The Blackwatch Approach (Reader x Blackwatch BOIIIZ)

A/N: i accidentally the Blackwatch for u. ur welcome.


“Ha-ha. No.” It wasn’t the politest greeting in the world—actually, it might have been one of the rudest, but in your opinion, it was warranted. Before anyone could speak, you raised a hand and waggled a finger at each of the three men before you. “Whatever it is, it’s a ‘no’ from me.”

Keep reading


AESTHETIC MEME: [2/9] characters: M a r a  J a d e
started as one of the covert agents known as the “Emperor’s Hand”. Going on tasks ranging from assassinations to infiltrating the Empire’s enemies, Mara would become one of the Emperor’s favorite servants and earn the right to apprentice under the Dark Lord of the Sith. Once her master was slain, Mara found herself mentally commanded to hunt down Luke Skywalker and get revenge for her master’s death.

The Drive part 2

I forgot to mention before that this fic takes place some time after my previous fic, the locker room. Not too important, but it helps with context. If you don’t want to read that fic, just know that Betty and Jughead got hot and heavy (but didn’t go all the way) in the boy’s locker room one evening. I intend on writing a part 3, but it probably will take a while. Anyway, enjoy!

The Drive, part 2

The drive was made in silence between the young couple, save for Betty’s hushed sniffles as she allowed herself to calmly cry. She leaned up against the passenger window, staring out at the trees and night sky, sinking deep into her thoughts. The couple made their way just out of town, and followed a well traveled dirt road that lead to an abandoned camp ground half way up the mountain. Jughead parked, turned off the engine, and began preparing himself for the worst.

He swallowed heavily, and gripped the steering wheel in a feeble attempt to ground himself. Without meaning to, he glanced over at Betty, and pain wretched through his chest. Her head was hung low, her eyes locked on her fingers as they traced the crescent moon scars on her palms. She brushed away slow tears that continued to stream down her pink cheeks. He fought back the urge to pull Betty close to him, to cradle her head in his hands and hold her until the pain subsided. He recognized that Archie’s drunken speech was the initial damage to Betty’s night, but Jughead felt just as responsible for her pain. She’s loved Archie since we were kids…  Maybe he was right? People do crazy things when they’re lonely… He breathed deeply, and forced himself to speak.


“He was just drunk,” she interrupted, “Drunk, and saying stupid things he doesn’t mean.”

Jughead paused, thinking carefully before responding.

“Drunken words are a sober man’s thoughts, or so they say,” he let out a heavy sigh, and shifted his body to face hers, leaning one arm across the backrest. “I can’t speak for Archie. He won’t talk to me about you, I honestly have no idea what he really wants. I imagine tomorrow once he’s nursed his hangover, he’s going to owe you an explanation,” He paused, waiting to see if Betty would share her thoughts. She graced him with long awaited eye contact, her sad, frustrated eyes meeting the concern and shame in his. He continued, his heart pounding and making it difficult for him to think clearly.

“All I do know- Betty… you-” he stuttered, and swallowed. “You deserve to be happy,” He finally choked out. “You do so much for everyone else all the time, and I’m afraid you’ll forget about yourself Bets. Maybe Archie meant what he said, maybe it was just the booze. Either way, I don’t… I don’t want you to feel obligated to- to continue whatever we are. No harm, no foul. If you think Arch can be good to you and make you happy, then I won’t stand in your way,” Before Jughead could continue, he realized Betty no longer crying. In place of her tears, a subtle smile tugged at the corner of her lips, still sad but somehow different. Was this pity? Jughead felt embarrassment swell in his cheeks. He was doing his best to be supportive and honest, and she pitied his sincerity? The sudden vulnerability weighed heavy in his chest.

“So where would that leave you, Jughead?” she said softly, and the tension in Jughead’s shoulders let go.

Her voice was so soothing to him, even in moments of anguish. His eyes fell to his knees, eye contact becoming too intense for his racing heart and mind. The thought of being without Betty was suffocating, but he knew Archie had been the apple of Betty’s eye since they were kids. The two of them were destiny, and her fling with Jughead was just a distraction along the way. No matter how much it hurt, he couldn’t bear to come between Betty and her happiness. His jaw was stiff, his body tensing as he waited for the girl of his dreams to slip through his fingers and into the arms of his “best friend”.

Betty could see the heartache festering behind the raven haired boy’s aloof demeanor. His chest rose and fell with each shaky breath, and the expression in his eyes was distant, like Jughead couldn’t fathom the answer to her question.

“You know you deserve happiness too, right?” she leaned slightly closer to him.

“No where near as much as you do.” he spoke under his breath, but Betty heard every word. She shifted next to him, barely inches separating them. Alarmed by her sudden shift, and her faint but intoxicating vanilla scent, he looked up at her and into her crystal blue eyes, still red and damp. He listened intently to her, mentally commanding himself not to wrap his arms around her and never let go.

“Archie’s never cared about what I want. He makes all these decisions because it’s always what he wants, when he wants it. He’s just not capable of thinking any other way. It’s not a bad thing,” she rambled, struggling to make her point without condemning the boy next door. “I mean, that’s what makes him the passionate idiot he is. He has a good heart and he’s not trying to hurt anyone. But, at the end of the day, the most important person to Archie is Archie. But you, Jughead…” She took his free hand and squeezed gently.

“Your first thought is always me, even over yourself. Last time I checked, I’m one of the few people in your life lucky enough to make you happy, and yet you’re willing to let all that go because you think it’ll make me happy to be with Archie? It’s both the sweetest and most stupid thing I’ve ever heard,” she let out a tired laugh.

Jughead spoke without thinking, “We do stupid things for the people we love.”

The pair were frozen for a moment, suddenly aware of the implication of his remark. Betty pursed her lips, waiting to see who would take the leap of explanation. Jughead felt like his lungs were pure lead, and a bitter metallic taste saturated his mouth. He couldn’t believe the words that had just escaped him. He was supposed to be letting her go, not confusing her with his stupid feelings.

“Jughead…” she whispered. “You love me?”

Her words hung in the air, her gentle gaze never leaving his. He was left with no choice but to be whole with her.

“Of course I do.”

His voice was low, raw, foreign in his throat. Without hesitation, Betty slid her hand up his arm, cradled his neck with her dainty hand, and brought her lips to his. Her other arm slinked around his back, and gripped a handful of his sweater. Jughead’s hands followed suit, leading his arms to wrap her small frame tightly against his chest. She pulled back, smiling brightly, and Jughead didn’t loosen his grip even slightly.

“I love you too, Juggie.” Her voice sent a tidal wave of emotion through his entire being. He had spent so much energy forcing himself to believe that maybe, possibly, one day Betty could feel the same way he did. To hear her actually say the words he was dreaming of was absolute bliss. But, a nagging doubt creaked in the back of his head. He needed to know for sure where she stood with him, and with Archie.

“What if tomorrow… Archie tells you he meant everything he said. What happens then?”

Betty cocked an eyebrow, still smiling.

“I don’t want Archie Andrews,” Jughead’s smile grew wider as she spoke, “I want you.”

The couple stayed there for a moment, soaking in the euphoric presence of one another. Betty took to tracing her fingers along his jaw, completely enthralled with the angular lines of his gorgeous face, her heart fluttering knowing what lengths this brilliant, compassionate man was willing to take for her. Jughead continued holding her tightly against him, her warmth and delicate scent more inviting than anything he’d ever experienced. He felt at home with her in his arms. Breaking her gaze from studying his every feature, Betty glanced at the clock in the dashboard: 11:48

“Well birthday boy, you still have twelve minutes. Any last requests?” she curled up against his chest, listening to his now slow and steady heartbeat.

“Well, originally my plan was to throw a few blankets in the box, lay back and watch the stars with you. How does that sound?” he answered softly.


Jughead had pulled a few thick, fluffy blankets out from a bag under the seat, and laid them out carefully in the box of the truck. Before long, he had created a comfortable surface perfect for lazing about, and watching the night sky. The pair crawled over the tailgate. Jughead laid flat on his back, leaving his arm up for her to cuddle up against his chest. A clear night made for remarkably bright stars, and an even brighter half moon now well above the horizon. The moonlight was enough to cast dim shadows through the forest, and Betty found herself more interested in the glow of Jughead’s skin against the ghostly light. With his free hand he pointed up to the sky, tracing the movement of some bright light.

“I can’t tell if that’s a meteorite, a satellite, or maybe, just maybe, a UFO,” he said mystically, his light sarcasm apparent. He turned his eyes to her, realizing it wasn’t the sky Betty was focused on.

“What? Draw the line at aliens?” he quipped, however Betty didn’t laugh. Her eyes were locked on him, and Jughead saw an intensity in her gaze he didn’t recognize.

She pulled him into a kiss, but it wasn’t like the loving, gentle, healing kiss they shared earlier. This was emotional, almost greedy, as if she craved his lips with an insatiable fervor. Her tongue teased him, pleading for entry, to which he eagerly allowed. As his tongue explored hers, she let out a quiet, sultry groan that took him off guard. He pulled back, images flooding his head of the last time he had heard those moans echoing slightly in the boy’s locker room. She spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“There’s something I- I hoped maybe…” she stuttered, a rosey colour spreading through her cheeks and down her neck. “And now that I know for certain that you- well I mean I was sure before regardless, but now it’s just even more…” she trailed off, unsure if she was making sense or not.

“Breathe Bets. Start again, I’m hanging on every word,” he gently kissed her hand. She looked him in the eyes, amazed again at how incredible he was in every way.

“I want you, all of you.”

“I know,” he replied, smirking. “That’s what you told me after Polly’s baby shower. I was listening then too, scout’s honor.”

“Well listen closer,” she pleaded, and he abandoned his joking persona, clueing in that Betty was really trying to communicate something. She continued, “I trust you Jughead, completely. With my heart, my soul… and my body.”

His eyes widened, and he swallowed heavily. “You mean you want…”


World-Building/Headcanon; Trainer and Pokemon bonds

Given time and true trust, a Pokemon and Trainer can become mentally and physically synchronized. In battle, this acts in heavy favor as the Trainer can give mental command and see through their Pokemon’s eyes and vise versa. The Trainer can also give mental commands rather than yelling and giving away the attack.

This particular level of bond is very hard to achieve, requiring both partners to feel ready to defend under any cost. It must be friendship, a solid and true bond, and years of time spent together.

Due to this bond, it is not that uncommon for Trainers on this level to grow fatigued quicker, some feeling the pain of their Pokemon. It is likened to ‘Pain Split’ in ways, as it can divert focus from the pain to the battle.

Gym Leaders, Elites and Champions, along with battle chained areas (Battle Subway, Battle Maison, etc.) are more frequent to be seen with this skill, making them much harder to beat.

Just because one is capable of Mega Evolution does not mean they are yet able to mentally communicate with their Pokemon through the non-Psychic Type means. Mega Evolution also does not hurry along the process of mental bonding.

Being bonded on a level of mental synchronization heavily assists in Mega Evolution however, helping to divert the pain if there is any from the evolution, by focusing on the bond and affection felt between Trainer and Pokemon. The feeling that they are in this sort of thing together, holding strong for each other.

It is a non-Psychic Type skill that can be honed. Once mastering 1 Pokemon of a species (Able to talk to them fully without faltering, not showing hesitation), a Trainer can speak with other Pokemon of the same species (Ex.; If a Trainer can talk to their Houndoom, they can talk to Houdour and other Houndoom, as long as the Pokemon is open or willing to listen.) or to other Pokemon of the same evolutionary line (Ex.; Wurmple and either of it’s diverging evolutionary lines).

I am proud that Sara is so on top of things.  The team has grown to be quick and professional.  

It is however incredibly sad that the only reason that Rip is out of step with their growth is that he was too busy suffering alone.  

When he was lost, they were still floundering.  Now they’re used to this stuff.  And they got used to it because he was busy dealing with mental electrocution, amnesia, capture, torture, and getting mentally rewritten.

And Commander Heywood is mad at him for his own choices.  That’s pretty rough.  :-(

Bad Behavior {Jon MoxleyxReader}

Summary: Moxley’s in his feels, she’s toxic. 

(This imagine was inspired by this song

He was always the first to wake up when he stayed the night at her flat. Mentally commanding himself to go back to bed and absorbed the shared capacity he missed so much when he slept alone.

A soft groan from her lips interrupted his thoughts when she rolled away from the sunlight that was peeking through the blinds.

He pleaded for her not to wake-up, not just yet at least because if she woke up that meant Moxley had to leave. And when he left he wouldn’t see her until 9, which was 12 hours without her. Which is probably why he was so cranky all the time because he’s so anxious to get back to her.

She glimpsed over at the flashing alarm clock before sprinting out of bed. “Shit Mox, why didn’t you tell me my alarm went off?!”

Because I didn’t want to spoil our morning even if it means more to me than it does to you. And maybe, quite possibly, you look cute sleeping.

But he couldn’t tell her that, even if he wanted too mainly because she never had time for his feelings. She was so on-the-go he never even had time to ask her when he would see her next. It’s why every second with her was so precious.

She was pacing her bedroom floor in nothing but her black lace thong and hickeys from last night credit to Mox. He possessively watched her slip on her pencil skirt in a hip swaying motion that mocked his morning wood. His hand slid under the sheet, palming at his prompt package that twitched when she bent over to prey through her closet for her nude pumps.

Her second alarm echoed off the walls signaling her with 15 minutes left to spare interrupting Mox from rubbing one out.

He through the sheet off his bare body and slipped on his boxers that were disbanded last night.

He cleared his throat, brushing a hand across her lower back soothingly. “I'was uh, thinkin.. maybe you could come to one of my matches after you get off tonight?”

She leaned back up from her bent posture, Mox receiving a sweep in the face from her long locks. “Oh goodness, I don’t want to be a distraction.” She says, unashamed with her breast bouncing with her balance as she tries to slip on one of her heels.

Her hand grips onto his muscular shoulder for support, sliding the other one on. “And besides, friends don’t bring their fuck buddy’s to their occupation.”

She was too busy buttoning up her blouse to acknowledge the disappointed look in Mox’s eyes.
He was so out of control when it came to her, he hardly even felt like himself anymore. Even if she wasn’t his, he was hers. But what if she decided one day she didn’t want him anymore? That she found a posh, educated, stable guy at her work and not some rugged indie-wrestler.

The peck of her lips suspended his distress thoughts only to have her pull back. “You’re staying the night again, right?”

No. Nope. Absolutely not. I’m ending this before you do. I’m going to be the one to walk away, not you.

Another kiss was sealed to his lips before he could respond. Her tongue brushed along his lower lip in a seductive taunt that obeyed Mox to let her in. Their tongues momentarily danced while her hands found their way to the waistband of his boxers. Mox let out a throaty groan when her hand slipped underneath and grasped his bulge.

“You’ll be here when I come back, yeah?” She whispered against his neck, stamping delicate pecks while she stroked him.

“Y-Yeah.” He managed to get out.

She smiled victoriously, leaning up on her toes to press a closed kiss to his mouth before taking her hand back.

“See you later!” She calls, swinging her luxury purse over her shoulder and strutting out the door.

Her lips were bad behavior, and he’s in danger.

D&D 5e: Homebrew Cursed Magic Items

Cursed Wand of Magic Missile

Wand, requires attunement

This wand functions like a regular Wand of Magic Missile, but every time you use it it empties all of its charges and every single missile attacks the wielder, making a guttural burping noise with every missile hit. If the wielder is under the effects of a Shield spell, any missiles that hit the shield instead make a soft farting noise.

Cursed Spell Component Pouch

Regular Ole’ Item, attunes to anal-retentive Gumption Masters

This pouch causes you to actually need to keep track of spell components. Like for realsies. You have to go out and find pieces of copper wire, gather bits of bat guano, and make ointments out of peach syrup and cinnabar. And if you don’t have it, you can’t cast it. Not in the bag, get a red flag.

Cursed Sword of Withering

Any Sword, attunes to all editions

Using an Encounter power causes one of your Healing Surges to move creature up to 5 feet in any direction, dealing 1d7 temporary holy points unless you Will Save them.

Cursed Apparatus of Kwalish

Wondrous Item, attunes to its own beat

Each lever in the Apparatus serves a different function:

  1. The apparatus walks forward or backward
  2. A goblin enters the rear hatch
  3. Destroy target aura
  4. The apparatus gains +2/+1 until end of turn
  5. Draw a card, then discard a card
  6. Target wizard gains denimwalk and protection from sleeves
  7. Summon a 7/7 germ token
  8. Search the archive for a basic bland card, then put it onto the grid tapped, then destroy the archive
  9. Counter target nonapparatus spell
  10. 6d6 Storm Crows fly from the mouth of the apparatus to attack your foes. Each crow obeys your mental commands but will not attack Mark.

Cursed Umbra Staff of the Red Robe

Staff, attunes only to tex-mex

The item spoils the entirety of The Adventure Zone podcast but tells the story in a really unappetizing way, causing the Player Character to never truly find it funny but still understand the references.

Cursed Arrow

Any Arrow or Bolt, attunes to muscular men

Once per day you may activate Curse Arrow to- wait, is this a Jojo reference?

Cursed Grappling Rules

Wondrous Item, requires attunement by a graybeard

For each point of DEX the attacker has, they gain 1%. If the defender of the grapple has padded chain, then this is reduced by 20%. With a movement of 3 or greater, they gain +3% for every 3 moves. If the defender has a visored helmet, they are immune to the pummel unless the attacker has a slotted spoon helm, in which case per point of STR modifier each short rest causes a healing surge to halve the incoming damage. To overbear the opponent, you need a minimum of polar and a maximum of moon. If determining the first initiative of the nonlethal weaponless headless combat, be sure to adjust the dice with the special damage table below (wood glue already applied):

  • Under 21: Waist, 2d6
  • 21-40: Bear Hug, 3d4
  • 41-55: Suplex, 66
  • 57-70: Finger Trap, 84
  • 71-85: Cookie Cutter, elevensies
  • 86-95: Head Butt, It’s Hamtaro Time
  • Over 95: +2% per psi point discipline

Cursed Boots of the Hedgehog

Wonderful Item, Attunes to Amy, no one else

/ You have to go fast /

/ Faster than a Mountain Dew /

/ Fast go to have you /

Cursed Preview of D&D 6e

Crowd-sourced Item, requires attunement by an editor

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. He was lying on his hard, as it were armor-plated, back and when he lifted his head a little he could see his dome-like brown belly divided into stiff arched segments on top of which the bed quilt could hardly keep in position and was about to slide off completely. His numerous legs, which were pitifully thin compared to the rest of his bulk, waved helplessly before his eyes. What has happened to me? he thought. Aftur sexing tey both not happy. bulma not smile and vigta not smile. tey both not say nothin cos bad sexing. vigta scream so loud ten walker to bathroom. Was quiet. then. “NOO IS NOT RIGHT!” screamer vigito. mulba gotter up quicly and ranner to bathroom. “WAT!!!!” screamer bulma. vigita cry really fast and say sad “MY DRAGONBALLS!!1! TEY GONE!!!!!” he screamer once more loudest.

Cursed Mantle of the Wolf

Unsettling. Do not attune

(<w<)  (>w>) (OwO) what’s this? within 60 feetsies of u, a kreatur u kin c gets glomped *rawr XD* by a good boy :^) 

You cannot use this ability again until you finish a long rest.


Glorious Item, attunes only to you

 ̸̲̫́R̸ë̸́b̷̓l̴͋ô̴͈g̴̦͇͛ ̵͚̭̓͘t̷̯̔ẖ̶̏i̷͈͇̐s̵̠̀ ̸̨̼̾p̸̞̄͠o̷̠͍̒͋s̵͈̬̉̔ẗ̵̢̩̚ ̷͔̼̌a̶̗͘n̴̙͇̅̓d̸̟̀͑ ̶̪͂ş̵̏̆e̶͕̾n̶̮͎͛ḍ̵̈̃ ̵̼̾į̴͂t̸̩͓̽ ̴̱̱̊̑t̸̲͐̈o̵̺͔̓̆ ̴͇̀ͅ1̵͍͙̒̿3̸͚̺̀ ̸̡̋p̸̖̋̚͜e̴͖͊̕ó̶̫p̵͇͌̓l̴̰̍e̷̩̰͐ ̴̥͉̋o̵̙̖̔͊r̴̻̉̊ ̸̹̃Ä̶̮ṣ̶̖̏͐m̷̩̫͑ọ̸̎ͅd̸̲́̀ĕ̷͓̰̾ǘ̷̩s̵͙̙̀͑ ̶͈͎̎w̸̰͋î̵͕l̷̖͘͝l̵̟̎͠ ̶̖̏̄ç̴̖̾̅a̷̳̟̋s̷̫̘͠t̵͚̦͐́ ̵͚̜̏̇y̷͇̦̆͑ợ̶̫͘ǘ̵͕̪͘ ̷̲̕ḭ̷͐n̶̤̈͂t̵̬̓̈́o̶̘̽̇ ̴́͜ṭ̵̻͋̾ĥ̵̦e̸̜̓̍ ̶͕̓S̵͛̇͜t̶͓̒̉y̷̲̓g̸̦̀͜i̸͙̊a̶̤̲̐͊n̴̝̈́͝ ̷̣̫̈́̕W̷̳̄͊ả̴͔̼s̵̛̟͋ṫ̴͙̮́e̶̯͕͑̐s̷̳͊͝ ̸̪̓t̸̡̪͑͘o̸̯̩͒͑ ̶͖̱́b̷͇͋̕ȇ̴̙͍ ̴̛̮̞f̴̭̃͋ṛ̴̓͝ȏ̷͓͎͑z̴̩̹̀́ê̵͚͓n̷̙̭̎́ ̸̜͠ũ̴̙ṉ̷̽̓ċ̸̫̳͂o̵̥͐́m̶͔̩̀̚f̵̛̛̣̖o̷̻̿r̶̺̉̊ṱ̴̿a̶̬̭͊b̵̢̝̄̂l̵̼̅ỳ̶̬̌ ̸̰̇̅ͅc̷͕͇̋l̵̘͎̾͒ö̵̖́͠s̵͉̦̄e̸̞̽ͅ ̶̱͝t̷̗̎̽ô̸̞͝ ̴̢̉L̴̯͗͐e̴̝̝̋v̷̪̆i̶̧̾ș̵̔t̶̼̤͐̀u̷̝̿s̶̩̪̊̏ ̶̫̔̒ψ̴̜̠͆̌ ̷̩̝͑☠̴̙̳͗͘ ̴̹̎̄⛧̷̳̍ ̷͈̀ͅψ̶̤̐̍ ̷͛́ͅ☠̷̧̭͒ ⛥

anonymous asked:

chizuru texting kazama no.10 A loving text 💌

Right!  So now that we have Tokugawa Mobile™,forget letters, this is the Edo period with cell phones! And we are not going to think about that too hard, right?  👘⚔️ … with cell phones.

First, a little background… **

It was late evening, and Chizuru was out with the captains—and Hijikata-san—on one of their “celebration dinner” trips to Shimabara.  She appreciated being included, but as usual the dining had turned into drinking and it was starting to get to the point where she would probably need to get back to the compound.

She eyed Saitō-san hopefully, since he or Okita-san usually walked back with her once Nagakura-san’s flirting became more… serious… but the Third Division Captain appeared to be lecturing a nearby lamp on the advantages and disadvantages of Bizen-crafted swords.  That was a bad sign, since it was a clear indication that Saitō-san was far more intoxicated than he appeared at first glance, which meant that the others were likely far worse.  Chizuru gave up on Saitō-san altogether when he told the lamp in menacing tones that if it didn’t understand the key aspects of cold-quenching techniques then he would have to provide a short—but comprehensive—summary of the theory before going any further.

Chizuru’s gaze travelled around the room. The evening had been more riotous than usual, she realized with concern.  Hijikata-san was blinking drunkenly and with increasing irritation at the baka trio, who appeared to be competing in a game of who could make the most convincing bird calls. As far as Chizuru could make out, Heisuke-kun was intent on perfecting the sound (and actions) of a frightened duck, Nagakura-san was either imitating a goose or his version of Harada-san snoring (his explanations were addressed to the ceiling and mostly incomprehensible), and Harada-san was leaning back against the wall with his hands behind his head emitting occasional warbles in an improbable falsetto.

And Okita-san?  Chizuru sighed.  Okita-san had apparently smuggled two kittens into the fancy geisha house and was teaching them to hunt wildlife—or rather the hooting, honking and warbling members of the baka trio.  She had some hope that he wasn’t actually drunk until he paused for a few minutes to argue with Saitō-san about swords but addressed all of his comments to the lamp and became sullen when it wouldn’t respond.

Chizuru was suddenly overcome by an uncharacteristic wave of annoyance flavoured with a sprinkling of self-pity.  There they were: the handsome, talented, oh-so-feared Shinsengumi leaders… and not one of them had a single thought in his head for her, despite having invited her to come along.  Her eyes fell on a single, unopened sake bottle and a miraculously clean saucer, and for some reason it seemed as though the universe had thrown her a challenge.  “Drink me,” the sake seemed to whisper to her.  “What are you afraid of?” ***

Moments later, Chizuru was sipping cautiously but with determination at a brimming saucer.  The harsh taste of the alcohol made her blink, and for some reason a vision of a ruby-eyed, blond-haired demon flashed into her mind.  Glancing around the room as she choked down a second mouthful of strong liquor, it occurred to her that at least Kazama-san remembered that she was a girl and appeared to want her, even if his reasons were a little suspect and his personality somewhat… difficult.  The third mouthful made her throat burn but she didn’t care:  after all, if it was good enough for the Shingensumi, it was good enough for her.   

Chizuru stared down at her now-empty saucer.  She had to face facts:  at least Kazama-san wanted to kiss her; it had been embarrassing and moderately terrifying when he’d tried, but he had been genuinely interested.  The captains of the Sengumshimi had all stared at her or smirked–well, except for Saitou-san, who had looked away muttering something about not being emotionally prepared.

The saucer was now empty and Chizuru’s head was buzzing.  Her tongue felt odd and she could tell that her cheeks and ears were bright red.  The sake bottle suggested that a second saucer would make her feel better, but she declined politely. The ruby eyes hadn’t faded from her vision; in fact, their expression had gone from hard, to amused, to quizzical–as if the owner were wondering why she was with the Shungimseni instead of him.

Chizuru fumbled in her left sleeve and brought out her cell phone, smiling fondly at it’s soft pink exterior.  Kondou-san had insisted on giving it to her, and she felt a pang of guilt, knowing  that he wouldn’t approve of how she planned to use it.  She sighed, mentally apologizing to the Commander as she stared at the entry for Kazama C in her contacts.  The quizzical eyes now watched her from above a slightly sharp nose and an attractive mouth.  After a moment she decided on a text, since she needed to express her sentiments properly.

Hello Kazama-san. This is Yukimura Chizuru. I hope it’s okay for me to text you but I assume it is since you must have added your information to my phone at some point. It’s a very nice picture of you by the way. ❤️ I wish you were here. Unlike SOME OTHERS you have always been BRAVE enough to tell me that you want me with you.  The more I think about it the more I realize that you have been very loyal to me. ❤️   Also maybe you were right when you said that you understand me better than they do. I hope that I see you soon.  Love   Regards   Sincerely  Please stay well ~ Chizuru

It had taken longer to type out the message than anticipated, thanks to her slightly inebriated condition.  Chizuru reread the message a little doubtfully, and then decided it would have to do.  She hoped that Kazama-san would understand.  Her finger hovered indecisively (and a little drunkenly) over the send button, and then it was gone.

The apprehensive feeling in her gut vied for attention with her general state of fuzziness.  She tried to curl up in a corner to doze while waiting for a reply from Kazama-san.    


**Editor’s note: Otherwise known as “ImpracticalOni got carried away again, but don’t worry, there is a reason for all this.”

***Editor’s note:  Sake apparently has poor grammar.  Clearly this should be “Of what are you afraid?”

@shell-senji @sabinasanfanfic @shenanigumi @very-x-vice @hakusaitosan @cherryb0mb79 @fury-ous @queen-mizera @kazama-hime @queengurako

“Your move, Bug girl,” Tattletale said, reaching forward to put a hand on my shoulder.

Here we go!

I closed my eyes.  With a mental command, my bugs flooded into the room from the hallway behind us, flying and crawling over, under and around us to spread through the room.  I noted each person in the lobby as my bugs made contact with them, and left several bugs crawling on each individual.  I took five seconds to double check I’d gotten everyone, and belatedly remembered the two employees we had brought forward from the back offices.  A group of bugs returned from the darkness, brushing my skin on their way to make contact with the pair.

Handy, now you know where everyone is. I don’t know if Alec can sense the locations of people’s nervous systems, but if he can, I guess that leaves Bitch and her dogs as the only ones without that benefit (I’m assuming Tattle Knows where people are).

“Done,” I said.

Grue swept his arms forward, and the darkness parted.


I guess I was wrong about the prpose of those bugs! I guess they’re leverage, like, “try something funny and my bugs will mess you up”. Didn’t the story mention something like that at some point in the planning, actually?

literary-potato replied to your post “Grudges? Stalking and executing poor Broysk? Broysk was not only the…”

Yeahhh Quinn’s reaction to Broysc was definitely not rational. Or good. Or well-thought-out. Like, it WORKS, in terms of getting Broysc away from killling tons of people…but at what cost, man? Quinn CHANGES in that conversation. There’s something dark that happens there. Which is probably why the fact that his love confession IMMEDIATELY follows him murdering the shit out of Broysc weirds me out.

honestly considering that literally the very first thing he does in the game is threaten to shoot poor corporal jillins, and that he would by his own admission feel exactly 0 remorse in doing so, i think it’s fair to say that Quinn has something dark about him loooong before he hatches his ‘murdering my mentally ill former commander’ plan

Before Joker Game:

Me: *tries to go to sleep*


After Joker Game:

Me: *tries to go to sleep*

Brain: “As the embers of world war smoldered in autumn of 1937, the Imperial Army established a clandestine spy training agency. The histories, names and even ages of the elite men who pass its rigorous application process are all treated as top-secret information. They easily complete training exercises that push them to their physical and mental limits. Under the command of founder Lieutenant Colonel Yuuki, they operate worldwide within the shadows. And so a brand-new intelligence agency was created. It’s name is D-Agency.”
*hums intro to Reason Triangle*

Dusk Sieg – Unkindness

Dusk is a veteran huntress with an admirable mastery of her Semblance.

She forms her Aura into night-black raven familiars. Loyal, intelligent, and independent, they don’t need her mental commands to inform them who is friend or foe, and will attack or assist on their own, without concern for their facsimile lives. Indeed, they can explode to act as suicide bombers when beaks and talons aren’t enough.

Dusk can see through their eyes and speak with their tongues, and channel the power of the Dust in her hands through them to create hazardous elemental explosions at a safe distance from herself.

Dusk customarily summons only two life-sized familiars, which she affectionately calls Hugin and Munin, but in truth they are all indistinct and interchangeable. She could conjure up a swarm of familiars to assault her enemies, or manifest a giant raven large enough to carry her into the sky.

back to my Semblance index

Higher Place

I have no idea where this came from… @countryole wants more of it (I have no idea why)… Not making any promises as I can’t seem to get anything down lately… But there’s always the thought of more… I hope you enjoy…

He finds her seated on the bathroom floor; back pressed along the tub, her shoulder brushing the angle of the wall. Her eyes are locked and unfocused along the rise of her knees and her fingers are laced along her shins, thighs pressed to her chest as she rocks gently back and forth.

He says her name a third time since entering the safe house, and still she does not react to the sound of his voice or the call of her name.

He steps inside the tiny space, moves across her line of sight and watches her eyes chase his movements until he’s seated beside her shoulder along the lip of the tub.

“Hey, Jane, you okay?” He’s made sure to take the volume down a notch, makes sure when he reaches out to touch her, his hand is gentle and the pressure he exerts, nothing more than a whisper along her back just above his name.

She doesn’t answer or react to his question, simply leans her head against his upper thigh, her hair falling in waves across his denim clad lap. He doesn’t push her, he’s learned over time that pressure will accomplished nothing where she is concerned.

Instead, he runs his fingers through her hair, lets his nails graze her scalp with each stroke, knows from experience it will help relax and calm her.

The moments tick by and he wonders why there’s here. They haven’t been inside the safe house in weeks and the last few times have only been to bring what was left of her things to his place. She hasn’t slept here in months, he doesn’t plan on letting her to ever sleep here again, knows she wouldn’t want to anyway. He’s not afraid for them, whatever’s bothering her will be something they will take on together. They’re a team, he’s found himself believing they were born to be one lately.

He watches as her eyes flutter open and fall closed again; an epic battle to stay awake and runaway at the same time. He traces the shell of her ear with his forefinger before returning to the rhythmic stroking of her hair.

“Tell me.” He prompts her, tugging gently as he combs, “you know there’s nothing we can’t handle.”

She laughs at that, it’s watery, and slightly sad but he knows she believes it behind her fear. She stands then, lifting up off the floor and out of his reach. She turns for the small vanity, lifts a small white object off the sink and his heart stops in his chest.

When her eyes meet his they are scared and soft and shimmering with unshed tears. He has to fight the need to go to her, to protect her from her own despair, to push all her doubt aside and replace it with his own elation.

He stops himself and tries to focus on the fact that this is her own fear, her own worry, and they cannot be replaced with anyone’s happiness but her own. He knows fully well no matter how hard he tries, he cannot create that happiness for her. She must do it herself or not at all.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, eyes leaving his to trace the stick in her hands, “I didn’t even think it a possibility.”

“Have you seen a doctor?” He asks, at least he’s pretty sure he does, he can’t hear his own voice over the thunderous rushing of his blood in his ears, can barely form calm words with the poisonous joy pulsing in his veins.

She nods her head, sets the white stick back along the sink but leaves her trembling fingers lingering along its bright pink middle. He thinks it looks almost like a caress, but he can’t be sure if he’s only just projecting at this point.

She smiles then, it’s small and still so sad, but he can’t help but stand when he sees it, can’t help but ask her for clarity with his eyes. “I didn’t believe her when she told me. I went out and bought three different test, there was no way it could be true.” The tears come then, in a tidal wave of emotion she doesn’t understand and he’s devastated to find he can’t place. He pulls her in then, and she wraps her arms so tight around him he doesn’t know how she can possibly still breath.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers it again, against his shirt front as she lifts away and wipes her still streaming eyes. “I can’t believe I missed two cycles before I realized something was wrong.”

He pushes her back a step, takes her tear streaked face in both of his palms. He brushes at the tears as they continue to fall and waits for her to lift those blazing green eyes. “Don’t say you’re sorry” He tells her, his grip tightening on her face as he speaks, “You’re all right? She said you’re both okay?” He’s having a hard time keeping the happy panic from his voice, he’s finding it near impossible to keep from shaking her and demanding to know why she isn’t elated instead of terrified.

He mentally takes a step back, reminds himself it’s her body before anyone else’s. As the thoughts cross his mind he realizes that that may be the entire issue, the fact that her body hasn’t been hers since before she can remember and now she’s faced with the depth of that reality. She’s been a pawn for so long; a tool to utilize, a body of maps and images and inky truths, and now that she’s faced with a choice to make, it’s more life altering than any thing anyone could ever plan for. He also has to remind himself that it is her choice, that she is the only one who has any right to call any shot she chooses.

The reality freezes his heart in his chest, it backs up his lungs until he needs to completely focus his attention on inhaling and making sure he can exhale. When he can focus again, and breath without a mental command he takes in her glossy eyes and trembling mouth and knows he cannot add to her misery. No matter what her choice, it will be her choice, and he will live with it and continue to stand beside her. If she’s deserving of anything it’s the ability to make this decisions and know that no matter what she will be loved.

“I"m sorry,” he tells her softly, voice nothing but a whisper of understanding laced in love and acceptance. “I know you’re scared and probably feeling a whole lot of things that can’t be described or understood.” He reaches out and runs his hands down her arms, cups her elbows where the rest along her chest, “Whatever you want to do, Jane, I’m here, okay?”

He makes a point of touching her, just fingertips along the line of her crossed arms, “I’m not going anywhere, none of this changes anything between us.”

She swipes at her eyes again, and he’s thankful the tears have stopped, he feels the fist of fear in his chest loosen just a little. Her eyes focus on that pink plus beside them and this time he sees a little less fear, a little more of the strength he knows she’s built herself on.

“The doctor says we’re both fine,” She whispers after a moment, “I’m a little dehydrated, but that’s to be expected.” He watches her fiddle with their proof of life a moment more before she turns those heartbreakingly deep eyes on him. If he wasn’t already in love with her, he knows it’s moments like this, when she’s trying to win her own war of emotions, that he would fall all over again. To watch her mind battle her conscious and than lay siege on her heart, it’s the most open she ever is and it’s the most amazing he’s ever felt.

“I love you. No matter what.” The words rush out before he can think twice. The declaration is nothing new but he doesn’t want it to sound like a gesture of pressure or an opinion layered over her own conflicting thoughts.

She smiles then, it’s small and tight but he can’t help but smile back at the sight of it. She lifts up on her toes then, wraps both arms around his neck and pulls, doesn’t stop until she’s pressed her face into the hollow of his throat and breaths him in. He runs a hand up and down her back, small gentle circles that press a soothing calm across her jumping nerves. She listens to the not so steady beat of his heart, feels the heat of him pushing against her and when his threads his fingers though her hair, she knows everything will be okay.


AN: Part 8 to Winter’s Flame! Yay! Here is the action scene that you all have been asking me about! I’m not all that familiar with writing action scenes, so please, tell me what you think! *None of the gifs are mine, all found on google. Please ignore spelling errors! Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo :3

Pairing: Steve X Reader, Bucky X Reader

Part One ( XXXX )

Part Two ( XXXX )

Part Three ( XXXX )

Part Four ( XXXX )

Part Five ( XXXX )

Part Six ( XXXX )

Part Seven ( XXXX )

Warnings: Violence, serious burns


“Winter’s Flame” (Part 8 / ???)

~*~ 1962 ~*~


The world went still.

Keep reading

Alright it’s gonna be time for our next Voltron fight in a minute! Once again it’s been a few episodes since the last Voltron, so I’m really ready to go with this one!

Good god that thing just took out two moons. And the Paladins don’t have the time to get back into the castle to pull their other three Lions out. I mean by now they should just be able to make mental commands to the Lions and have them launch themselves but these people never bother honing their mystical bonds. Heroes taking for granted the ties that bind them to their superpowers, I tell you what.

Aww Thace, I have bad news for you. It’s almost capture time.

I pray for him to be able to BS the Druids by pretending he’s also hunting for the spy and this is him getting ahead of them, but no, he’s definitely doomed.

Bye buddy. You did good for the time you were alive.

      As much as it’s supposed to be a funny thing…like, a toy being so deluded that it doesn’t even realize it’s made of plastic…it’s really sad.

      Buzz has memories of the time he spent going through the academy, graduating and becoming a prolific Space Ranger, his friends and family. He had to come to terms with the fact that his entire personality and accomplishments were fictional. That’s not an easy revelation to recover from, and even if he’s able to move on the memories will still be there. There’s going to be people he never got to say goodbye to, and will probably never meet their toy counterparts.

      On the upside, he’s got years of mental experience with Star Command, even if he’s younger in physical years to most of the other toys. It’s understandably harder for Buzz to relate to their world, but aside from a major breakdown in the past…he has adjusted very well, considering the circumstances.