABILITY: Prism Armor

Dusk Mane Necrozma controls both the body and mind of the Legendary Pokémon Solgaleo, absorbing the light energy that pours out of it.
Dusk Mane Necrozma can propel itself forward by shooting black light from both sides of its chest, giving it a powerful means of propulsion.

By taking Solgaleo into itself, Necrozma’s Attack rises beyond its previous level. It slices opponents with the powered-up claws on its four legs. The power greatly exceeds that of Solgaleo. Players can expect it to be a great aid in battles using physical moves, including Sunsteel Strike.

Keep reading

FIC: Infodere Ch 3

Thanks for the feedback on chapter 2. If you haven’t read the rest of this story, it and my other work can be found here

As always I really appreciate feedback so if you enjoyed it let me know and reblog!

Gradually the din died down. The smell of burning hung heavy in the air. The only sounds were shouts coming from the site security team as they swept the site and sobs coming from amongst the trees. Claire had dropped to the ground when the security team had opened fire, her hands clasped to her ears. Jamie sat next to her, his arms around her, shielding her with his body and murmuring comforting platitudes in a mixture of gaelic and english into her ear. Slowly she dropped her hands and looked up. Jamie’s face was close to hers and he kissed her softly and chastely.

“Are you ok, Mo nighean donn?” He asked holding her slightly away from him and looking at her intently as if inspecting her for damage.

“Wha, what does that mean?” Her voice sounded shaky even to her own ears. When he didn’t answer she replied to his question. “Yes, yes, I’m ok. A little shaken, but ok.”

Jamie stood and pulled her to her feet. He turned to move and she caught his hand, pulling him back towards her.

“Are you ok, Jamie?” she ran her hand along his cheek meeting his eye. Her hand shook slightly. He opened his mouth as if to reply and then stopped and pulled her towards him abruptly. Claire had no idea how long they stood like that before he finally pulled back and nodded.

“Let’s go see what’s to do” And taking her hand and leading her back towards the site.

They arrived to find things calmer than might be expected. Despite the gunfire no one had been seriously injured aside from one of the interns who had broken an ankle running in the woods. A row of eight tents had been completely destroyed and the main tent had caught fire down one side.

“The sorting area is toast” declared Dr Zapote, coming up behind them. “But most of the finds were still boxed and it doesn’t seem like too much of the equipment got damaged. Water damage might end up being a bigger concern.” She ran her hands through her hair looking understandably harassed. “Claudio, Doctor Moreno, says he’s lost some reference materials, but nothing irreplaceable, but his first assistant anthropologist is freaking out so he’s busy dealing with him.

“How are you, Luisa?” Claire turned to the small brunette. They’d worked many digs together and Claire considered her both a friend and colleague.

“Dios madre,” she exclaimed “This is ridiculous. You expect this doing war zones, not archaeology.” Luisa Zapote has recently returned to archaeology after an extensive stint working for the UN excavating mass graves in the former Yugoslavia and before that in the Congo. Luisa had never spoken about it much, but it had affected her badly.

Jamie had wandered over to the cluster of people in the centre of the clearing. Claire could hear him speaking to the head of security in spanish. He was too far away for her to make out what he was saying but she could tell by his tone that he was asking questions.  Luisa followed her gaze and looked at her archly.

“So, you have the hots for Big Red do you?” Claire looked back at Luisa, sharply, but even the dim light couldn’t hide the blush that crept up her face. Luisa laughed. “Thought as much. Just how much? Would you let him put it anywhere?” Claire’s exclamation of outrage was cut short by the return of Jamie himself. Luisa snorted loudly through her nose and Claire dug her hard in the ribs. Jamie looked at them both suspiciously before continuing undaunted.

“The security guys seem to think this was organised. Not just opportunist thinking we might have something of value to steal. The damage was done deliberately but is also targeted to certain areas. He seems to think this was meant to scare us off rather than a deliberate attempt to harm, these guys don’t mess around and had they wanted casualties they would have gotten them”

“But why on earth? We’re an archaeological excavation, even at its most contentious there is nothing here worth violence? Did they offer any ideas on motives? Claire had moved from embarrassment to distress.

“The stories” Luisa was matter of fact “People have always half believed them, and now that someone is digging here, many see that as a sign that there is truth in them. That there is something of value here.” She shrugged.

Claire was a practical person and whilst she loved the stories behind the work she did, the myths, the legends that shaped cultures and made them unique, she was often frustrated that so many people still equated archaeology as solely the preserve of treasure hunters. The irony that the imperial treasure hunters of the nineteenth century were both responsible for a wealth of discovery but also for the virtual looting of ancient sites the world over was not lost on her, and she like many archaeologists struggled with the legacy of this.

She exhaled strongly through her nose and pulled herself together.

“OK, here’s what we need to do. First of all we need to increase the security presence around here, we have a lot of people here and we were lucky no one was seriously hurt.”

She turned to Luisa and Dr Moreno, who had just appeared looking harried.

“Luisa. Claudio. You need to to do some press. We need to make it clear that what is going on here is research and rescue archaeology designed to preserve valuable cultural artefacts in an at risk area. Not a treasure hunt. Talk about the finds we have already, highlight the fact that nothing of monetary value has been recovered and that we do not expect it to be. Secrecy around what we are doing here will only add to the talk.”

Luisa answered this. “Perhaps we could invite some people from the nearest town to visit the site? There are many people here for whom this is their history, they might appreciate seeing what we’re doing here.”

Claire nodded and turned to Jamie eyebrow raised looking for agreement.

He nodded in return and spoke.

“And now I think the best thing we can do is get everyone to bed. I doubt many will sleep, but we need some normality and everyone could do with the rest. We’ll restart excavations at 10am tomorrow. I’ll go let everyone know.”

As he returned to the tents he could see Claire outside her tent, pacing agitatedly, her arms wrapped around herself against the cool night.

“Are ye alright, Sassenach?” He said quietly.He felt suddenly shy as he remembered their kisses. It seemed like days ago now, not mere hours.

She ran her hands through her hair making the curls fall madly around her face.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She resumed pacing. “This is madness. All this talk of treasure hunters and lost gold. Its ridiculous. Its 2017 not 1917. I’m a fucking scientist for christ sake!” She came to a halt a foot away from him. Her fists were clenched by her sides and her jaw was tight,

“Aye. I ken. This is no exactly what I was expecting from this dig either. The fact is it doesna matter what we believe, someone thinks there is *Something* here, whether its treasure or something else entirely, I don’t know, but it’s clear these people are dangerous and that they would prefer if we weren’t here.”

He could see her trying to get control of her breathing.

“Go to bed, Claire. Get some rest. You’ll feel less fashed in the morning.” He reached forward and tucked a curl behind her ear. She closed her eyes and raised her hand to his, trapping it against the side of his face.

“Stay with me, Jamie.” She looked up at him from under her lashes her strange whiskey coloured eyes almost yellow in the moonlight. Her voice was quiet but steady. His heart was beating hard in his chest as he fought to find words.

“Please.” It was almost a whisper as she closed the gap between them and took his hand. “Will you?”

He nodded mutely before pulling her close to him and holding her. Her hair smelt of smoke and gunpowder, but was soft and warm as he laid his cheek on the top of her head, his hands on her back. She brought her arms around his waist and they stayed like that for a moment, and he couldn’t tell where his heartbeat ended and hers began. He kissed the top of her head.

“Are you sure, Mo Nighean Donne? I ken we’ve had stressful day, I dinna want you to do anything you might regret tomorrow.”

She looked at him, her gaze steady and sure, no sign of the fretfulness of earlier.

“The only thing I would regret was not asking you.” She smiled then and Jamie felt a flutter in his stomach. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

sparkly-key  asked:

Yess Jaytim! I love the way you write them. As for prompt, maybe where Tim is the new intern at Research and development and has to deal with Jason always messing with his gadgets? Please and thank you!

Tim’s not a native Gothamite. The fact that he was born in the city meant nothing when his parents whisked him away to the other side of the country to be raised. Which is a tragedy because it means that Tim is sorely lacking in certain areas that all people raised here seem to just get without having to have it explained to them. Like the sixth sense that thins a busy street down to almost being deserted minutes before a bank gets blown up, or the way that most people know when it’s safe to drink water from the tap and when it’s been laced with Fear Toxin or Joker Venom. Basic survival things that Tim doesn’t have because he might’ve been born in Gotham, but he wasn’t raised here among it’s craziness.

Maybe if he had any of that instinct he’d be able to figure out why a dangerous vigilante, one of the more violent ones no less, is being allowed free access to Wayne Tech’s R&D floor. There was no other way of describing it. Security is pretty tight on the levels Tim works in, and while that might not deter some of the masked people that flood the city the fact that Batman –and most of his associates– like to show up randomly to patrol his sponsor’s business is. Considering the fact that most of what Tim works on goes to them he’s under no delusions that his every move isn’t monitored. So Red Hood’s appearances can’t have gone unnoticed.

“Huh,” Red Hood looks down at the pile of parts and circuits that lay heaped on the floor. Lips twisting up into a smirk Tim wishes he could wipe off. With his fist if possible, though some days Hood is nice enough that Tim wonders about using other parts of his body instead. Not tonight though. “Was it supposed to do that?”

“That took me seven hours to assemble,” Tim says as a deceptively calm peace settles over him as he stares at what was an entire days work. No, three days, because Tim had been very meticulous about cleaning each part of the intricate mechanism beforehand.

“Oops?” Hood says in a tone that’s more innocent than any man wearing body armor and blood stained boots should be able to vocalize. He looks back down at the pile, nudging it with the toe of his boot and leaving behind a suspicious smear. Tim watches in wonder as all that calm peace evaporates at the smarmy grin Hood gives him. “Well, whatever it was, it obviously wasn’t going to work anyway-”

Screwdrivers are not designed to be aeronautical, and that’s the only reason why Tim’s throw falls short of its target. Hood doesn’t even flinch or act like he was going to dodge it. “Because I wasn’t finished screwing the back on!”

The smarmy grin twists into something gleeful, “If you’re going to screw anything, it should be-”

Tim goes for the fire extinguisher like he should’ve the second he heard the crash of something breaking. Hood actually moves then, though the laughter that fills the lab echoes mockingly as Tim furiously chases after the dangerous –supposedly psychotic– vigilante that’s been making his life hell from the first day he was hired.