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spdrvyn · 2 months

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mr. spider and his journalist

you and miguel are rivals on the surface, but there's an irrevocable bond that exists between the two of you when you read between the lines.

injuries. implied wound patching. fluff. hurt/comfort. suggestive. happy valentines, folks!

The fast-paced and riveting action, joint with the simple adrenaline of describing an intense scene was what drew you to this job in the first place. Journaling wasn't easy, while you were no superhero, you were still somewhat putting your safety on the line to witness two adults in skin tight suits and superpowers throw hands at each other.

In spite of everything, you loved your job.

Your name had reached every single article that average Nueva York citizen could even think to get their hands on, your name befell the mouth of every employee in your building whether it was in praise or malice. You didn't care, all that mattered to you was that you were truly out there.

Although, your workplace wasn't the only area of your life where you were severely disliked. Even as you went out and about to record and detail on the spectacles and heroic gestures in this city, its top vigilante still glared at you with ire through his mask.

He was a spider, you were a pest.

Spider-Man had fought many impeccable foes over the years, battled by a villainous organization that was out for his blood in an almost literal sense. Not to mention that he was hurtling fate's delegated task of protecting a multiverse which each had a different version of this maddening, web-weaving hero.

It wasn't like he could bring himself to actually express his distaste towards you, but it was hard to mask his annoyance when you immediately came flocking to him with borderline intrusive questions about his life outside of his work.

After the precipice of disaster subsided once each fight had concluded, the snippiness of your tone as you wrung out questions brought the crowd of clamoring reporters to a halt.

Miguel had to swallow his intrigue time and time again, he'd tried to acknowledge a long time ago that surely you were just another journalist seeking out to actually making something of yourself. But your passion was the flint that sparked his curiosity about you, it was a weakness. He couldn't allow his poise to be wavered by someone like you.

Someone so eloquent and composed, someone so witty and humorous, letting himself get bested by you would be the biggest blow to his massive ego. It would be nightmarish to even approximate the possibility of Miguel having some sort of interest towards you.

You'd already come to your senses a long time ago.

It was silly, really. Obviously you'd discover these underlying feelings for him, why else would you practically be clinging to his side post-mission? Why else would you publish so many stories and reports about his daily miscreancy? A 5th grader could figure it out.

There was so much you knew, that you really shouldn't have. There were details about his life that have retained in your mind, but you didn't even know his full name.

"No further anomalies, Miguel. I'd suggest checking diagnostics though, anomaly activity in this dimension has been active as of late."

Miguel groans, running a hand across his face despite his mask. "Uh huh, right." He doesn't need anymore on his plate right now, for all he could care, you were probably hiding around in a little corner somewhere.

"So it's Miguel?"

Fuck, he really hated being right. And not having a spider sense, that too. "Ay, mierda!" He jolted, you bit on your lip to conceal your giggles. Seeing someone as big as Miguel get startled out of his mind was a little funny. "Do not keep that detail in your little article."

"What kind of person do you think I am, Miguel?" Ugh, he hated the way you say his name even more. "Tu secreto es mi secreto, no need to worry about it. But if I could get a last name too, that would be-"

"Alright, get away from me."

He still remembered the way you chased after him as he approached the edge of the battered rooftop, clutching at his forearm. You'd pester him for details, the most intricate ones, even when he knew that he could just zip right out of there, you always found a way to make him stay. Every single time.

The stirring way that you were always able to show up after nearly every mission he's had, your very presence emanating even when deep into the crowds of people surrounding the scene.

But you didn't show up this time.

Don't call for backup, he'd insisted. A stupid, moronic decision that was because now he was crawling his way, bloody and bruised, throughout a sopping wet alleyway that definitely wasn't only soaking with just the rainwater.

There was no crowd this time, there was no you to be found. He would have noticed a hundred miles away otherwise, his watch had damaged in the aftermath. Narrowly escaping by a hair, he growled frustratedly as the furious taps of his fingers against the small screen didn't register. His talons took the rear, scratching against the tiny panes of glass and only breaking it further.

At that point, there was no more reason to be angry. What's done is done, he fought his battle, he didn't lose, but he wouldn't consider this a win either.

The nano-fabric, originally designed to be as comfortable as can be for your regular vigilante activities, now felt like it clung uncomfortable to Miguel's skin. Sticky, grimy, and bloody. His chest heaved with the effort to just keep breathing, his large frame now so small as he slumped against the rough wall of the alley.

He wondered what you'd say right now, if he hadn't been caught in this blunder. You'd be asking him, what the anomaly looked like, if they were from a different era, their powers, how did he defeat them? So on and so forth, but your absence was more than enough of a bad omen for his failure.

The sound of your voice wasn't something he thought he'd miss, your annoying comments, your inquisitive glances, that sparkle in your eyes whenever he started talking. All those lovely details he'd lost to snide replies and swift conversation enders, he closed his eyes, it was childish to hold onto hope, but maybe thinking about what you'd say, what you'd do, would motivate him to get up. Get away.

Miguel, I honestly just don't know you do it, you would say with a sarcastic rise in your tone.

Say, how does your suit even work? I mean, I know it's nano-tech, but I'm no scientist of any sort. You'd ask, all while poking and prodding at the technology. A privilege he only allows you to have.

I don't know what to do with you, how am I supposed to help when this thing doesn't even have a damn zipper! The frustrated grind in your voice says it all.

Don't die on me, please. I'm sorry if I'm a thorn in your side, okay? I'll stop, just wake up! Wake up, please. You begged, a desperation sewn deeply with the way you grasped at his bandaged hand.

When did he get here?

His body still hurt like hell, trying to get his neck up straight was like having needles straight into the muscles. His eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he sees is your eyes. Puffy, swollen, and red from crying, your mouth stuck in a pout, quivering from the amount of sobs that you've let out. Your grip on his hand loosens upon his awakening, you can't hug him without risk of hurting him, so you simply lean in closer.

"You're alive," it's said a lot calmer than the hysterics you were spewing a while ago, a relieved smile gracing your features. "I- I didn't kill you, you're alive!"

The joy rushes into your voice, you're practically vibrating with happiness while trying to fight back the urge to swoop him in your arms. Miguel would, but for obvious reasons, he won't.

"Why would you have killed me?"

"I'm not a science person, how many times do I have to tell you?"

He doesn't bother quipping back, he hums, looking down over at the exposed parts of suits, pushing the blanket you set on him aside to discover that everything was cleaned and patched and stitchedto near perfection. "So you're not a nurse or a science person, but you can fix wounds like no other."

"This is a common book trope, considering how I'm closely tied to a superhero, I feel like being a fixer-upper is a requirement."

"Closely tied?" He says, unamused.

"We'll have to be now! I can't have you scare me like that, I won't ask you any questions for a month as long as I don't see you in any dark alleys all hurt looking." You harumph, you see him press a spot below his ear and all of a sudden-

His mask disengages, fabric disappearing seamlessly as his face is miraculously bestowed onto your gaze. Warm skin from the ambient lighting set to accomodate his hypersensitive senses. Curly and deep brown hair, all mussed from his scuffle. A set of dark crimson eyes that look a beautiful chestnut if you really look from a different angle, you forget to breathe.

"Thank you, but don't get too excited. Consider this a treat for taking care of me," he returns to that sense of stoicism, but your jaw is unfortunately still agape from how awe inspiring he truly is. Now, you'd have to imagine this face every time you even so much as wrote the word spider down.

"I, uh, yeah. Sure,"

This is the first instance he's ever had you so silent. You trekked around your flat for different foods you could feed him, brewing him too many cups of tea to count. You barely even made small talk, it was astounding to him.

He left soon after, the super healing abilities work bound to have started working more efficiently anyway. You bid your goodbyes to him, it was as if you still had the moment of shock written all over your face when he revealed his face to you.

The days that followed were odd, he didn't find himself in any sort of kerfuffle that involved him to be severely injured anymore, but when he noticed you in the crowd, you tended to shy away. You didn't even try to follow him afterward to pester him for details on the battle, there was something so off about it.

So Miguel decides to talk to you about it.

You were idly typing away, contained in a small office from the rest of the room. The chatter from your coworkers were your white noise along with the near silent clicks of your keyboard, the process has you so out of it that you don't pick up on the reflection of navy blue and bright red on your computer screen.

"You," grumbles Miguel and this time, you're started.

"Oh, shock. What are you doing here?" That boisterous confidence you always carried with you had gone mute, all Miguel saw was a drained creative and it made his blood boil.

"Why haven't you been," he doesn't want to say it. Don't make him say it. "Talking to me?"

You tilt your head to the side in confusion, quirking your brow up. Miguel disengages his mask again, you'll never get used to that. "I- what do you mean by that exactly?"

"You know, don't you normally- ask more questions? After I take care of business?" Miguel despises how needy he sounds right now. Please talk to me and keep annoying me, for I miss it so dearly.

"I thought you hated that," your voice drops in volume. "I just thought since the thing that happened that you'd want me to leave you alone for a while."

The absurdity of your statement had him reeling, the reason why he didn't die that night was because of your allergy to negligence, how the thought of even leaving him alone would make you sick to your stomach as you so described. Now, you were giving him distance?

"No," he walked even closer to you, cornering you against your desk and causing you to shrink in your small swivel chair. "You don't get it, do you?"

You shake your head hesitantly, it's too hard to focus. You've touched him before, but never has he actually initiated it. He was mere inches away from you, whether you should focus on not looking like a freshly plucked tomato or his handsome face was between you and God.

He lets out an irritated chuckle, the gleam of his canines prominent from the light of the monitor behind you. "Has it ever struck you in that head of yours that I like talking to you?" He places a hand on one of your arm rests. "That I enjoy your sass, your passion?"

There's that funny feeling again, that feeling from when he revealed himself to you. Discovering such a big revelation from Miguel, something you've dreamed of nearly every night, but now that it's in the palm of your hand, you can't bring yourself to think properly.

"But I– I thought that–"

"It's a yes or no question, hermosa. Answer it."

"No."

The back of your chair hits the wood of your desk as Miguel pushes you, he dwarfs your suroundings, his presence much larger now that both of you are in a place so confined. Now that he wasn't "couchridden". At this proximity, you wouldn't be surprised if he could hear your heartbeat.

"Think again," his other hand moves to tug on your bottom lip as he clashes his own against yours, your whole body tenses and for a split second, he thinks he's seriously messed up this time, until you groan into his mouth and that thought is straight out the window.

Your hands map out his body, from the broad shoulders, tracing the muscle connecting them to his neck, then to the soft hair that you've been dying to touch ever since you've laid your eyes upon it. Your fingers ultimately find home in the curls at the ends.

It's almost filthy. His other hand now trailing down to your neck, wrapping deft fingers around your throat and it causes you to arch your back into him.

He uses his grip on you as leverage to separate, left panting and with a memory to use for later.

"We should get dinner sometime,"

"When are you free?"

"Friday. 7PM."

"Okay," and you lean in to kiss him again.

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #x reader #x you #x y/n #fluff #hurt/comfort #miguel o'hara fluff #suggestive

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skitskatdacat63 · 11 days

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catie let’s discuss vettonso headcanons what are ur favs

*sends you to my vettonso tag* shsjkdkf kidding kidding, but wah this is so weirdly hard to answer despite the fact that I think about them literally every day of my life, ig they're just kinda intrinsic to me 😭 but I'll try my best!

I think Fernando really resented Seb for a while, especially during the championship fight years, and originally was very unhappy when Seb then went on to take his Ferrari seat away from him too. But then while he was gone from f1, he kept track of f1 still and realized Seb was going through the same ferrari bs and pain and failure to realize your childhood dream that he himself went through, and he then softened on Seb.

I find them literally to be the same person(but their narratives are offset.) And I think that's a big reason why they never really became friends, they're *too* similar to the point where it annoys each other too much fhfkkff Especially bcs theyre always ahead of one another in the narrative(fernando won his wdc before, fernando is in ferrari before Seb, seb is in Aston before Fernando, etc.) It's just weird to kinda witness someone that's so similar to you, but at a past stage in your life.

They would be the best and most annoying teammates ever. I think they'd both just constantly try to out-compete each other, and maybe it would be toxic back in the day and make the team fall apart like 2007 mclaren or martian rbr, but if it happened at Aston, I think it would actually make the team stronger and the car better. Like fighting for "who can give the best feedback" "who can do the most sim time" etc etc, I think it'd be really sweet 🥹🥹 I just imagine them making post-race debriefs last like 5 hours, except everyone else snuck out of the room at the hour mark, and they've just been debating abt the telemetry at each other, cause they only have eyes for each other <3

^ but yeah seriously think they have the type of competition that could bring each other together, not drive each other apart. Especially at their softened old man age. I guess I think, being forced into such close quarters with each other, they'd be able to realize how similar they are. Bcs otherwise it's just too easy for them to avoid each other. I mean I think a lot about the japan 2023 pics, them talking over the car that was practically the product of their joint effort, and that makes me so emotional 🤧

They absolutely love irritating each other, irs like a sport. I like to think though that Seb kept doing it soooo much pre-Fernando first retirement, and Fernando was always like 😐 just sooooo done with it, and often unwilling to fully play along. I love how seemingly Seb is one of the only ones who can kinda make his mask break, and have him show full annoyance. Like think about the "you must leave the space" clip, Fernando is sooooo annoyed, its just so funny. But yeah I love how Seb kinda forces Fernando in a way most others don't, if that makes sense? And then he comes back, rejuvenated, different mindset, and is suddenly willing to play along??? And now Seb is the tired one :( but Fernando has realized all he was blocking out before, and is willing to engage :,) BUT YEAH! see again, think about the fact that Seb literally paid a fee to not listen to Fernando talk. Mutually they are the only ones that annoy the other so much that they crack to that point, and I love it seemingly swapped over time. They're just such equals in that way.

Here's the interesting thing, I find them to be mirrors, right? I think like if they met each other when each were at the same place in their career(i.e. ferrari Fernando with ferrari seb, renault wdc fernando with rbr wdc seb), I think they'd have a better chance of getting along. Cause they understand where the other is at deeply, but the way it is in real life makes it so they're at different points and suddenly are at odds with each other. Ig that's why I wish we got them as teammates at Aston! It was pretty cute with alpine fernando x aston seb, but ah man if only we got the actual "conclusion", I would have loved to see what they'd be like when genuinely in the same parts of their career together. I think a lot about timeswap AUs I guess. Like both of them at ferrari being able to commiserate together, their wdc selves bragging about how many races they won(until they find out who the other had to beat to become wdc, and then they choke each other out.)

Me: ill try!!!

Also me: six paragraphs

Though I think if you asked me abt one of my AUs, I could come up with more than just daydreaming about their dynamic sjfkkg. Hope this was what you were asking for???? Also lmk, what are your favs!!!

#catie.asks.#vettonso

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cray-cray-anime · 1 year

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David analysis - his parents and Cameron

It's already been implied how david sees Cameron as a father figure and in the truth serum episode said

"He's like the father I never had"

So there's some implications his actual dad is estranged or abandoned him.

So clearly latched onto the first validation by an adult Cameron. Which has made him look the other way on Cameron's shady businesses.

So perhaps even he was estranged to his mum. I mean he was so happy about just getting a badge. Maybe why his parents won't show up in the show.

While not sure how truly censored those stories are, david really did seem like he hated everything at camp as a kid like max. But unlike max, he was quick to get attached which shows how starved he really was for positive reinforcement. And Cameron easily manipulated david to continue to believe Cameron as a "positive role model".

Max is definitely neglected, however he's more jaded in that he avoids getting attached as he thinks he'll get screwed over it for it thus try to remain distant and disinterested.

Given both jasper and David's account, either the bear story was a true flashback (and david wasn't too "bad" a kid) or david is aware of Cameron doing shady things (killing the bears, almost kill him, was gonna leave david stranded), but chooses to ignore it to "try to see the positive things" in Cameron. Though I'm leaning on the former given I don't think david would know Cameron was gonna kill him ir strand him (though it be funny lil david swore like that).

If it's the latter, it could be some messed up implications of david being used to people like Cameron who does shitty things but doesn't seem so bad or could be overlooked with all the "good" things they do.

And yet in the end, david still wants him to be better person and willing to do so even if through questionable methods. I think even if a part of him hates or doesn't forgive Cameron, that another can't just let go.

Like it's understandable when we put a lot of effort, time and feelings for someone it's hard to just undo it all. Some part of david still latches onto Cameron to be good, to be like how he always thought of him as. To just have a chance for someone that hurt him actually feel sorry for what they did and try to change for the better. To get some positive relationship with the person he clearly held so dearly.

Especially when that person is a replacement of the parental relationship he never had before.

But I think what really messed up is jasper. We now know canon, jasper died in a mining accident yet how much does david and Cameron know?

Since it didn't take long from david leaving jasper and jasper dying, the explosion must've been heard. So what kept david going to Cameron and did Cameron even bother to find jasper or he did and tries to cover it. He did say

"Aw, we lost another one" -s2 finale

"Ye what did you-" s3 e7 when max talked about the kid that died

David could very well been too scared to go back or try to ignore the strange happening. But given how he acted in dial M for jasper, he likely repressing what happened and while he could've been trying to cover up to the kids jasper died, he mentions both "childhood version of your friend" and was ready to go to spooky island which could mean spooky island itself isn't triggering.

And whichever Cameron did, he most likely told david jasper left early and again david latches onto it because the other possibility of what happened is just too much for his child brain and the fact its still covered up shows that noone else knew and so noone could really help him.

And the fact jasper met david at summer camp meant david wouldn't have even really had a chance to contact jasper parents who would have to know their child missing.

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princesseevee06 · 8 months

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heyheyhey!! 'Your Turn Ryoko' is very yummy and i love your brainrotting and art so much T_T its really cool to see the yttd cast in different roles! i am oh so very invested hehsjfhsj

noww, i was wondering what Maple and Midori's dynamic/relationship is like in your au? 👀

(i ask this because i was thinking to myself how funny it'd be if Maple was still Out To Murder™ Midori at the beginning of their relationship [or something akin to that,] and if Midori was still Terrified™ of her even as a human HAHA though its unlikely ^^")

also, if Sou and Shin are taking the roles of Shin and Kanna respectively.. what does that mean for the main game of chapter 2.... o.o

but yeah, dont feel pressured to answer anything if its too spoilery or just straight up wrong haha!! i love your au and i look forward to seeing more :D

hello bread!!! (is it,, okay if i call you that??? i dont really know what else to 😭) thank you for continually being so kind and supportive about my au and art in general ;-; i am glad someone enjoys my silly ramblings. i also think your art is super duper cool!!!

okok for the maple and sou question: so because maple wanting to kill him was kind of part of her programming as an obstructor, that wouldn’t really apply here, but that idea is still SO funny to me?? i’ll def have to doodle that at some point lmaooo

their dynamic here is actually really polite! i see them as being good buddies :) maple is one of the participants who’s closer to sou, because she very much wants to work together with the others and see the good in everyone. it’s very much like. “awwww what a nice guy!” and then the guy in question is plotting murder ahsjkskdks

just as an example:

although, i still can def see sou being a little bit scared of her, because maple very much can be scary when she wants to. she’s very opposed to the ideas that the death game perpetuates, what with suspecting and betraying one another, and so while most of her ire is directed towards the floormasters, she can also get pretty pissed when the actual participants try to trick each other. so…yeah, sou tries to stay on her good side and be a nice boy. but he also does genuinely think she’s neat!

for the shin and sou question: i wasn’t actually going to talk about the second main game for at least a little while, but im horrible at keeping secrets anyways and talking about this excites me, so why the hell not!!

so, while over time i’ve leaned less into the idea of a character’s “role” determining the actions they take (e.g. just because shin takes kanna’s role doesn’t mean he acts like kanna), the one thing i have stuck to is that when one character takes another’s role, they will always die at the same point in the story. i wanted to also incorporate ‘branching paths’ for ytr as well, because it’s one of the things that really sticks out to me about yttd!

…so yeah the second main game vote is either between voting for shin or sou (or technically ranmaru, but then everyone else would die). it’s vv tragic to me, because i love both of them </3 but i do what i must for angst.

i’m definitely going to give the main games their own posts (and almost 100% some art as well) in the future, but if you’ll allow me to get a bit rambly about shin and sou’s dynamic here and how it affects the main game, ehehe… ^_^

sou and shin at the beginning of the death game very much start out with ulterior motives. yes, they are friends, but they also gain something out of allying with each other: someone who they can rely on/who can vouch for them, which improves their chances of surviving. so they act all buddy-buddy, but there’s definitely tinges of manipulation going on from both sides (and while they realize exactly what’s happening they still acknowledge that this “trade-off” (both literally and metaphorically lol) is a good deal for both of them)

but throughout the death game they end up getting a lot more comfortable/vulnerable with each other, and soon enough they realize they really care about each other (really, they have the whole time). and this obviously complicates things because them wanting to protect each other throws a wrench in the whole “every-man-for-himself” ideology they’ve been preaching.

so, kind of like kanna, sou tries to get the sacrifice card during the second main game trading phase, but he does it with the intention of having him and shin escape together. …he does not actually get the card because the cards get swapped by gashu (there’s different reasoning for why they’re swapped this time but i’ll get into that in another post as well probably). hence, pain.

i envision the end of the 2nd main game being almost a screaming match between the two as they desperately try to convince everyone else to “vote for me so he can live!” (sort of like the shin and kanna vote but even angrier) (because kanna is a sweetheart and sou is Not) (it’s horribly ironic as i’d consider shin and sou the two characters with the strongest survival instinct in this cast, yet they are both driven to self-sacrifice here)

okok uhhhh sorry for the long tangent as you can see i’m evidently insane about these two’s dynamic in this au! ANYWAYS this vote is a lot different from the shin & kanna one because no matter who ryoko votes for as the tiebreaker, the one who survives will be PISSED. and by god they try everything to make her life a living nightmare in chapter 3 (because. being ryoko is suffering)

…i apologize so much this is probably incoherent because at the time of writing this it was past 1AM. but regardless thank you so much for the ask and your continuous support, and expect more content soon!!! :DD

#princesseevee answers #yttd #your turn ryoko #yttd maple #sou hiyori #yttd midori #shin tsukimi #my art

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goddamnwebcomics · 2 years

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I’ve tried to share this piece of information for some time, but given the website I was on previously wants to be a dick with their spam filters, I saw no other choice but to come here.

Did anyone ever tell you about the time the Peter and Company author last year passive aggressively announced that he was gonna stop doing adult art and self-insert porn just to take a swipe at some nobody who wouldn’t stop bugging him for more? Then vowed to keep drawing his wife’s boobs in that same sentence, even though he just said he didn’t want to be known as an adult artist? It was a journal on FurAffinity called “Whit n’ Wild: Cancelled (And no more adult art)”

Seriously…he got that triggered over one guy…and he low-key wanted to leak the guy’s full name; I mean, read what he wrote:

“I actually already know this individual’s real name and email address (because he also signed up for my Patreon using them), but will not be sharing them publicly or calling him out for his behavior. Rather, he can simply take comfort in knowing that he’s one of the reasons why y'all can’t have nice things. The damage is done, and I’m washing my hands of this whole mess and moving on.”

I mean look at the way he wrote that! I’ll never get over what disingenuous prick he was being when he wrote that, acting like he’s so above it all while bashing this guy. He's practically dangling this guy’s identity to invoke fear of doxing, which is really shitty, and then claims he won’t be sharing them publicly; in other words, he’s probably sharing them with other people within his circle loyal to him behind the scenes. Why else would he bring that up??? And so what if the dude Jon mentioned was a piece of work? That’s not an excuse. Jon’s no angel and I think everyone around here knows that…also, I think it’s funny that he thinks self-insert porn of himself and his wife (who aren’t really all that pleasant past the surface from what I’ve been hearing from here) is “nice things”… He pretty much created a rabid hatedom against the guy in the comment section, that eventually died out…but it seems to be a habit of his I’ve noticed, with Chelsea being the first I guess…This is a sick thing for him to even do and a new low even for him; It’s sickening that his fandom is seemingly so one-sided as well. As soon as that journal was posted, they began directing their hatred and ire at this guy, with the literal first comment being “Well damn. I hate that guy now.”; all because he decided to stop drawing self-insert porn…it disgusts me with just how petulant and petty some of his fandom members can be; not a single person on that comment section bothered to say or think “Hmmm, don’t you think that’s its unnecessary to dangle that over the guy?”.

Jon has to be a special kind of too far gone to not realize just how stupid and self-contradicting he sounds to people outside his clique. Is it just a Ponikvar tradition to create spontaneous hatedoms around people they don’t like? He had to have known what kind of response he was creating. The only good thing is that this time, Jon left that person anonymous, so they would only have to read about how much people hated them.

If he wants be a weirdo, fine, but to be an disingenuous asshole of that variety…Two wrongs make a right with that fandom it seems, but only one of them gets called on it.

Man, that is absolutely unfortunate to hear, although someone briefly went over this similar story in my DM’s. It’s completely ridiculous.

#not exactly safe for work #problem with ponikvars

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comingyourlugubriousness · 2 years

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Treasure, Softly, Laughter and/or X Marks the Free Spot, ir you wanna?

Treasure. What is something they like/love? What a complex question. Does this mean, physical objects, hobbies, ideas, there are plenty of things that someone can love that can't be seen? That's a big net of things. (Ignore me being needless analytical)

Hmm, even though Yume thinks Crowely is a kook, I think they really REALLY appreciate the fact that he gave them the ghost camera. At the beginning it kind of gave them purpose and something to do in this world they know nothing about. In a way I think it kickstarted their desire to learn more about the other students and the history of NRC and TwistedWonderland. Which later fuels their motivation to privately research their own way to get their brothers home and find out why they're here.

To them I Think the Ghost Camera is the key item that help kick start their journey.

Laughter. What is their sense of humor, or lack thereof? (Bonus: What does their laugh sound like?)

Yume's sense of humor is all over the place. Their quick witted and fast to turn a phrase and they tend to make jokes even in somewhat serious situations. They can sometimes have a very dark sense of humor and when having a rough time they turn to gallows humor or a self-deprecating joke. (They learn overtime that there is a time and a place bc it can actually make people uncomfortable.)

They have so many inside jokes with each of their friends, especially their brothers. I imagine that once the first year gang catches wind of an inside joke of the Ramshackle bros, it just spreads through the group like a plague.

(One in particular that me and Bun laugh about is kinda of like the meme "Phrasing" but instead we say "Pause". We write a lot and when you do, certain phrases that sound innocent can also sound sus. That's when you add "pause at the end" Example: Yuuhi: Vil got on my case when I told him that all I ate was meat. Yume and Yuuta: Pause. It's extra funny to me when the person just continues talking like nothing happened lol. Also I imagine Jack get embarassed over the pause joke all the time.)

They are also a memelord. They make memes in canon and share them with all their friends, especially Idia and Cater.

Their laugh can vary from, snorts, to giggles, to cackles and wheezes. It depends on how funny they find a joke. If something is really funny they can be laughing for minutes! Until their sides hurt!

X Marks the Free Spot. ---->True Name. What is their name's meaning, origin, etc?

Originally I just called all the Yus, Yu, Yuu, and Yuuu. Respectfully to tell them apart, and eventually we went and searched for full names. Me and @bunnwich talk about how they don't remember their actual names and everyone just started calling them "you" bc they didn't have names. So they just took on the name and made it their own. Eventually choosing their full names themselves.

Yume has lots of different meanings depending on how its written. The different variations are: "dream", "try", "sprout"

Ume has a couple different meanings too! "plum", "love", "help someone".

So to me, (though I could be wrong bc Japanese is not my native language) variations of their name can mean phrases such as:

Plum Sprout

Dream

Try to love

Try to help someone

Help someone love

Honestly I chose Yume Ume bc the name sounded funny! And bc Yume meant "dream" (for their visions) and Ume meant "plum" it made me think of the purple in their hair!

But if you write them together I think it actual means “Delicious Dream". Which is funny bc I didn't realize it.

But I guess their name just really means "Dream Plum" to me.

TL:DR: Ghost Camera, its fucked up, Dream Plum

#yume ume #ask #thanks for the ask! <3 #im workin on the writng!#yuusona #twst oc #twisted wonderland #twsted oc #disney twisted wonderland #yuuta is yume's brother!#yuuhi is yumes other brother!#twst mc #yume lore

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leaderpinhead · 6 months

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Camryn (OC) - A Fox, A Snake, and A Cap'n

Side Note: This scene takes place before the Twisted Wonderland story officially begins, meaning the second years (like Riddle and my OCs) would be in their first year.

“I’m not one to usually complain,” Camryn stated with a sigh, “but when you said you had a gig I’d be interested in, I was honestly expecting something a bit more…profitable.”

“Is this not up to your standards?” Caha asked. Camryn’s ears twitched at the hissing undertone he caught in Caha’s laugh. “I imagined you would be absolutely thrilled by such an easy task.”

“It’s not that I’m against an easy job,” Camryn argued. He leaned his shoulders against a pillar in the shade of the breezeway, careful not to uncomfortably squish his tail. “You gotta admit this is pretty boring though. I actually pity the guy who thinks he can jumpstart his career by being a background extra.”

Caha hummed but didn’t say anything to the contrary. Across the courtyard, Vil directed a few members of his club into the positions he wanted. Camryn hadn’t paid much attention to the short film’s synopsis, but he assumed it was something dramatic from the way one guy kept swooning.

He turned to James, who stood stiffly beside him watching the club members play out their scene. “What say you, Cap’n? You as bored as I am?”

James’s eyes narrowed when the Pomefiore student fell into another dramatic swoon that had Vil shaking his head. “I don’t understand what any of this has to do with a modern retelling of an infamous pirate crew.”

“Perhaps they are the infamous data pirates we were all warned about during the technology boom three decades ago,” Caha said. “I heard there was quite a profit to be made pilfering information from our grandparents’ calculators.”

Camryn snorted when he saw the tiny smile Caha tried to hide. James outright scowled at the snake beastman. “If that’s your idea of a pirate, then you lived a horrendously sheltered life.”

Camryn whistled low enough not to catch Vil’s ire. “That’s a big word coming from you. You been catching up on your reading with Riddle as your housewarden?”

James’s face turned red in record time, which Camryn knew it would. Heartslabyul’s freshman housewarden was a sore topic for James. “My vocabulary has nothing to do with Rosehearts!”

“Cam has a point though,” Caha egged on. He rubbed the corner of his mouth with his knuckles to hide his stretching grin. “You’re a very one to two syllable type of guy. I almost thought you were mute until I saw you passionately debate Trein on the historical evidence for the existence of the Eloquent Captain.”

“He was real!” James argued. His voice slightly cracked with its rising volume. Camryn fully leaned back against the pillar, his tail swishing around his ankles. “There’s plenty of evidence proving the sea the Eloquent Captain sailed is the north-eastern part of the Coral Sea. There are even oral stories started by the mermaids who had once encountered him and his crew!”

Camryn gave the impression of an aimless shrug. “Yet you’ve even got the campus’s biggest history buff shooting down your so-called evidence. None of it’s been proven, bub. That’s why it’s considered a legend.”

“It’s a legend because no one wants to believe it!” Caha and Camryn shot each other a grin while James flailed his hands to make his point. “Because if they did, then they’d have to admit to the existence of the wild tribe of boys led by an never-aging fae child, who frequently kidnapped the local children when he had to get rid of the ones who grew old enough to question his leadership. The Eloquent Captain was constantly attempting to save those children from that cruel fate!”

Caha bit down on the corner of his mouth. “But James, even you’ve admitted to the one fact that disproves your own argument.”

“What?”

Camryn really did try not to chuckle, but James was a funny fellow when he got riled up. “You’re always opening the story with them living on a star, Cap’n.”

James froze. His expression of sheer disbelief broke Caha’s careful restraint, and a small laugh slipped from him. Camryn’s ears twitched in the direction of the Film Research Club, who had called cut to discuss the boy’s ineffective swooning.

James’s face exploded into an interesting shade of burgundy. He flung his arms into the air. “They lived in a star-shaped cove! The one that was discovered in the archipelago off the coast of the Queendom of Roses.”

“Yeah,” Camryn said. His cheeks were starting to feel the strain of his wide grin. “A cove no one can conveniently get to now because of a cluster of deadly whirlpools.”

“How convenient,” Caha agreed. “A land they can never reach. Like a star.”

“Which star was it again?” Camryn pointed at the blue sky. “The first or the second one?”

“I’m about to punch you both if you don’t shut up!”

“You three!” It took Vil appearing beside Caha for the three of them to realize he was speaking to them. Vil’s face was set in a stern frown. “I asked for three unobtrusive extras for my background. You are gaining more attention than my swooning lead. If you do not quiet down, you will have to leave.”

James thrust a finger in Vil’s direction, crooking his finger into a hook shape. “Your modern take on pirates sucks. I hope your film crashes and burns. And find a better swooner! My four-year old brother is a better actor!”

Camryn cackled in the wake of James angrily stomping away from them while Caha could barely apologize to a stunned Vil through his hissing giggles.

#twisted wonderland #twstober #original character #worldbuilding #twst kaa #twst captain hook #twst honest john #not the official one though #because i thought i was being unique making my own twisted version of him a year ago #and then they released the new halloween event :')#but it's okay because he's kinda based on multiple foxes now XD

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

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Interest II

Characters: Kaeya, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,020

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Sometimes emotions can be confusing. In those times it can be easier to shut down. After all, wouldn’t finding the truth out be scarier?

In which the reader assumes their character is disinterested, and pulls away.

Author’s Note: I wrote a lot tonight! It was nice to write for multiple characters again, made me feel like the good old days, or something.

Hope I’m finally getting back on schedule and hope you enjoy!

Kaeya

If Kaeya flirted with you, he also flirted with all of Mondstadt; or so you kept telling yourself.

You liked the cavalry captain, you liked him a lot. It was easy to like him, as easy as breathing air. The thickets of romance, the awkward looks, the stilted conversations, the dying words. None of those things existed in Kaeya.

If there were roses there were thorns too, and though you tried to convince yourself that this emotion, this easiness was something good, there was a part of you that fought back at the idea. The reason things were so easy with Kaeya was because of one simple reason. He didn’t like you. Or not the way you liked him. Kaeya flirted with all of Mondstadt after all, and you were merely one library assistant in the middle of an entire country. Your existence wasn’t one for the history books. Not compared to the man that you’d managed to fall hopelessly in love with anyways.

At first you tried to ignore those voices, that cynical side of yourself that existed only, it seemed, to make you unhappy. You weren’t necessarily an optimist by nature, but you were a bit of a hopeless romantic, and flirting or not you at least hoped to get your point across. Delivering Kaeya’s library requests first, always going up to him at lunchtime to talk, even giving him a special gift for the Windbloom festival. You really did try, you didn’t think that the opposite could be argued. Still things continued on as relatively normal however, Kaeya’s flirting never seeming to grow particularly towards you. Eventually it became harder and harder to avoid the voice in your head sneering you were wasting your time. Or maybe you were just tired.

Either way the answer seemed to be obvious. You knew when the answer was to count your losses and move on, and surely this was one of those times. Kaeya wasn’t going to see you as a partner, he just wasn’t. That didn’t mean he wasn’t kind, or that your conversations with him weren’t lovely, or even that you weren’t still in love with him. Still, wasn’t it time to move on to kinder winds? You wanted a clean break, wanted an end to your painful waiting; didn’t want to experience that clench in your heart when you watched Kaeya flirting with someone else as the point just drove further and further home. You wanted reprieve, and the only way to do that was to admit the obvious. This wasn’t going to happen.

So you gave up, or did your best attempt at giving up. You still spoke to Kaeya, the gods knew you probably couldn’t stand not speaking to him. You still tried to keep as light as before, tried to retain the dynamic, for something was better than nothing. Yet your days of simply chasing after him were over, and as you settled into you schedule of new normalcy you found, though things weren’t necessarily easier, at least they seemed simpler. Besides, how much had really changed? Kaeya most likely didn’t notice.

“Kaeya, the manuscript you requested on Liyue trade history came in yesterday. There were also a few other things that came in, though Lisa told me they’re classified.”

“Oh Lisa, always a stickler for rules. Would you like to know what I requested?”

“Like you would actually tell me,” you snorted. “No, I’m fine. It’s none of my business.”

“Aw,” Kaeya pouted slightly, crossing his arms in front of him. He seemed to be doing that more often these days, though maybe you were simply imagining it. “Where’s your sense of adventure darling? You seemed to have lost it somewhere.”

“I’m just following rules,” you pointed out.

Something had shifted about the conversation at some point, and you were suddenly feeling an undercurrent that hadn’t been there before. Finding it uncomfortable you quickly removed the space between you and Kaeya, reaching out to place the brown paper wrapped books into his hands. Taking them Kaeya lifted an eyebrow. Turning around he went to put them on his desk.

The momentary reprieve in atmosphere you felt quickly died, as before you had time to turn around the cavalry captain was back, this time leaning closely towards you.

“What is it?” You asked. This was certainly Kaeya behavior, but it still startled you nonetheless.

“You’re acting funny.”

“What? I’m acting completely normal.”

“If you say so.”

But the tone conveyed that Kaeya didn’t agree one bit. A smirk painting his lips he turned around, though something bitter seemed to flash behind his eyes, and for a moment you wondered if he had somehow caught on to the secret you’d been hoping to keep to yourself.

After that things seemed to continue on as normal for a few weeks. If Kaeya’s books were secretly transgressive, they certainly weren’t doing anything actively, and life as an assistant librarian to the Knights of Favonius retained its languid, unhurried pace. Still a part of you had never forgotten about that weird snippet of conversation, one which was doing a surprisingly good job at eating away at you.

You were almost relieved when Kaeya brought the matter up again.

“Is something wrong darling?”

“You asked me that two weeks ago Kaeya.”

“Really? It’s been that long? I must be neglecting my duties,” he let out a careless sort of laugh, before his eyes steadied. “I was hoping that this time I might get a more honest answer.”

“So you think I’m lying to you when I’m saying nothing’s wrong?”

“Yes.”

“But I’m not! How could I be lying to both you and myself.”

“I find that doing such a thing is a surprisingly easy task. Nevertheless, even if you aren’t lying, there is something wrong.”

“And what would that thing be, Mr. Expert?” For some reason this conversation was aggravating you. Maybe because you couldn’t decide whether or not he was right.

“I don’t know, I was hoping you could tell me. I can’t say sorry for something I’m not aware of, I don’t know what I did. You do though. So the sooner you tell me what’s wrong the sooner things can go back to normal.”

“What do you mean by normal Kaeya? If anything this is more normal. Not that things have changed that much. I’m sorry I don’t deliver your books first, if that’s what you’re complaining about. But frankly, I don’t see what you’re so upset about? You’ve got plenty of other friends, so why are you complaining to me?”

Maybe it wasn’t your best use of logic, but your ability to circle around the focus of the conversation, the unspoken emotions that still burned through you, was somewhat lacking.

“This is not normal. I’m not talking about library books, I’m talking about friends. Or maybe avoidance. You’ve been avoiding me lately, even if you aren’t doing it completely. It wounds me, you know. My dearest companion, what did I do to earn their ire?”

“You did nothing.”

“That’s obviously a lie.”

“It’s not.”

“It is,” Kaeya voice was clipped, matching your same tone. Even now he was shifting himself to better fit the atmosphere in the room, something you normally valued so deeply.

“It’s not. It’s really not! That’s the problem Kaeya, don’t you see?” Tears that had threated the corners of your eyes were now burning across your vision, as your emotions finally broke through the paltry excuse for a dam you’d been building. “You’ve done nothing, you’ve never done anything. You’re always nice, and flirty, and a bit shameless. And that’s fine! It’s not your fault that you don’t feel like I feel for you. I don’t want to make you feel guilty. You flirt with everyone, and that’s fine. I don’t care! I really don’t. I don’t want to burden you. Still, can’t you just let me feel upset by it? Can’t you just let me give up? Do you know how painful it is not to give up? Why won’t you let me at least do that, but no! Instead you come in here talking about how everything’s different, as if I’ve offended you, or as if you worry would change anything. Of course it won’t! And it shouldn’t! But damn it Kaeya, I just want to be upset!”

By this time Kaeya had closed the space between you two, wrapping his arms around you and running soft, slightly cool, fingers through your hair. You nestled into him, despite yourself. You were so tired and so angry, and right now it didn’t really seem to matter who you cried on as long as you were crying on someone. Letting yourself be carried away by your emotions you let your ragged breathing unleash itself inside the walls of Kaeya’s office.

Eventually you calmed down. Though you expected Kaeya to step away when your breathing evened out, instead he remained there, continuing to run comforting fingers though you hair, his other hand gently cradling your shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that was the reason.” It was simple, direct. Undeniably Kaeya.

“What else would be the reason,” you grumbled.

“I don’t know. It’s why I asked. Thank you for answering me.”

“You forced me into it.” There was no true venom behind your words. You were sure Kaeya knew that.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“No.”

“Not yet?”

You shook your head. “Not yet.”

“That’s alright. Now’s not the best time anyways, since I ought to look my best. Not that I don’t look amazing already, but I should dress up for an occasion such as that. Still, I hope that eventually you’ll allow yourself to live in a way that doesn’t make you unhappy. Sometimes we can’t do that. This time you can.”

“Maybe.”

“Good. I’ll be waiting for you darling, and you know how impatient I am.”

“What if you have to wait for a long time?” You were feeling quite contrary.

“Then I’ll wait. After all, I’ll have quite the reward for my patience.”

You smiled into Kaeya. Despite yourself, you knew it wouldn’t be that long.

Xiao

With Xiao, the question was always boundaries. How far is too far? How far is not far enough? It was an endless maze, even if it was a maze you would gladly continue to explore, sure that the light at the end must lead to something truly beautiful. Still, you didn’t exactly need your emotions to come in and complicate something already so difficult to navigate.

At first you tired to ignore, to take a page from the book the yaksha you’d so hopelessly fallen for had written. Yet if was much harder than it ought to be, for loving Xiao seemed to come as naturally as breathing, and no amount of looking for faults seemed to be doing much to change that. After all, everyone has faults, and nothing could change the innate goodness you saw in Xiao, the wonder and light that he carried with him, despite his millennia of hardships.

At first you thought to tell him, to cross that border, find that boundary and test it with all the patience it had taken to test and cross those other boundaries.

“Xiao?”

“Mmm.”

“I, I have something to tell you.”

“What?”

“I, I made you some Almond Tofu!”

Xiao let his eyes widen with characteristic surprise, before leaping down nimbly from his perch to take the dish you brought out from behind your back. You watched as he ate it happily, warmth running through your veins. Nevertheless a part of you cried in frustration, perhaps even pain, for you knew you had failed to do what you had set out to do.

It wasn’t simply that you feared losing Xiao’s friendship, feared losing his respect. It was the boundaries, those invisible lines you were so careful not to step over. Xiao needed those boundaries, you knew he did. Though he had told you very little about his past, what he had told was horrific, and you hardly doubted that Xiao’s survival, his failure to spin into madness, was because of those walls he’d carefully constructed around himself. You wanted him to shed those walls yes, to slowly emerge from the darkness which he held around himself. But you weren’t ready to push him to do so, or not very much at least. It wasn’t truly in your nature to do so anyways.

So you expressed your feelings as best you could, with tofu and flowers and all the kindness you had to offer. When you weren’t working, spending your time sewing for a high-end Liyue shop, you were with Xiao. A part of you assumed that it would be enough, that if you gave Xiao enough of your time and enough of your attention the barriers would magically break down. One day you’d wake up and they’d be gone and you’d be happy, having never pushed things too far.

As nothing truly seemed to change however you grew slowly discouraged. You weren’t really aware of your flagging hopes, not really. It was more that you were busy, you were so busy. Besides, Xiao hadn’t expressed much sadness over losing your company. Perhaps he was secretly relieved, perhaps you had pushed too far at some point and he hadn’t told you. Maybe it was best that you give his boundaries time, and not push it too far.

Even looking back it was hard not to call the logic sound, or at least sound to you. In some ways you and Xiao were cut of the same cloth, and though that brought with it an understanding, it also brought its own set of issues. Neither of you were willing to walk over the line that the other drew, even if you could not see where they had actually drawn it. Even if not doing so was painful, the fear of what pain might come if you did was too great a discouragement.

So you began to slowly fade away, without being entirely aware that you were indeed doing so. You were busy after all, and Xioa was most likely too. He was still a yaksha after all, a being whose life was almost completely disconnected from your own. Surely it wouldn’t be that surprising if his views were similar? Maybe you truly had crossed a line, and that was why he never seemed to enquire after you. Or maybe it was that you hadn’t mattered all that much in the first place.

It was a wet, cold autumn day. You sighed slightly as you unlocked your door, having gotten drenched by protecting a bold of fabric you were bringing home to cut and pin. Letting out a huff, you opened the door and went to take a nap. You must’ve been tired, for it took a few seconds for the screech of surprise to leave you mouth at the sight of the unexpected intruder waiting for you.

“Xiao! You scared me!”

You stared at the yaksha, very much surprised by the sight of him. Your surprise had very little time to register though, being quickly replaced by concern for the storm so clearly gathering in Xiao’s eyes.

“You were gone for so long.”

“I’m sorry Xiao. It’s just been so busy you know, everyone’s preparing for the change in season. Besides…”

“Besides?”

“I didn’t want to bother you. I mean, I know you also have a job, and though I want you to find happiness outside of it, I don’t want to pressure you.”

Xiao’s facial expressions evidently conveyed that he was not impressed. Searching for the right words you let your gaze drift towards the floor. You weren’t sure that you were ever going to be ready for a conversation like this, but certainly not in the state you were now. Still, you owed Xiao some sort of explanation. Of course you did.

“I’m really sorry Xiao. I should have found time for you. It’s completely my fault.”

“That’s not what I want.” Xiao’s tone was gruff, frustrated. You found the frustration mirrored within yourself.

“What do you want?”

“I,” Xiao flushed. “I don’t want you to apologize. I’m not blaming you for anything. You shouldn’t apologize for nothing.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

Xiao shook his head. For a moment he just stood there, eyes stormy. Slowly though he reached out to take your hand. You found the act surprisingly comforting. You had missed Xiao’s hands, delicately built, calloused beyond believe. They felt comforting and warm and safe, and you wished you could never let go of them. Drawing strength from that you slowly raised your gaze slightly.

“What do you want, Xiao?”

At first Xiao said nothing. Perhaps he was staring at a line, contemplating whether to cross it. You had half the mind to apologize again, but managed to stop the words from coming out. You knew that it was just a force of habit. Besides, Xiao hadn’t said anything yet. A small spark of hope burned inside you, the hope that something might go well.

There was a gentle tug on your wrist and suddenly you were in Xiao’s arms, his hair gently tickling your nose.

“This,” he mumbled. “I want this.”

For a moment you felt yourself freeze in shock, but soon enough you found yourself melting into his embrace, wrapping your own arms around him. Xiao was warm like a heater, warm beyond that too. It was as if there was something in his soul. Gentle, flickering, it brought you happiness that you never thought you could imagine. You wanted to bask in it forever, it was worth any twists and turns you might have to take to reach it.

“Don’t disappear again.”

“I won’t.”

“I should have come earlier.”

“It’s alright. Hey, Xiao?”

“What?” Xiao’s arms tightened around you slightly. You didn’t want to talk much more either.

“What do you think of me?”

Xiao let out a soft snort. “I thought that was pretty obvious.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

It was more than you could have ever hoped for.

#genshin impact #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich #xiao x reader #xiao #alatus #Genshin Impact fanfiction #scenarios #fanfiction #my writing #requested #gn reader

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the-phoenix-heart · 3 years

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10 Amazing Futurama Comics

There is a severe lack of Futurama content on this and other sites (seriously, the Night at the Museum movies have more fics than Futurama). And, nobody posts about the Futurama comics. So I’m posting 10 of my favorites.

10. Attack of the 50-Foot Amy (Issue #33)

It’s actually not as sexual as the cover makes it out to be. The basic premise is that Amy mistakes the can of growth spray (that Cubert and Dwight want to use for their science fair project) for hair spray and sprays waaaay too much before her anniversary date with Kif. Meanwhile, Bender teaches Fry the wonders of video piracy, but after he gets scared by a movie home alone style he eats his disc of pirated movies and starts uncontrollably acting them out. You can probably guess how these two plots connect.

While I do list this one as one of my favorites, it’s far from perfect. The artwork is good, but the scaling on Amy is very wonky so she looks more like a twenty-foot Amy (also Dwight’s eyes are drawn weird in this comic, he looks blazed out the entire time). But I cannot help but be charmed by this comic. It’s got some sweet Bender and Fry friendship moments and actually makes me believe Kif and Amy’s relationship for a little bit. They are very sweet in this comic, although Kif does go through some pain in this comic.

Best moments: They way they resolve the plot is actually pretty funny and clever, plus Bender hopped up on pirated movies is a joy. At one point Fry gets shoved by Steven Spielbot (don’t ask) and Bender goes all Rocky on his ass saying “No one talks to my gal, Adrian, like that!” It’s very sweet and...subtextual if you understand my meaning. This one also has anti comic book piracy message at the end which was ironic for me to read.

9. Doctor What (Issue #32)

The Professor creates a time traveling port-a-potty so that you can pee in whatever time and space you want, although it’s completely random. However, Zoidberg accidentally breaks the potty, so him, Leela, Fry, and Bender have to keep randomly flushing to get back home. On each of these new worlds Zoidberg keeps accidentally saving the citizens, getting medals, and ends up becoming addicted to the fame he keeps winning. Which leads to them getting stuck in a post apocalyptic New New York.

This is the infamous Leela-Bender-Fry fusion comic, Leelan von Fry-Bot. His backstory is actually a little sad, but I won’t spoil it here. This one is pretty good, because it has Zoidberg as the hero. Actually quite a few of these feature Zoidberg as a fourth member of the delivery crew which is weird, but not entirely unwelcome. It’s also fun to see these other worlds, and now that I think about it it’s actually a little similar to The Late Phillip J. Fry, what with the time travel to different interesting worlds.

Best Moments: I actually liked Leelan’s backstory, and his interactions with his “parents” (you’ll understand when you read it) are actually pretty funny and a little cute. Fry really wants to be a dad you can tell.

8. The Simpsons Futurama Crossover Crisis II

The professor creates a device that takes characters out of their stories into the real world. Trouble is, he tells the mayor that this invention is useful because you can get slave labor out of the characters because they technically have no constitutional rights. The Simpsons end up working with the Planet Express crew, but an accident leads to the release of ALL FICTIONAL CHARACTERS EVER.

This is a sequel comic to the Futurama Simpsons Infinitely Secret Crossover Crisis (fun fact: a reference to several famous comic book arcs). I chose this one above it though because I think it understood the assignment better. The original is funny, but I just don’t think that Springfield is a good setting for a Futurama crossover. Springfield for all its zaniness, is not the future. New New York, however, is great for this crossover. We get several scenes where we see the Simpsons going through space and fighting off monsters. We even get to see the other residents of Springfield in the future, Mr. Smithers becomes a space pirate and Mr. Burns falls in love with Mom, it’s great.

Best Moments: Some of them I already mentioned, but I cannot stress enough how hilarious the Burns-Mom romance is, it’s especially good when you can hear their voices in your head. I also like the friendship the Simpsons have with the Planet Express crew.

7. Six Characters in Search of a Story (Issue #14)

This is a very interesting comic. The Professor falls asleep, so to pass the time the crew decides to look through his old failed inventions, and well, that’s a very bad idea. The most interesting thing about this comic is it’s designed so that if you want you can only read certain panels to follow one person’s story. The Futurama comics do this a lot of the time and it’s always interesting.

The shenanigans that occur in this one are really funny, and there are some great looking pages in this. Also the Futurama crew clearly took ideas from the comics, and this is one of them. You can tell from the cover art that this does have elements of “Benderama” in it, what with Bender cloning himself ad infinitum. I also really like the climax, it’s a little schmultz-y for Futurama, but I don’t mind.

Best Moments: Fry gets stuck with a Spanish speaking Bender and I don’t know why but it’s really funny to me. The professor also gets some funny moments in this one. And Scruffy. Scruffy is always a delight.

6. Igner-ance is Bliss! (Issue #63)

Yeah this is the infamous robot Leela and Fry comic. Don’t worry, like the cover says, it’s not as dramatic as it looks. The crew has to go to a world that’s too dangerous for humans, so Fry, Leela, and Zoidberg all have their consciousnesses put into robot doubles so they can make the delivery. However, it turns out this planet is a sort of getaway spa for robots, and the crew decides to party it up there, at least until Bender discovers that this is a front for an evil plot by Mom. The subplot is mostly about how Igner is not respected by his brothers.

This one is fun, and I love a comic where Bender has to be the voice of reason. It is clearly killing him to be the responsible one, but I love it. Also, I have a soft spot for Igner, so it’s nice to see him get thrown a bone for once. This also has some really fun jokes with everyone, but Zoidberg in particular gets some bangers. I think my only problem is it ISN’T as cool as the cover makes it out, but like I’m happy with what it is.

Best Moments: Fry beats up Bender at one point and wins, I think he deserved it. Also, y’all know Admiral Ackbar from Star Wars? He makes some cameos in this one. Also all the robots (sans Bender) make a Japanese style mecha and it’s the coolest thing ever. Plus everything I’ve said about Igner I love in this one. Oh also Fry beats Calculon at poker and I really love that.

5. Who’s Dying to be a Gazillionaire? (Issue #5)

This one is sweet. The IRS is threatening to bankrupt Planet Express, and if they can’t think of a way to make a million dollars they will go out of business. No one really has any ideas and doesn’t even really care, except for Fry who is determined to save Planet Express. He gets the idea to go onto Who Wants to be a Gazillionaire to make the money, even though it’s a trivia show and if he loses he will die.

This one really warms my heart, it’s Fry at his best, just doing what he can for the people he loves. Even the professor is great in this one. I don’t want to spoil it, but trust me when I say it’s good (god I hope I’m not building this up too much).

Best moments: The end panel. But also the resolution of the story is great, and I really appreciate this comic for Fry as a character.

4. Rumble in the Jungle (Issue #38)

This is a fine comic. Leela is mad that she’s not being respected by Fry and Bender, and it’s bad enough that they don’t believe her when she says they’re going to crash into a planet. They end up parachuting down and getting separated. Leela ends up as queen of some workers in the “Amazon,” meanwhile Fry finds Bender’s corpse and goes off to avenge him.

This one is fun, and another fun one for Fry, because he’s determined to avenge Bender and works hard for it. This also includes the original Frender, not the ship but fusion. Leela and Fry even have a fight scene against each other and it’s honestly great.

Best Moments: Fry is great throughout the entire comic, and Leela spends most of her time beating up random animals. Bender also using a lead parachute he made out of toys he stole from children is funny, especially because I’m always a sucker for Bender doing dumb shit.

3. Don’t Go Taking My Heart! (Issue #69) (nice)

Mom only has a couple weeks to live, unless she can get a heart transplant. It’s revealed that Mom uses the cryogenics lab to get new body parts for herself, and that Fry was supposed to be her heart donor! Unfortunately, because he was unfrozen she now has to get him to work for Mom Corp to make sure his heart stays intact for the procedure.

If you can’t tell I love the Fry-centric comics, and I also like the comics where Mom is the villain. Of course this comic doesn’t go completely how you expect it to go, it’s actually REALLY sweet. I also love the fact that in this comic Fry actually makes a great intern. He basically has the job of a secretary and he’s GOOD at it. And I love seeing when Fry is good at things. The reason why I put this at only 3 is because it doesn’t really have a subplot. Bender gets a job at mom corp to but it’s only there for a couple pages, and Leela’s new crew gets two panels and that’s it.

Best Moments: The moments with Mom and Fry, but also guess who Mom’s doctor is? I’m actually not going to reveal it because it’s so random but also hilarious.

2. Boomsday! (Issue #58)

The Professor builds Bender his own parents, as a way to placate/discipline Bender. However, these parents decide that Fry is a bad influence on Bender, leading to them kicking him out. Meanwhile, the Professor’s doomsday devices are all stolen, and he has to go find them.

Both of these plots are funny and good. Bender’s plot is also really sweet what with his friendship with Fry, and his wish for parents. Meanwhile the Professor’s plot is just really funny and I do love seeing the Professor in his element. The ending is mostly heartwarming.

Best Moments: Everything with Fry and Bender, and Bender has a sweet relationship with his fake parents. Also, the Professor uses Issac Asimov candles on the robot mafia which I found a great joke. Oh, and the Professor’s first doomsday device was made when he was four years old and I love that. The end of the comic also has very nice message.

1. Rotten to the Core (Issue #27)

The world’s weather has gone kerflooey, and the Professor has figured out that his invention that can drill into the center of the Earth has been used. It conspires that Bender sold it at a yard sale to some aliens call the magmoids. The magmoids are trying to steal magma from the Earth’s core and the crew has to go and stop them.

This is my favorite because it’s a great character comic. All of the main three have great moments, and it’s also a great science comic. The Earth’s core is incredibly magnetic so of course Bender starts spouting out folk songs, and also SECRETS. I can’t believe no one has used the fact that canonically magnets make Bender incapable of telling lies. Anyway, it’s just really fun.

Best Moments: Way too many to count. Bender and Fry are told to cut out the “Brokeback Moanin,’“ Leela and Fry are bitter at the end, Fry tells story about his childhood, Bender has some great secrets to tell, the Professor gets a really fun ending, Bender has a rare moment of generosity, and the entirety of the climax is all kinds of fun and sweet.

#this is all part of my agenda to make more people watch futurama #or specifically read futurama because if you are antsy about watching a seven season show then at least you have 10 great comics you can rea #futurama #i try not to include frender in this but i'm easily susceptible to their friendship #turanga leela #phillip j fry #bender bending rodriguez #the professor #hubert j farnsworth #dr john zoidberg #john zoidberg #zoidberg #futurama comics

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antiloreolympus · 3 years

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10 Anti LO Asks

1. is it bad i actually get bored every time hxp interacts in LO? like in the beginning i was excited to see them grow as a couple, but now theyre just boring and repetitive with hades treating her like the overbearing parent but w/ more abuses of power, and persephone is as helpless and static as ever, with flip flopping "naive who needs hades to protect her" to "angry puppy" like ... is it bad the main selling point is just boring at this point? is that just me?

2. i personally dontt have too harsh of opinions on LO (trust me ive read much worse) but I am very annoyed over how even light critique of it is always bombarded and tried to be silenced out by its rapid fans who refuse to admit or even see its issues. even the stuff I love I can still find faults in it, because nothing is perfect, and most critiques are in good faith and in a nuanced way. The toxic positivity and refusal for actual discussion in the LO fandom is disturbing to say the least.

3. LO Hades is not innocent at all but sometimes I get shocked at how much of Minthe’s behavior is excused by the fandom. She is a nymph and she has a lower status in LO however I’ve always seen her flipping the power dynamic between Hades and her. She’s emotionally and physically abused him. Up to her turning into a plant, she didn’t report Persephone and Demeter because she cared. She just wanted Hades back even though their relationship isn’t good for her.

4. i dont agree with it but i get why pro-hxo stuff would make bad guys out of zeus, demeter, and minthe, i dont like it and i think its a bad reading of the mythology, but i get it, but apollo?? rachel what popular boy in high school didnt go on a date with you to hold so much ire towards a deity (who doest act like that anyway) who would probably be persephone's annoying friend or childhood crush under a more competent and unbiased writer. i legit dont get why apollo is the villain in her mind.

5. princess bubblegum ran so lo persephone could walk face first into a wall. all pink ladies deserve so much better than this glorified incubator for hades' heirs to be in their ranks.

6. What was the point of the recent episode? Sure it was cute but was that backstory even needed? The whole sequence of hermes stinking and the meet up between him and P could have been told through dialogue and a few panels of it and not taking up most of the episode. The story literally didnt progress

7. In the trial Rachel thinks she has answered the critiques of antis about nepotism, shady tactics, grooming etc but in fact, she didn't give any valid arguments? I wasn't even tempted to change my mind, that's how stupid her answers to our callouts were.

8. There's a lot of issues about LO trying to force all these myths in when they're not needed and ultimately are only diminished for HxP's forced involvement, but also, it's not even using the actual myth HxP were involved in. If it really wanted to do so, it could have used Eros and Psyche (which it tried but it has all but dropped at this point), Sisyphus, Pelops, Triptolemus, even Heracles, yet for some reason it forces in made up plots and unrelated myths. It's really frustrating to read.

9. FP Spoiler

Was Persephone's saying how Minthe is "just a little shorter than you remember" supposed to be funny and a fanservice for all the Minthe haters out there? In what world is it really funny though, turning a humanlike being into a simple, sentient plant without any chance to express herself? I used to think that P is just a spoiled brat with anger issues, but the more I read this story, the more she seems like just to lack empathy. Even her supposed love for humans seems shallow af.

Also the last panel of 179 is so overdramatic and wonky, I think I couldn't dislike a panel more than P's "Puppy!!!"-face, her panic grimace in 178 or Daphne's and Thanatos's kiss, but well, here I am.

10. Fp spoilers for 179: I agree with a previous anon, the trial is TOO long! I could take four episodes of it max. The whole thing could be split somewhat cause I am tired of seeing the same things happening in the same scenery for god knows how many weeks.

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

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stevenbasic · 3 years

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So far AJ’s day, his first at this new job, had been predictably miserable. He figured that was sort of normal, kinda expected. He’d been his own boss, owner of his own little construction firm for years, so going back to being a manual labor grunt for someone else again was sure to feel like ten steps in the wrong direction. But working on a demo team for a bunch of girls? The women, the company that had put him out of business? That was turning out to be particularly soul-sucking and demeaning work. But, hey, a buck’s a buck and he needed as many of those as he could muster these days. His saving grace was, with a little effort keeping his head down, that he could remain faceless and anonymous and just do his work. The morning had been spent taking down some walls in the area of the building that was to be the new wing. He’d sat by himself for his meager lunch outside - his buddies, guys that used to work for him, were on another team entirely, at another site - and he had now this afternoon been asked to step into the doctor's office area to look at some venting. Privately, he leapt at the chance: maybe he’d be able to see Angie. Or, for that matter, catch a glimpse of - or even meet - that statuesque, brunette boss of hers, her friend Melissa...

He was in luck.

“Oh! H-hey, hun,” AJ said, acting surprised to bump into his girlfriend, Angie, as he turned the corner in the back hallway. He’d already checked out what he’d needed to see, looked at the thermostats, and had been sort of aimlessly drifting around, avoiding others, waiting for just this moment. He managed what he hoped was a casual smile. “Funny meeting you here haha,” he joked, wiping plaster dust from his forehead, “H-how’s the first day?”

At first, Angie looked surprised to see him, too - eyes widening. But she didn’t even give him a word of greeting before her eyes flashed, her smile grew into a grin, and she bit her lower lip. Looking behind herself, down the hall, checking if they’d be seen, she then suddenly grabbed him by the collar of his green, grime-covered t-shirt and pulled him aside. “Here, let’s go in here-“ she said, opening the door to a supply closet and yanking him into it. She shut the door behind them and flipped on a switch.

“Hey wow..!” AJ exclaimed, eyes immediately going wide in pleasant surprise, “Nice to see you too!”

The switch she had hit had turned on an overhead fluorescent, which was just flickering to life. “Shush,” she said, locking the door, “The last thing I need is someone to see us together.” She’d just gotten out of lunch, where all the office girls had assembled, crowded into the too-small breakroom for a welcome meeting. She’d had a few great little chats and was just really beginning to grasp what was going on here, what she was now part of. It was thrilling and her blood was still on fire from the excitement, the potential. Yes yes yes...female empowerment, sisters united, blah blah blah. But there was opportunity here for her.

She’d just been headed to her new temporary, makeshift desk in accounting when she ran into her, well, boyfriend. Though AJ was here doing some work for the construction company hired to renovate the building, she really didn’t want to be seen with him. Things were too big here, there was too much at stake for her to risk getting muddled down by, well, him. “I can’t be the girl dating the hired help,” she said, not smiling, but her heart still thumping.

“Hey, that hurt..!” AJ remarked, taken a bit aback by her bluntness but trying to laugh. Angie looked so good in her short, floral dress, boobs big and on display. “How’s the first day?” he repeated.

Angie faced AJ, mind still swimming with the excitement from the meeting and an electric, estrogen-fueled energy. “Eh, sort of chaotic, with all these new girls, there’s not enough space for us all until the new wing is ready,” she answered, looking him up and down. She’d seen him in his construction gear countless times before, but here - on the job, dirty, as a low-level grunt - he just looked so plebeian. And too tall. “I got to meet the doctor, this morning,” she said, feeling her eyes sparkle and the enthusiasm in her voice, “he’s sooo vulni…”

He’d heard that term before, and he knew how girls were all starting to like that: small, weak, vulnerable men. It had been why she’d had him stop going to the gym, eat less, get skinnier. He thought she liked it, though it never seemed as if it was quite enough for her; he was still tall and lanky, and he felt she’d actually like it if he was somehow smaller than her, shorter than her, weighed less than her. That was the fad, these days, and Angie was into it. But he’d never heard that weird tone in her voice when talking about another guy, not in all the months they’d been together. Here in the supply closet he felt the first pangs of jealousy, starting in his stomach, and it was envy for Angie’s new boss. Not because he was successful, a doctor, and was her superior here (though Ang probably loved that too), but because he was so “vulni” . As he watched her face, seeing how she talked about this guy, the sensation grew heavier, and worked its way up to his throat.

“He was hiding, totally hiding, in his office. But I went in and met him,” she said, “he looked like a kid sitting at a big-boy desk. He was afraid to stand up in front of me, but I bet I’d be taller than him in my heels…”

There it is, AJ thought.

“Your friend Melissa probably has him by more than a foot, then,” AJ blurted, smiling but speaking before thinking and immediately regretting it as Angie’s eyes narrowed, analyzing him. His grin disappeared as her expression changed.

“Yeaaaaah...have you noticed?” she continued, still watching his face, “a lot of the girls here are tall. They’re all hot…”

Smart enough at least for this moment, AJ held his tongue. Saying too much would just dig him deeper into the hole that he was apparently already in.

Angie still looked at her boyfriend of these many months, her smile crooked, and considered him. He’d always felt like she could read his mind, and seemed to be doing it now. She knew what he wanted. “Take off your shirt,” she instructed, hands on her wide hips.

Without as much as a thought, AJ was peeling himself out of his dusty work tee, revealing his trim, lean torso, his ink. Angie’s eyes immediately drifted from his still-defined abs, up his chest and went to the new tattoo on his throat, her name: “Angie Wade”. She reached out and gently caressed it.

“Yeah, he’s surrounded by women here, pretty women,” she continued, once again talking about this dude that AJ was starting to like less and less, “Lots of them are taller than him, walking around in their pumps, their high wedge sandals.” Her hand drifted up to cup the right side of his face, tenderly, watching how her words affected him. “They’re all ditzes, but they adore him,” she said, her expression still hard for him to read, “Imagine that? Imagine being surrounded by huge, brainless bimbos that all love and adore you and just want to get into your pants? I’ll bet he loves it. God that’s so hot.”

AJ, still knowing he shouldn’t say a word, just watched her as she looked at him. Despite his rising jealousy - what kind of girlfriend talks about another guy like this? - he was starting to feel himself hardening between his legs. He had no idea what she was thinking, what she was doing (or why she’d had him take off his shirt) but there were gears turning in her head, for sure.

“And,” she pressed on, “his office is smaller - a lot smaller - than hers. The way she was talking today, you’d have trouble knowing exactly who was in charge, here...” Angie’s left hand had settled behind AJ’s shaved head, holding it, and her right was now resting lightly on his chest. The feel of her soft palm on his shaved skin was exciting him. “...But I’m going to find out. There’s something going on under the surface here, something big. Here. Sit-“

At that, Angie pushed his chest, forcing him to half-sit back on the low shelving unit behind him. He knocked over a couple reams of paper towels, but was left with his eyes at just about boob-level.

She stepped in close.

“Lunch, with all the girls,” Angie continued, smiling again as his eyes settled right into her cleavage, “There was so much estrogen in the air, what with all the laughing and rah-rah cheering for this new place. Most of the girls here are morons, but damn if they aren’t hooked up to the right train, as things are going to be changing.”

She was talking almost to herself, he thought, while he knew he was being so passively quiet. He struggled to think of something to say. “Wow, Ang,” AJ finally spoke, “your tits look really big today.”

Angie chuckled, took a casually deep breath for him.”He’s a boob-guy, just like you,” she mused, reveling in the gift of her naturally big, full bosom, with its perfect, milky skin, “so, yeah, I wanted show them off…think he’ll like me?”

The jealousy continued to sit with him, inside his throat, tightening.

“Well, uh, y-yeah, of course,” he managed, figuring he should be supportive rather than risking her ire by sounding indignant. “Wh-what are they going to have you doing?”

“I’m going to be working with Kathy, this lady reassigned from some pharmaceutical company, to help run the practice’s accounting,” Angie continued, “Technically she’s my immediate boss, for the time being. But it’s okay, for now. She actually sounds like she has half a brain.” Her hand went up onto the side of his head, stroked his scalp leisurely, kept his gaze focused where she wanted it. “If I play my cards right, I’ll get hooked up doing financials for this study, with all the money coming in from the grants,” she said, her tone aggressively self-assured, “I’m going to be on it, totally in the right place, when things go down. Meet the right people, rise up the ranks, make more and more money…”

This was...yikes, wow...really turning him on. Secretly he loved hearing Angie embellish her own ego like this. Her boastful narcissism - she was constantly convinced that she was the smartest person in the room - was just always so hot to him. And he wasn’t nearly sure what she was talking about, but he loved how excited she sounded and how, in the face of his recent career troubles, how powerful she wanted to become. When had he gotten this way? When had he gotten to be such a junkie for the, well, submissive thrill he felt hearing a woman talk about being smart, successful...superior?

“Yeah, well, t-they’ve given me some responsibility too…” he found himself saying, maybe out of a reflexive knee-jerk reaction, some male pride bubbling weakly to the surface, “They’re having us tear out the old HVAC systems, and have me inspecting the venting, some of the thermostats...” Angie was letting him talk, possessively stroking his head, so he just continued. “Supposedly they’re putting in a new central one that’ll handle the whole building,” he explained, “be able to put some sort of aromatherapy into it. Weird, huh?”

“Aromatherapy, huh?” Angie asked, her interest piqued - and betrayed by a new purr, “In the air-conditioning?” She continued to pet his head, and drew in a little closer to him as she thought to herself. “Can you find out...any more about that for me?“

“Oh, uh, yeah...sure…” he agreed, though not really sure what he could do. Lots of this project seemed so under-wraps, at least from the guys. He hadn’t laid eyes on much in the way of blueprints or tech sheets or whatever.

“Good boy…” she praised, speaking plainly, “pull down your pants.”

Suddenly, AJ’s heart leapt. Was he about to get some?? Here in a storage closet?? Ha he’d take anything he could get these days, he thought to himself as he clumsily unzipped his thick, loose-fit utility pants, started to pull them down.

“B-boxers too?” he asked.

“Sure,” Angie allowed, and in a moment they were down at his knees, too. His erection already stood proud; of that he was glad. He wanted her to know how much she turned him on. But, then he thought - how had they gotten here? Didn’t she used to be the swooning drama nerd in high school, who’d barely been on his radar? The one who used to have the crush on him??

“A-Angie…?” he began.

“Shush, quiet,” she said, “grab your cock.”

“Wh-what?” he stammered, knowing exactly what she wanted him to do, “n-no I’m not going to, like, j-jerk off here in a cl-“

“Yes you will,” she stated, her confidence only making him harder, as she physically took his hand and planted it on his erection, balling it into a fist around his turgid shaft, “because you're submissive, just like him, and you’ll do exactly what I say...just like he will, some day.”

”I-I’m n-not,,,’submissive’..!” he bristled, male ego once again raising its battered head in the face of insult and jealousy. Like, what did she mean, ‘just like he will’??

“Okay sure, you’re not submissive,” she chuckled, laughing unpleasantly at his little snit, “prove it.”

With that, Angie took AJ’s full head between her hands, palms on his face and manicured fingers stretching back behind his head, and faced him solidly into her plumply bulging cleavage.

“Now stroke,” she directed, and to his own aghast he couldn’t help but obey. He’d been conditioned, over these past months, helpless when confronted by her, powerless to defy her will...especially when she used her tits. What was wrong with him??? In his hand, with his eyes plastered on the pale, soft flesh of her big breasts, his cock suddenly became even more needy, ached immediately for release. He groaned, both in spleen at himself and this crippling arousal.

She laughed again. “Not submissive, hm?” she purred, “Look at you. You're totally dominated by women. You’re working for women now, you do everything women tell you to do. At the job here, in bed with me…”

”hey..!” he began to protest, eyes rising for the moment, looking for hers, “I thought you liked-”

“Oh, I do, we all do,” she capitulated, shaking her hair over her shoulder with a toss of her head, redirecting his gaze back to her chest, “we love when the roles start reversing like this. Like you, getting to be my little bitch.”

“h-h-heyyyy…” he began to protest, but his voice faded, most of his fight lost between her E-cups.

“Aww, don’t feel badly,” she said, “I’ve been reading up on this. I really think men in general are getting more submissive, turning more beta, just watching as women take charge more. The doctor here included. Look what he’s done - or let happen. This whole place is run by girls.”

“H-h-huh…” AJ stammered dumbly, not even realizing he’d fallen into a rhythm, stroking himself, staring at Angie’s breasts.

“This is my chance, to get in, to take my piece,” she pronounced, ego swelling her bosom like a deep breath, “I’m so fucking alpha, I could run this place.”

”oh, uh, y-yeah..?” he spoke, bewitched and befuddled by every ripple and jiggle under her skin.

“You men like me to be in charge, don’t you? The thought of a woman boss?” she pressed, “You’d all never admit it but it gets you excited, how the women here - everywhere - are really the ones running the show, that any male authority is really just a thin facade, ready to be, like, cracked.”

“Oh my god Angie,” AJ moaned, now in the full grip of arousal, starting to pump himself with more abandon as Angie’s words struck chords with him neither he nor she had yet heard. Angie was experimenting, learning.

“Women have always been the ones to take up responsibilities, accept them and take them on, when men fail. We’ve been getting more able, more and more competent, while you all just, like, get lazy and dumb and shrink away,” she said, watching how his eyes were glazing over, his face going slack. Still he stared at her tits. “And you know the best part? It fucking turns you all on. You like getting weaker, losing responsibility and authority, your lives getting smaller as ours get bigger…”

“J-j-jesus Angie yes,” he stammered, mouth fully gaping now, his whole body shaking as he jacked off to her, to this vision of women.

She pulled his face closer. “Look at my tits. Look how big they are, look how deep and dark my cleavage is,” she commanded, “I’ll bet you wish you could shrink down and sink in there. Just become a little man and live between your girlfriend’s tits.”

“A-Angie n-n-n-...” he began, trying to deny but unable to come up with a sentence, in the face of the shame.

“Shhh, I know. I know what kind of porn guys have been into these days. I know what kind you’ve been into,” she said, “the shrinking, the bodybuilders, the giantesses…”

“unnh...unnnh…” he grunted, vision starting to close in, laser focused between her tits.

“And our breasts,” she continued, but knowing she had him close, “When did you become so obsessed with breasts? Even when you sleep, they’re there, aren’t they? Vision of my breasts swim in your head all night long.”

It was true. Her boobs were all he dreamed about. He moaned in forbearance and began to shudder.

“It’s true,” she said, her words echoing his thoughts, right as his climax began to crest, “It totally is. It’s why you wake up in the middle of the night sucking your own thumb. You want to be our fucking babies…”.

That was it, that was the final blow, and AJ could take no more. He groaned, finally closed his eyes, and came. His body lurched, shook, and cum shot up out of his cock.

Angie backed off, an inch, his head still in her hands. “There you go,” she said, plainly, “don’t get it on my dress.”

AJ, for himself, opened his eyes again, now jerking himself through it while staring into her tits again. He didn’t want to get it on her dress, so he pointed it back at himself, soiling his hand, his belly, his thigh.

“That’s right, get it all out,” she employed, patience now starting to wear thin, a new edge sharpening her voice. Though his climax still had him, she released his head, backing off another step. Her hands went to her top, pulling her neckline now more fully up over her breasts. “Finish up…”

AJ groaned in distress, his orgasm waning but ruined in its final moments. He just wanted those tits to bury himself into, and she was stepping away...

“Mommy’s got to go,” she said, finally, looking down at herself, shimmying herself back into some semblance of modesty, “Now, Aaron. This is it for us. I’m through.”

“w-w-wait whut?” AJ sputtered, confused, as his cock - just starting to deflate - leaked its final jisms onto his hand.

“I said I’m, like, done,” Angie said, straightly, looking down at him again, “You’ve been the perfect toy to practice on, and I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t been fun. But I’m moving on, to bigger and better things.”

“Wait, no…” AJ managed, sobering quickly in shock but still struggling to grasp what was happening, “...are you...b-breaking up with me?”

“Yep,” she said, no hint of empathy softening her words as she watched the guy she’d lived with, the man she’d broken, start to shake. He was flailing, looking down at himself, at his mess, unsure what to do.

She reached out, grabbed a team of paper towels, and tossed it at him. “Here, clean up.”

“Angie, wait,” he tried, pulling several sheets out and starting to wipe himself down. She can’t do this, not now..! he thought, What will I do? Where will I live?? He had to stop her. “Let’s-“

“No, I’m done waiting,” she stopped him, turning away, hand already reaching for the door, grabbing the handle. An image of Melissa, her last Instagram post, flashed into her mind, made Angie seethe. “I’ve got things to do.”

And then he was alone.

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sorry for the poor image quality, ‘twas the best I could do.

more stuff, newer posts at my Patreon

#growing into the job

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astarryon · 3 years

Text

Another Lifetime: Shouldn’t Have Gotten Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Description of war and battle injuries, mentions of blood, gunshots, language, etc.

Summary: Bucky doesn’t like talking about her, but Dr. Raynor isn’t an easy person to argue with. And now that it’s summer –– now that he’s living through the months they’d shared together all over again, only without her by his side –– fighting the memories becomes all the more difficult.

A/N: Listen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into me but ever since tfatws started I have been INSPIRED! Hoping to update this fic sem regularly, but we’ll see where the new school term takes us. As always, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes has never been overly fond of the summer.

One aspect was the fact that he could remember what it was like to be a miserable kid living in a cramped Brooklyn apartment with no air conditioning and three baby sisters who never stopped whining about the heat. Of all the jumbled, foggy memories bouncing around the confines of his skull, that one is clearer than most. And though he still finds it difficult to picture the faces of his little sisters –– can’t hardly remember arcs of their noses, much less the colors of each of their eyes –– a nostalgic, brotherly feeling washes over him all the same.

There’s also the little detail that he’d received his draft notice in the summer months. That Bucky remembers perfectly, one of the few memories strong enough to remain unmuddied by all those years of shitbag scientists rooting around his head and picking his brain apart. The heat that year had been sweltering, and once his mother found him in her kitchen with that damned letter clutched between his fingers, he felt it burn right through the strings of his heart.

The first week of July delivered the news. The last saw him shipping out to bootcamp.

He guessed he didn’t mind the sunshine. That part had always been nice, and it helped to calm him on occasion these days, to remember that the golden rays licking comforting heat up his skin were the same ones which had shone down on him back in the 40s, before and during the war.

Before Hydra had condemned him to seventy long years of dark and cold.

To that end, logic said the season he really should hate was winter, but he’d never felt any ill will toward the colder months, and found now, in the present, that he’d only grown fonder of them. When the rain came down from the sky in sheets, or when snow fell so thick it resembled white, puffy clouds blanketing the ground, he took walks. Partly because no other soul would be idiotic enough to trudge through a borderline natural disaster at three in the morning, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with prying eyes and conspicuously pointing fingers, and partly because experiencing said natural disasters in solitude did wonders for the soul.

Steve thought it was strange. Hated that Bucky did it, kept insisting that he at least take a goddamn jacket, there isn’t any actual proof he can’t get pneumonia. But Bucky always shook his head and declined, rolling his eyes and muttering beneath his breath about how apparently the tables have fucking turned.

But, no. The winter, the rain, the cold –– none of that could ever draw half as much ire from him as did the gentle beginnings of June, the scorching heat of July, the fading light of August. Because those weren’t the things which served as reminders from before.

Reminders of her.

“James. Did you hear me?”

Bucky blinks hard, freeing his gaze from the wall calendar tacked up and viewable just over his doctor’s shoulder. Glancing down, he sees the familiar green of the velvet armchair –– one of three options for patients to choose from in her office, and Bucky’s personal favorite on account of the way its textures did something to sooth him as he gripped its arm anxiously with his flesh hand –– and the worn, fraying knees of his black jeans against it. He doesn’t bother meeting his therapist’s gaze. He already knows which of her expressions he’ll find her leveling at him, if he does.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, sucking his teeth. He hopes his voice isn’t quite as strained as it sounds –– though, judging by the way Dr. Raynor clucks her tongue as her fingers twitch toward her pen, it definitely is. “Guess I’m a little scattered today.”

The sardonic hum Raynor gives in response as she knowingly tilts her head nearly makes him open his mouth to finish the silent argument she’d started, but Bucky knows better than that. The moment he starts up, she’ll feign innocence and inquire as to why he feels the need to defend himself when no verbal accusation has been made. God damn, it would be just his luck to end up with the one government assigned therapist actually capable at her job.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Dr. Raynor offers. “And the two days before, if memory serves me right.”

Bucky shakes his head and tsks, tapping a metal finger against his temple. “Not a funny joke, doc. Remember the audience you’re dealing with here.”

“‘Deflecting.’”

The word drops from Raynor’s mouth with a simpleness that puzzles him.

“‘Scuse me?” he prompts when she only goes on to stare at him owlishly.

“Oh, that’s what I’d be writing in my notebook,” she explains simply, folding her hands together in her lap and leaning back in her chair. “If we were using it right now, that is.”

Again, Bucky rolls his eyes, and has to make an active attempt not to cross his arms like a forlorn child. The threat in her words is easily recognizable, not that she’d really bothered trying to conceal it. She knows that damn notebook irritates him more than any other aspect of their current arrangement, and he knows she’s not bluffing. If he doesn’t start talking, Raynor starts writing –– and if Raynor starts writing, he gets tailed by government watchdogs to ensure there are no imminent incidents lurking in the near future.

He sighs dejectedly and meets her gaze. “What was it you asked me?”

“What it is about the month of June that makes you so uncomfortable.”

Bucky blinks, red alarm bells shrieking in his head. Fuck, he can’t help but think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Caught red handed.

“June’s fine,” he tries, but even to his own ears the assurance sounds weak. To think, he’d once been the most prolific tool of espionage around –– now he can hardly deliver a lie with a straight face. “Don’t have any feelings toward it one way or the other.”

“Strike two,” Raynor quips, glancing one again toward her pen.

Fuck!

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Bucky sits a little straighter in his seat, searching for any semblance of comfort to be found while already knowing he was bound to come up short. Damn it all. She wasn’t going to let him out of this one.

“Alright, hold your horses,” he sighs, waving a halting hand. Raynor’s expression doesn’t shift. She simply continues peering at him with her dark eyes, waiting patiently for his next few words to come. “Why do you assume I’ve got a problem with June?”

“Because you didn’t start staring at that calendar until it switched over from May,” Raynor supplies. “Like I mentioned, today isn’t the only day you’ve been scattered. Seems like something we should consider talking about.”

“No,” Bucky answers quickly. Too quickly. Shit. If she thought he’d been deflecting before, he didn’t even want to know the words running through her mind in regards to his behavior now. “I mean–– well, no. I don’t think it’s that important.”

Raynor arches a brow. “Funny,” she tells him, “the way your eyes keep drifting back to the word ‘June’ tells me otherwise.”

He sighs, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Caught between a rock and an even bigger, weightier rock. The universe really wasn’t one to take his side often.

Bucky knows there really isn’t any choice here. Either he does what Raynor asks and elaborates on his suspicious behavior, or he risks facing the repercussions of those notes she’ll be jotting down in her notebook. Which of the two evils is more definitively the lesser, he can’t rightly say, but he knows which of the consequences he’d prefer to suffer through. And they’re certainly not the ones which see him robbed of the ability to walk freely down the street without a detail of armed babysitters.

So he figures that, maybe for once, being honest can’t be the worst decision to make.

“A few years ago, back before the blip,” Bucky tries, “I spent a summer in Wakanda.”

“Housed by the royal family,” Raynor nods, tone soft. “We’ve spoken about that before. You said you found it peaceful there. That you liked it.”

He did, and still does. On the nights when his mind isn’t quiet enough to let him find sleep but his heart feels light enough to forego the slideshow of horrors he’d been made to suffer throughout the years, Bucky’s thoughts often return to the bliss which life in Wakanda had offered him. He’d remember the farm he kept there, the little children who would come to sing and play and dance in trees to keep him company in the afternoons. He’d remember Princess Shuri –– Just Shuri, James, come now –– and the kindness she’d displayed in deactivating the deeper, most concerning parts of his programming. The day she’d told him it was done, turned off, that he’d never be forced to revert back to the Soldier against his will again, he’d rushed her and caught her up in a bearhug so relieved and forceful that her Dora Milaje detail had actually pointed their spears at him. He’d remember the tranquility of it all, the simpleness.

The peace.

There’s no hope of him being able to return to that place any time soon, much as he’d like to, but the memories sit resolutely concrete in his mind. The first of a new set which he’d never have to worry about being stolen away from him by the currents of an electric shock.

“It’s a nice place,” Bucky affirms, sighing wistfully at the thoughts swirling up in his head. “I bring it up because back then, that summer… I started remembering a few things. From before.”

Raynor keeps her face smooth and composed, but Bucky notices the twitch in her cheek that says she’s got a question. “When you say before,” she asks, voice gentle, “do you mean your time as the Winter Soldier?”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. Ironically, things would be easier, were that the case. He might not be so miserable in the present, seeing the month of June start all over again. The melancholy might not be so strong. “No, not then. I mean from before. From the 40s, during the war. I don’t know if it was Wakanda’s heat that did it, or that my programming was officially deactivated. But one night I went to sleep in my hut like normal, and then the next morning I woke up, and… and I remembered.”

Raynor clasps her hand together in her lap, the pen, the notebook, the hesitation all forgotten. Bucky sees it in her expression, the shock at the fact that he’s speaking, that she’s actually making progress in getting him to talk about things so painful he often wonders if they aren’t better left in the past. He’s still trying to figure that one out. Miserable as he’s been for the first four days of June, he figures nothing good or relieving or positive can come from retelling this particular tale. It’s all behind him now, and there isn’t anything to be done to change the ending in any significant way.

But… but he figures he owes it to her. As painful as the memories are, they can’t be anything in comparison to what she must have gone through in the aftermath of it all.

Slowly, Raynor crosses one ankle over the other. “What was it that you remembered, James?”

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling as deep a breath as he can pull. He lets it loose after counting to six, then opens his eyes again and crosses his arms over his chest. “It started back in June of 1944. I got shot.”

––

June 1st, 1944

It was damn lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

A funny thought, really. One which brings a sarcastic, bitter smile to your lips as you bend your neck to get a closer look at your handiwork. Wasn’t it just two nights ago that you’d been laying in your cot, staring up at the moon through the flap of your tent and counting all the reasons it wasn't fair that the bliss of unconsciousness evaded you? Wasn’t it three that you’d considered sneaking into the med tent and downing a few of the sleeping pills meant for the soldiers? You hadn’t, of course –– god only knew the sort of trouble you’d get in if it came to pass that you were caught –– but the consideration had been there all the same.

“Fuckin’ shit!”

The foul language, mixed with the rough jerk of the body beneath your dexterous hands, was enough to steal your attention back from your jaded inner monologue. Nearly two years back, when you’d first signed on to work as a field nurse, the pained outburst would have sent you flinching. Now, the swearing isn’t anything new, and thankfully for the soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up, it was no longer anywhere near enough to give you pause.

“You better hold still unless you want this to scar even worse than it's already going to,” you tell him matter of factly, gently tugging the thread the rest of the way through your current stitch.

The soldier –– Matthews? Moore? You can hardly remember the name he’d gasped at you in pain, but you’re sure it started with an ‘M’ –– rakes his dirty hands over his even dirtier face, brown eyes squeezing themselves shut as his fingers quake with agony. “Sorry,” he rasps, skin paling. “Just… Jesus, shit hurts so bad!”

You cluck your tongue, guilt racking your heart as you push the needle through his skin once more. “Shouldn’t have gotten shot then, genius,” you murmur, shaking your head disapprovingly.

It works. For a moment the soldier’s face twists in disbelief, and in the next, a shuddering, wheezing gasp of laughter expels itself from his throat. The sight is bleak, but it’s enough to twist your heart with warmth as you once again pull the thread through the stitch. You’d learned in the first few months of working as a nurse on the frontlines that the last thing these men wanted or needed was to be coddled along over their injuries, especially by a woman. Vulnerability was more averse to them now than ever before.

Personally, you don’t much understand it –– but your work isn’t, and has never been, about yourself.

“Look, why don’t you tell me something,” you start, glancing up to… Morrison’s…? face in apology before sticking him with the needle yet again. He jerks, but not quite so violently this time. Another one down. Only about a thousand more to go tonight. “How’d all this happen? I thought you boys weren’t meant to scope the new territory until tomorrow afternoon. Y’know, in the daylight? When you can actually see whether or not someone in the distance is pointing a gun at you?”

“Unit leader was gettin’ jumpy,” the soldier coughs out, groaning against the pain. Guilt stabs your heart like a knife. You’d have given him something for the pain if you had it, something to numb the wound. But shipments of med supplies were behind, and it would be at least a week before you got your hands on anything like that again. “Said going at night would be better, that we could get the drop on them before they even knew we were coming.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Never mind the fact that their soldiers know the land better than ours do.”

So, the unit leader had jumped the gun. You’d figured as much, when two of your nurses had run into your tent with messy hair and sleep addled expressions, panicking about the oncoming slew of injured soldiers who needed immediate medical attention. That had been two hours, six patients, and about one hundred and ninety seven stitches ago.

Again. It was lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

The soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up opened his mouth to speak –– whether to snark along with you at the poor choice made by the unit’s leadership or to blindly defend his superior’s decision, you couldn’t be altogether sure –– but before he could even fix his mouth to properly shape the words, a sudden roar of someone else’s agony effectively cut him off.

Steadying your hands, you carefully turn to peer over your shoulder, searching for the source of the commotion. All night, you’d been surrounded by a cacophony of screaming soldiers, but that yell of pain is one you’re certain hasn’t yet met your ears. And, as you watch the flap of the med tent swing back before admitting entry to three people –– one of your nurses and two soldiers, one leaning bodily against the other –– you discover that your assumption is correct.

“We got a bad one,” the nurse –– Sally, curly haired, nearing twenty four and a bit more capable than the other girls when met with the sight of blood –– shouts. Her eyes scan the tent, searching and searching until her gaze finally lands on you. She pauses only a moment to turn and direct the uninjured soldier to drag the one he’s supporting over to an empty cot before barrelling in your direction. “Gunshot wound to the abdomen. I haven’t really had the chance to get a good look at it, but he’s–– well, to be frank, that man has lost a shit ton of blood.”

A gutshot. Poor guy would either go through a sickening amount of pain just to die, or he’d survive, and end up having to endure even more pain. Either way, in light of your depleted supply of painkillers, ‘excruciating’ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Oh, damn it all.

“Take over here for me,” you command, gesturing with your chin to the needle perched between your fingers. Sally’s already moving to pluck it from your hand before you’ve even finished speaking. “He’s got about fifteen to go before we even think about sending him back to his tent. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

“You don’t think I know better?” Sally remarks drily, but you don’t have the time to come up with a witty comeback. You’re already on your feet and rushing toward the soldier writhing in pain across the tent, reflexively grabbing a collection of gauze, thread, tweezers, and rubbing alcohol along the way.

This isn’t going to be much fun for either of you.

The first thing you do is excuse the uninjured soldier, the one who’d carried him in. For one, there isn’t any need to keep him witness, and for another, you work better when an addition of unnecessary eyes aren’t tracking your every move. Besides. You doubt the poor soul laying on your med cot is at all interested in one of his peers –– one not sick or out of his mind due to his own pain, that is –– see him in this state. So, you simply thank the young man for his assistance and shoo him back in the direction from which he’d come, waiting until he’s passed the tent’s entrance before turning your full, undivided attention to your newest patient.

He’s got his eyes screwed shut tight in pain. You can hardly blame him. Of all the wounds to suffer through, a gutshot has the potential to win least desirable. It’s easy enough to see why, as the young man’s handsome features carve themselves into an expression of despair. A slick sheen of sweat coats his pale forehead, dampening his dark hair and sticking it to his skin. He’s biting down so hard on his bottom lip in effort to swallow his screams that you’re genuinely shocked he hasn’t drawn blood.

Though, part of you wonders if there’s even enough blood left in his body for his lip to bleed. Deep scarlet blooms stain his green shirt, so thoroughly soaked through that the fabric has turned almost black. Swathes of red cover his torso, his pants, the pale skin of his arms. It’s everywhere, already leaking onto the white sheets of the cot.

Sally wasn’t kidding. He really has lost a shit ton of blood.

“Hey there, soldier,” you start up, setting your collection of medical supplies down before taking a closer look at his torso. Shirt sticking to his skin the way it is, you aren’t going to be able to get much done until it’s out of the way. And, given that this man is certainly in no state to shrug it off himself, you’ve got no choice but to cut it. Lucky that you’d thought to grab a pair of scissors too, you suppose. “Don’t suppose you might be able to help a girl out by telling her what year it is?”

His jaw works for a few moments, teeth grinding together so forcefully the sound is audible. You think he might be gearing up to let loose another scream before he shakes his head a single time. “I got–– got shot,” he wheezes, whole body shaking, “not concussed. Don’t–– ah, don’t really… get how the year’s relevant.”

You exhale a bemused scoff through your nose, considering your response as your scissors work their way through the bloody fabric concealing his wound. You’re working as gently as you can, and so far it seems to be doing the trick. The soldier hasn’t flinched once since you started, though it’s hard to tell if that’s more due to the fact that he hadn’t noticed any difference one way or the other, or if it’s because he’s dedicating what strength he has left to keeping his head screwed onto his shoulders.

“Fair point,” you reply, still carefully cutting through his shirt. “How about a name, then? Little more relevant to the conversation, I’d say.”

It takes a few moments of silence for him to respond –– almost as if he’s trying to remember that he’s got a name –– but eventually, it comes.

“James,” he tells you, the single syllable leaving his mouth in a pained grunt.

You nod, cutting away the last of the fabric. “Nice to meet you, James,” you tell him, carefully peeling the tatters of his ruined shirt from his abdomen. “You just hold tight a little longer for me, alright? We’ll fix you up good as new.”

It isn’t a pretty sight, what you find beneath. Under all that red is a nasty wound, jagged and swollen at the edges, punched into the flesh just beneath the southmost edge of his ribcage. Thankfully, no bones have been hit –– a shattered rib would be immediately evident, both in the pitch of his screams and the deformed shape of his chest –– but the wound is more than a little inflated. There’s a puffiness to it that you can’t comprehend, a stiffness to its perimeter that doesn’t click in your mind, until––

Until you see the small, dark center, and suddenly it does.

You swear beneath your breath, a filthy, ugly word that you’d picked up a few weeks back from one of your patients. You don’t even know what it means, not really, but speaking it feels cathartic enough that you don’t altogether care.

Oh, sweet, holy hell.

James cracks an eye open, muttering, “Darlin’, you rea–– you really gotta work on your bedside manner.”

“Alright, listen to me, James,” you tell him, forgoing a witty response. You don’t have the time, not considering what you’re now dealing with, and you figure James will appreciate your working hands more than he’ll appreciate your shitty attempts at banter. “There’s… there’s something I need to do for you, before I can start patching you up. Now, normally I could give you something for the pain, but we’re out of the anesthetic I need. So this isn’t gonna… it’s not gonna feel very good.”

James looses a labored sigh, oddly calm for the clear anguish marring his face. “Shit, well good news,” he mutters, swallowing thickly, “it already doesn’t.”

His lashes flutter in a telltale manner, one which lets you know he’s getting closer to the brink and you’re running short on time. It’s easy enough, not to give in to the panic this incites in your chest. You’ve been doing this job a long time now, know that what James needs is your calm, your level-headedness. Those things have a higher chance of keeping him alive, of seeing to it that he comes out of this on the other side. Scarred up, maybe, and without the ability to breathe as deep as he once could, but still alive.

You shake your head, grabbing the tweezers from where you’d set them down before planting your forearm against an uninjured section of James’ bare chest for leverage. “Alright, big breaths, James. You scream as loud as you want or need to, but just… try and stay as still as you can, okay? I won’t be able to stop until it’s done.”

The only answer he gives in response is a shaky nod, the thick black fringe of his lashes brushing his cheekbones as his lips begin to move at a speed with which your eyes can hardly track. A prayer, you figure, or a plea for a quick end. Whichever it is, it helps him to relax just the tiniest bit more, slightly smooths out the lines of pain and suffering etched into his face.

Until you start digging with the tweezers, that is.

Then it’s all white hot screams of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper beneath his cries, words drowned out by the sheer volume of the howls ripping out of his throat. But you don’t stop working, don’t withdraw the tweezers from his bloody wound. You hadn’t been joking when you told him starting meant you couldn’t stop until you finished. Abandoning the task now meant leaving James to bleed out in a matter of seconds. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. You’re doing good, though, alright? You’re doing amazing. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment for the tweezers’ edges to find the metal bullet lodged in his skin. At first, all you can feel is a mess of flesh and muscle, shredded and frayed from the impact of the gunshot. For a few short seconds, you wonder if your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you, if it would have been more wise to search for an exit wound on his back than to simply jump straight in without taking the time to stop and think.

But your worries are unfounded –– proven two seconds later when your tweezers make contact with the tiny, foreign object threatening James’ life. Carefully, you maneuver the tweezers into the correct position to properly take hold of the bullet. Then, with one last whispered apology, you slowly and carefully begin to pull.

James’ legs buck hard against the cot, arms straining at his sides where he’s got both his hands fisted into the sheets in an attempt to hold on for dear life. His teeth chatter against each other, knocking and clacking as he tries to get ahold of the screams pouring freely from him, and that thin sheen of sweat coating his skin has turned into a full on tidal wave.

But his torso doesn’t move –– not a single inch.

“We’re almost done,” you assure him, keeping your hand steady as you continue gently easing the bullet up, and up, and up. You can just make out the silver edges of it now, slick with blood and dented. It won’t be long now, before it’s out and you can start working on staunching the blood leaking from his body. Maybe you can lift his spirits with a joke or two then, a witty comment to ease some of the pain. Maybe––

The bullet slips from the tweezers, catching you off guard and jerking your hand to the left. It’s only by a centimeter, not a huge distance, but given that you’ve got edges of metal inserted into this man’s wound, to him, it makes all the difference in the world.

James throws his head back and screams, loud enough that you can instantly hear his vocal cords go raw beneath the strain of the volume. A single word leaves his lips; it sounds like Ma, only it’s warped, strangled. Much as you detest the fact, you know the sound well. A soldier crying out for his mother while under the thrall of delirium and pain isn’t exactly a rarity around these parts.

Guilt twists your heart with the razor sharpness of a cruel knife.

“Stop,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “P-please–– please stop!”

“I can’t,” you tell him, already repositioning your tweezers and going back in. Luckily, the bullet is much closer to the surface of his wound now. It only takes a second before you find another grip on it, instantly deciding to forego gentleness in favor of speed. “But the good news is––” With a slight bend of your wrist and a soft, wet pop, the bullet comes loose from his wound. “––we’re done with the shitty part.”

James’ eyes, glassy with pain and pupils blown wide, fall first to the bullet you hold up for his perusal, set against a backdrop of lowlight and your blood covered hand, before wandering their way up to your face. It’s then that you notice his irises are water blue and clear as crystal. You’re not sure why, but their color fascinates you.

“I wanna keep that,” he mutters weakly.

Then, his lashes flutter rapidly and his head lolls to the side, his lungs expelling a great, big breath before shuddering to a halt.

Your heart lurches at the sight. For one, awful moment, you think you’ve just put the poor man through all of that pain and agony only to end up somehow killing him in the process –– never mind the fact that this isn’t the first time you’ve extracted a bullet from a soldier’s abdomen, and certainly isn’t likely to be the last. But then his chest starts up moving again, at a much less worrisome pace. It’s slow, and his breaths are shallow, but they’re still breaths.

Unconscious –– not dead.

The realization is enough to make you send a mental note of thanks to whichever being was kind enough to have shown James mercy.

You allow yourself the shortest of moments to bask in the relief –– that you’d successfully extracted the bullet, that James hadn’t died during or after your attempts to do so, that you aren’t now left to set in motion the process of another condolence letter being shipped across seas to his family.

And once it passes, once you’ve inhaled and exhaled and wiped your hands on a cloth, you grab a cloth and press it to James’ wound, setting to work on stopping his bleeding –– but not before wrapping the bullet you’d just dislodged from his body in a pad of gauze and tucking it into the breast pocket of your uniform.

––

Chapter Two: Someone Good

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mcu #tfatws #catws #marvel #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #au #series #angst #hurt #comfort #1940s bucky

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chatonne-rousse · 3 years

Text

Seventeen Reasons, Maybe More

Chat Noir has one request. It's a simple request, really, one he doesn't understand Ladybug's reluctance to grant. He just wants Multimouse to come back as part of the team once in a while. He's absolutely sure she would be an amazing hero, and he's going to tell his partner exactly why, as soon as she arrives for patrol. He's practiced this. He has a list. There's no way she can say no! Right?

Written at the request of @jennagrinsoverml.

Read it on Ao3 here.

***

Three things happen in quick succession. Ladybug lands on the roof, her yo-yo retracts with its telltale zip, and Chat Noir springs to his feet.

He's waited nineteen agonizing minutes for his partner to arrive, though that's partly his fault for getting here so early on her solo patrol night. He just...he has something he needs to say, and he's ready to say it. He's been ready.

"Hey, Kitty. I thought it was just me tonight. Everything okay?" Ladybug cocks her head and looks at him with mild concern. She seems to have already assessed that he's physically well and has moved on to trying to figure out if the same is true emotionally. She really is a wonderful partner, and he loves her beyond measure. That's why he doesn't understand why he even needs the list currently burning a hole in his pocket.

He smiles, hoping to put her at ease. That'll make this easier. Hopefully. "I'm just fine, LB. But I was hoping we could talk."

"O...kay," she says, her brows furrowing further. "What is it?"

Chat takes a deep breath, lets it out through his nose, and sets his shoulders, determined. "I think we should bring back Multimouse."

Any trace of worry slips from her face in an instant. She pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes. It's her turn to take a deep breath.

He waits, impatient and a little nervous. This isn't an auspicious start.

He resolutely ignores the fact that her pose reminds him of his father, mulling over his son's perceived transgressions with annoyance just before he relegates Adrien to his room for an indeterminate prison sentence.

Yeah, he's not focusing on that. Ladybug is not his father. He chooses to defer to her because she's proven to be a brilliant strategist, but he has no intention of prostrating himself in submission to one more person. If they're supposed to be equals, he deserves the chance to plead his case, at the very least.

She opens her eyes and lets her hands fall to her sides. He doesn't see a refusal in her expression, neither is it a look of capitulation. But that's okay. He has his list.

"Chat, we've talked about this," she says wearily, shaking her head just a fraction.

"I know we have. But I still think she would be an incredible addition to the team, even if it's just temporary." Ladybug opens her mouth to speak, but Chat barrels on. "You don't know Marinette, My Lady. Not like I do. She's so smart and creative! She comes up with plans to help people all the time. She thinks quickly on her feet and--" He stops when his partner snorts.

One eyebrow arched in derision, Ladybug huffs another laugh before muttering, "If she's on her feet at all. That girl is clumsy."

His blood turns to ice. "What did you say, Ladybug?" He himself is surprised by the timbre of his voice, deep and even and just hinting at the wave of defensive anger he's actively holding back. His partner is even more surprised.

"Oh, Kitty, I'm just joking!" She waves her hands in supplication. "Marinette and I are friends. I'm just as clumsy as she is, and she knows it." Ladybug smiles and his ire dissipates as quickly as it came. "So do you, in fact."

"Of course. I could never forget the first time I met Miss Maladroit."

"Don't I know it." Ladybug rolls her eyes, folding her legs beneath her to sit cross-legged on the roof beside him. She gazes up at him, eyes shining, and pats the spot next to her.

Whether the decision to place herself in a position beneath him was deliberate or not, it doesn't escape Chat's notice. It also doesn't feel right. He lowers himself to the roof beside his partner, back to equilibrium. Sort of.

"So, Chaton," she says, bumping his shoulder playfully. "You were extolling the virtues of our mutual friend Marinette?"

His cheeks heat. "I don't know that I was doing that, per se. But I stand by what I said. She's pretty awesome. And she would make the best teammate. I know she would."

Ladybug is silent for a long moment before she sighs heavily. "Chat, I know you want to bring her back, but it's just not a good idea."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, My Lady." He unzips his left side waist pocket and produces his handwritten list with a flourish. "It's a great idea, and I can prove it."

She blinks.

He continues, undaunted, as he unfolds the paper and snaps it crisply. He chooses to ignore his partner's facepalm.

"Number One: Marinette is smart."

"You already said that." Her voice is muffled behind her hand but he can still understand her. Also, just because she's right doesn't mean he plans to respond.

He has a list to read, after all. He does skip numbers four, seven, and twelve, since he already said she was creative, helpful, and quick-thinking. Chat is so glad he made the effort to put this together so he didn't forget anything. And Plagg made fun of him for spending such a long time on it!

"...and finally, Number Seventeen: Marinette is a super fast learner, and I know she would be a pro at this in no time."

In his mind, he can hear Plagg's drawl from over his shoulder as he completed the list last night.

"Hey, kid, you forgot Number Eighteen: Marinette looks really good in grey and pink."

"Come on, Plagg," he sighs in exasperation. "You know it's not like that."

"So you don't think she looks cute as Multimouse?"

A pause. "I don't think I've ever said either way whether I did or didn't."

"You're barely making sense, kid. Also, you're blushing."

He scowls. "Don't you have some Camembert to stink up my bedroom with?"

Plagg produces a piece of cheese from seemingly nowhere. Adrien wrinkles his nose in disgust.

"I can have my cheese and watch your disaster unfold at the same time, don't worry."

Ignoring his kwami, he carefully folds the paper and tucks it in his desk drawer. He'll have to remember to put it in his pocket after he transforms tomorrow. He smiles, thinking about the possibility of working with Multimouse again if he's able to convince Ladybug. Marinette is such a great friend, and this would be the perfect chance to spend more time with her...even if she won't know exactly who she's hanging out with.

"Oh, kid," Plagg laughs, snapping Adrien from his reverie. "You're a mess. I love it."

Adrien rolls his eyes good-naturedly. Plagg is a pain in the butt, but life would be so boring without him. "Love you, too, buddy."

Chat looks from the folded paper in his lap to his partner, awaiting her response. Her expression is unreadable but she seems to be trying to read him very, very carefully.

"Chat Noir," she says at last, "are you in love with Marinette?"

"What?" he sputters. "How did you get that from anything I said?" What was wrong with everyone? If he had a nickel for every time... Chat shakes his head. "No, LB, I'm not in love with her. Marinette is a very good friend."

She lets out a bark of laughter. "Yeah, she's got a couple of those."

Chat smiles warmly, happy at the thought that even Ladybug knows about their friendship. It's so important to him, whether hero or civilian, on her terrace or in class.

"You know you’re the only lady for me, Bugaboo, but it’s funny," he says with a wry laugh, "she actually reminds me a lot of you. One time I even--" He stops himself just in time. Ladybug doesn't need to know that tidbit from the Heroes Day picnic. He shrugs, still grinning. “The pigtails and blue eyes don’t help, I guess.”

Her eyes search his again for several long, almost uncomfortable moments. He hopes she finds what she's looking for. He couldn't be more sincere about this.

Finally, she sighs and asks, “I know she’s your friend, Minou, but have you considered her safety?”

Oh, he has that one covered. "Did you miss Number Three: Marinette is brave? She's stood up to bullies and authority figures and...and even really strict parents,” he says, ticking each example off on his fingers. “Not everyone can say that."

Ladybug stares at him for a moment. “How do you even know all those things, Chat?” She facepalms again and shakes her head. “Wait, no, don’t tell me.” She sighs again. “This is...a lot.”

To be quite honest, he doesn’t know why he wants this so badly. He cherishes the moments of fun with his partner outside the heat of battle (though even akumas can be a sort of thrilling fun of their own) and would happily share the role with just her, the red and black yin to his black and green yang.

But Adrien hasn’t been able to shake the memory of his friend’s bright smile and brighter spirit, her bravery in the face of unknown adversity, the way she executed that brilliant plan with Ladybug so perfectly that day, with no previous training whatsoever. Sweet Marinette, kind and just and selfless, was meant to be a hero. He knows it. And it isn’t fair that Ladybug is refusing to give her another chance just because of a misunderstanding.

He knows that if the roles were reversed, Marinette would fight for him. She’s amazing like that. This is the least he can do.

“Bug?” Chat asks quietly. He watches Ladybug’s hand slide down her face before her eyes meet his. “I know you’re the Guardian and not me, and I respect that. I really do. But please, My Lady, could you trust me, just this once, to choose a hero? Please?”

Her face falls, stricken, and his heart squeezes in his chest. He hadn’t meant to upset her. His mind is suddenly awhirl with how he can do damage control on the situation.

But she speaks before he can. “Oh, Kitty,” she breathes. “I do trust you, I promise. I know it must not seem like it sometimes, and I’m sorry.” She huffs a breath and looks down at her spotted hand where it now rests on his steel toes. “Being the Guardian is really difficult. These are big decisions, and…” She trails off, then looks up at him again.

Once more, her eyes search his. Once more, he wonders why she’s so reticent about what seems like a great suggestion for a hero.

He doesn’t understand why he’s had to fight so hard for this, when he knows that Marinette is a friend of Ladybug’s, too. None of it makes sense.

But as usual, he’ll defer to his partner. He’s said his piece on the matter.

“Okay,” she says at last, with yet another sigh.

A giddy glee rises in his chest and sings through his nerves as his face lights with a grin wide enough to make his cheeks ache.

“Thank you, Bugaboo!” She winces at his volume, so he tones it down. He can’t tone down his excitement, though. “This is going to be amazing! I can’t wait to tell her!”

“Calm down, you crazy cat,” she admonishes, though she’s fighting a smile. “I need some time to think about how we can do this, and we’ll have to have rules. Don’t look at me like that, Chaton, you know it’s true!”

He waves a gloved hand. “It’ll be fine. It’ll be more than fine. You’ll see, My Lady! You won’t regret this!”

For just a moment her smile looks more like a grimace, but when he blinks, that strange look is gone.

He stands, reaching out a hand to help his partner up as well. As she brushes herself off and reaches for her yo-yo, she watches him tuck the list back into his pocket.

“I’m still annoyed that your suit has pockets and mine doesn’t.”

“Isn’t your yo-yo equipped with infinite storage?”

“Pssh. That’s beside the point.”

After a beat of silence, their shared laughter echoes across the rooftops.

Ladybug unhooks her yo-yo and prepares to zip off for her slightly-delayed patrol. “Good night, Kitty,” she says warmly. “Marinette is lucky to have a friend like you.”

“Good night, Bug. And...thank you.”

She nods once, and then she’s gone.

Chat Noir sits down again, his feet swinging idly from the edge of the roof. He could - and should - go home, but the thought of his lonely bedroom is less than appealing. He’d love to stop by a certain pink, flower-filled terrace on the way back, though he doesn’t think he could keep this news a secret, and Ladybug clearly needed time to plan. He isn’t sure why it requires a plan, but, well, he’s not the Guardian. There’s probably a lot more to it than he’ll ever know.

He thinks of his dear friend and how excited she’ll be to find out she has a second chance to be a hero. He thinks of the fun they’ll have on a cat-and-mouse chase (he laughs out loud at his own joke) across rooftops on patrol, the pastries she’s sure to bring for them to share, the warmth of spending time close to someone he cares about so much.

He can’t wait to tell Plagg the list actually worked!

When he stands up a few minutes later, his heart is light. He can face returning to his lonely house knowing that he’ll see his friends tomorrow, including a soon-to-be part-time superhero. And best of all, by trusting his choice, Ladybug trusted him.

It’s late and he should probably be quieter, but as Chat Noir vaults from the rooftop toward home, it’s with a loud whoop of pure joy.

#miraculous ladybug #chat just wants to hang out with multimouse again okay?#adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ml fan fiction #ml fic #my writing

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notfivefives · 3 years

Text

Clonetober 2021, Day 3 & Whumptober 2021, No. 16

Prompts:

Day 3- Inhibitor Chip Removal for @clonetober

No. 16- On a Need to Know Basis: Recovery | Scars | Aftermath for @whumptober2021

Title: Stable

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,209

Characters: Gregor & Wolffe

Summary: Gregor has misgivings about looking after Wolffe after the Commander’s inhibitor chip is removed.

Read here, or on AO3

The excision of Wolffe’s chip had been conditional on Rex’s agreement to leave with the medic - a Twi’Lek woman whose clientele base was mostly comprised of outlaws and anyone else who required discreet clinical services - on a job. It was non-negotiable, and though Gregor had vehemently made the argument that it would be better for Wolffe to wake up to a familiar face, Rex had sighed and given Gregor a small, resigned smile and told Gregor that his face was familiar.

Gregor had laughed even as he’d shot Rex a dirty look that said, You know what I meant.

And Rex had nodded. Because he did know. But that didn’t change their circumstances.

The medic, with a twitch of her violet lekku, had assured Gregor that her 2-1B medical droid - she’d won it from Cid - would be more than sufficient to help care for Wollfe.

And then they’d left them in the little place on the outskirts of Ord Mantell that was part dwelling, part infirmary.

Gregor’s teeth worried at his lower lip as he sat, watching the smooth rise and fall of Wolffe’s chest. It hadn’t been so long ago that Gregor had been on that same cot, an identical incision on his head.

“How is he?”

The med droid’s head swivelled to where Gregor sat in a threadbare chair. Its eyes, or the two sets of three yellow lights that represented each of them, regarded him.

“The patient is stable.”

Gregor couldn’t decide if its voice was condescending, or merely dispassionate, but its words were as succinct as they were unhelpful and Gregor felt annoyance and frustration welling within him. A more nuanced answer would require a more specific question and Gregor wasn’t sure how to ask.

How will he be? He wanted to say. But he knew the question would make even less sense to the droid than it did to him. Droids couldn’t see the future, they could only extrapolate based on data, and the data said “stable.”

Gregor let out a vexed huff, crossed his arms and slouched in his chair. To the credit of his seat, it was at least comfortable. That didn’t mean he didn’t resent sitting in it. Pacing the confines of the medic’s home and workspace, and leaning against a wall were, however, slightly less attractive options.

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. His fingertips grazed the still-pink scar tissue on his right temple.

His own waking after his chip had been removed hadn’t been so slow. But his procedure had fallen under the “just in case” category. It had also been entirely voluntary. Who knew what complications could arise with Wolffe.

Going by the reports Rex and Gregor had read on Wolffe while they searched for him, Wolffe had, like his namesake, hunted and killed with the ruthless efficiency of a persistence predator. Did that begin with the flick of the Order 66 switch, and would it continue despite his chip’s removal?

“My readings indicate that the patient will soon return to consciousness.”

Gregor straightened.

Wolffe’s breathing wasn’t as deep as it had been, and Gregor could see a crease in his brow, and the beginnings of a frown on his lips. Wolffe’s eyes slid open and Gregor remained still. From where he was sitting, Gregor could only see the pale, cybernetic one, but when Wolffe’s head turned in his direction he could see his mismatched gaze evolve from dull to questioning, and then to hostile.

Unsurprising, considering his last memory was likely of being taken down with stun rounds.

Wolffe’s frown became a sneer as he studied Gregor and Gregor rose, though he was unsure if it was to offer comfort or to take a defensive stance.

Wolffe rolled onto his side and Gregor lifted a hand to caution him against any sudden movements.

Too late.

The muscles in Wolffe’s face bunched and he closed his eyes. He reached a hand up to his temple and sucked in air through his teeth when he found the bandage-covered incision there.

“Wolffe…” Gregor said as he took several steps toward him. He stopped in his tracks when Wolffe’s eyes flashed open. There was hurt beneath the anger and mistrust. “I’m Gregor. You’re safe here.”

“What in hells did you do to me?” Wolffe rasped out the words, but they weren’t lacking in venom. The scar on the right side of his face added to the ferocity of his appearance, and even stripped of his armor and weapons, Wolffe looked battle-ready.

“Rex and I found you, and-”

“Found me?” Wolffe spat as he lifted himself and moved his legs over the side of the cot. Gregor could see Wolffe’s eyes go a little unfocused with the movement, but after he blinked again and moved his head from side to side, Wolffe rose on unsteady legs. “That’s a funny way of saying-”

“Please be calm,” the 2-1B unit said as it took several mechanical steps closer to Wolffe.

Wolffe divided his attention and his ire between the droid and Gregor.

“Does that ever help?” Gregor asked the droid, without taking his eyes off of Wolffe, who took a step toward the door.

“My master has programmed me to be proactive where potentially combative patients are concerned. If he does not regain his composure, I will be forced to administer medication to achieve that end.”

“Try it,” Wolffe said. He turned toward the droid and squared his shoulders, but took a sensible step away from it when he caught sight of the needle at the end of the droid’s left appendage.

“Hey, whoah, stop!” Gregor said when it looked as though the droid was going to oblige Wolffe. Part of Gregor admired the medic’s forethought, considering her line of work, but the other, more significant part of him was actively cursing her. “I’ll get pretty combative, too, if you go near him. What do you think your chances are of taking down two Republic clones?”

All three of them were still. Gregor didn’t know how, but the droid seemed to actually be calculating an answer to his question. For his part, Gregor tried to estimate how much worse he’d just made the situation. He’d been in higher stakes impasses, to be sure, but this one seemed more delicate.

“Not optimal,” the droid admitted, at last, as it lowered its arms.

“That’s what I thought,” Gregor said as he let out a breath and looked at Wolffe to see if he’d garnered any favor.

Or that he hadn’t provoked an attack.

Wolffe eyed him. The wariness and anger were there, but beneath them was an unmistakable weariness. It was the same tiredness Gregor saw in Rex every day. The same kind he knew he’d see if he looked in a mirror. He felt morbid laughter bubbling up when he thought that they were all reflections of one another and that he didn’t need the benefit of a mirror. He kept it at bay, though, and he and Wolffe stood in silence.

Wolffe rested the small of his back against the cot and swallowed. Gregor thought to offer him some water, but Wolffe spoke before he could.

“Rex is dead, and so is the Republic.”

“Well, the Republic is,” Gregor conceded with an upward tilt of the lip, “But Rex is alive.”

Wolffe shook his head again, but this time he broke eye contact. Gregor wasn’t sure what he’d expected from the Commander. Relief? Disbelief?

“Then he’s a traitor,” Wolffe said, his voice a hoarse, uncertain whisper. “And so are you. You’re in violation of...I should...I should…”

“The patient is distressed,” the med droid reported.

“He’s allowed to be,” Gregor snapped. He sounded more petulant than he would have cared to, but the droid fell silent again, so it was entirely worth it.

Wolffe’s shoulders slumped and he crossed his arms over his stomach as he took his weight off the bed again. Gregor took a half step forward and decided to gamble.

“Is that what you want?” he asked. He kept his tone as conversational as he could, as though it made no difference to him if he found himself in another cell, awaiting stars knew what fate. “To turn us in to the Empire?”

Wolffe was silent for a long while. He wrapped his arms tighter around his middle and bowed his head. His gaze was dark and distant. Gregor wondered what realizations were filtering in, what memories. Memories - or what Gregor thought were memories - came rattling back in his dreams, or resurfaced in flashes with scents or sensations. For Wolffe’s sake, Gregor hoped the memories were kinder, but he doubted they were.

“I...I don’t…” Wolffe trailed off.

Gregor hadn’t expected Wolffe’s shoulders to start shaking, or his breath to start hitching.

But they did. Oh, they did.

“What did I do?” Wolffe asked. “What did I-”

His words broke off in a ragged sob.

“It’s okay,” Gregor offered.

Wolffe shook his head and screwed his eyes shut. A tear glinted down his cheek and Gregor hazarded another step closer, though he had no idea what exactly he was doing.

“The General,” Wolffe said, his voice thick. “When I read the report, all I could think was ‘Good. Good the traitor’s dead,’ and I was...I was…”

Wolffe’s knees buckled and he dropped. Hard.

Gregor nearly tried to catch him, nearly tried to break the fall that had probably been inevitable. But what could he do, really? He considered walking out and closing the door behind him. Not to assuage his own discomfort, or because he didn’t care, but because it seemed wrong to see Wolffe like this, suffocating on the emotions the chip had kept at bay. The chip he and Rex had had removed.

Something unpleasant lanced its way into Gregor’s gut. Could they have afforded to give Wolffe a choice?

No, Gregor thought as he shoved the guilt down. With the chip, Wolffe didn’t have a choice. Now he did.

The heels of Wolffe’s hands were on the floor and his nails were digging into it as though he could scrape some semblance of reason from the tatty carpet beneath him.

Gregor wished his practical knowledge of weapons and infiltration would do him and Wolffe any good. He wished he could spare Wolffe the pain. Most of all, Gregor wished Rex were there.

But Gregor did what he’d never been trained to do, what the Kaminoans hadn’t deemed necessary for their creations to learn.

He knelt down beside Wolffe and put a hand on one of his shoulders.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said. The words felt ridiculous coming from his mouth, but his conviction was genuine. “It is.”

“No,” Wolffe croaked.

“Ssh,” Gregor shushed, wondering if Wolffe even heard him. He rubbed Wolffe’s shoulder and down his back. The feel of the quaking muscle beneath his palm hurt Gregor’s heart. He couldn’t begin to imagine what was going through Wolffe’s head. Gregor felt a deep, heated hatred for the Empire and the Kaminoans begin to constrict his chest. He couldn’t recall feeling it so intensely before. But Kamino was gone now and they were still here. Used, then cast aside. “Shshshsh.”

“Please listen, Wolffe,” Gregor said. “There was nothing you could have done. You couldn’t help it. There was a chip in your head, in all of our heads, but it’s gone now. We got it out.”

“Y-you don’t u-understand what I d-di-id.”

“Hey, hey,” Gregor said as he shifted so he was directly in front of Wolffe. He was grateful Wolffe remained pliant enough that he could draw him into a hug. “You couldn’t help it, Wolffe.”

“No,” Wolffe said again. “Nononono.”

Wolffe chanted that single, miserable note into Gregor’s shoulder until it devolved into a wild sound that pitched and cracked and went on and on until Gregor thought Wolffe’s lungs would give out.

“I know, Wolffe. I know. I’m so sorry,” Gregor said as he put a calloused, uncertain hand on the back of Wolffe’s head and hugged him closer.

Wolffe’s arms remained slack at his sides as he choked and wept, and Gregor held him.

The sobs wracking Wolffe’s body lessened in intensity.

Eventually.

Wolffe’s chest rested heavily against Gregor’s, and he could feel each hectic little sniffle and each groan that worked its way loose from Wolffe’s throat.

Gregor didn’t know if he was helping, or if Wolffe was simply exhausting himself. He rubbed warm, gentle circles between Wolffe’s shoulder blades. He didn’t know how long they sat like that, but he ignored the ache in his knees and the pins and needles in his feet.

Wolffe took in a slow, steady breath and tensed back ever so slightly. Gregor allowed him to list backwards, but he kept a steadying hand on his shoulder and the back of his neck. Wolffe still didn't look at Gregor, but Gregor could see how lost he looked, how hurt.

“Hey,” Gregor said. He was surprised how rough his own voice sounded. There was no response, but he leaned forward and touched his forehead to Wolffe’s. He couldn’t make any of this make sense, but he could try his best to anchor Wolffe. “I’ve got you, Wolffe. I’ve got you.”

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crimsonrae · 3 years

Text

Disintegration

Chapter Two

Summary: He witnessed the worst night of her life, he just never expected for her to become the love of his life.

KlausxCami

Warnings: Mentions of Domestic Abuse.

Rating: Mature

Chapter Two

2009

Amber liquid sat almost tauntingly within its iced tumbler as Camille stared aimlessly at the wall. Low chattering echoed dimly in her ears, but she registered little of the subdued crowd. She felt angry... no, she felt numb. Like a spindly serpent lying in wait for its prey, her anger lurked beneath the surface – its coil hardly tolerable.

Her fingers clenched around her glass, silently reveling in the wet dew that had coalesced on its exterior. It anchored her to the present even as she drifted in her scattered thoughts. Small bursts of Saturday played in her head, stuck like a broken reel. It was both a blur and all too clear. She could still feel the slick feel of Scott's blood on her hands, even as quips of conversation broke her reverie. Hours spent in the county jail had been nothing compared to the cold words from her mother and the stony silence that had followed her back to her dorm.

It had all become too much. She needed to get out.

It had occurred to her there was a certain amount of irony that she had taken refuge inside a bar. Not the one that she had beaten Scott to a pulp in – she was firmly banned from that establishment, but one across town. Away from campus and anyone who knew her. Camille tried not to pay too much mind to the fact that she was employing less than stellar coping mechanisms over the mess she had made of her life, but really, she was already on a roll of bad decisions. Why stop now?

Still...it was amazing how quickly everything had spiraled out of control.

One minute she had been a junior, set to finish her bachelor's degree with honors in the next year – now, with a court date set for next week and a meeting with the Dean's office tomorrow, it looked as if expulsion was on the horizon. And somehow that was at the bottom of her priority list. Felony assault and battery charges hovered over her head like an impending noose, not to mention, two parents infuriated with their daughter and the shame she had brought her family. She hardly cared that Scott was breathing from a tube in a hospital, she did care that Marnie hadn't called her.

Had she lost a friend as well as her academic career? She hadn't foreseen that... though, in truth, she hadn't put much thought into her actions. She had simply reacted and that – that wasn't like her.

"Penny for your thoughts, love."

Camille nearly jolted at the honey grizzled voice that chimed next to her table. She glanced up into a pair of oddly familiar cerulean eyes that shined curiously at her. It took her a moment to place him, and it was only as his lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk that she remembered.

He had been there.

Entertained by the entire debacle.

Now, that's what I call a show.

Her hidden ire rumbled in the face of her spectator. How she had hated his delight. It annoyed her that he had found her now when she wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

Pursing her lips distastefully, she arched a brow, "They're not for sale."

Her irritation was not lost on Klaus, if anything her dismissal amused him, "Come now, that's not true. Anything is for sale; it all depends on the price."'

"Well unless you have a time machine, I don't think you'll be able to afford my thoughts." Camille muttered wearily as she sipped from her glass. She pointedly turned her gaze away, making it silently clear she was done with him.

Yet, Klaus had never been one to let a challenge go untested. He found himself slipping into the chair across from her, much to Camille's exasperation, "Now why would you want a time machine? Please tell me, it's not to go back and stop yourself from beating that pillock from the other night half to death. Such passion should never be undone or regretted."

Camille arched a brow, nonplused by his words, "Not everyone views such acts of violence with the same enjoyment as you did... I don't believe that I invited you to sit. I'm not particularly in the mood for company."

"Yes, you've been quite rude." Klaus intoned almost cheerfully as he signaled for a waiter – now he was making it silently clear that he had no intention to leave, "That's alright, I don't mind a bit of surliness. I've been known to be a rather temperamental creature myself... but let's be honest here, love, while I may have enjoyed your spirited attack, you enjoyed committing it more."

She hated the truth that rang in his words. Stifling a sigh, Cami tossed back the rest of her drink and dropped a few bills on the table. She came here to get away, not to be harassed.

She wasn't granted the chance to stand as his fingers entrapped her wrist, "Let me go."

"Stay." Klaus implored, loosening his grip, but not removing his touch, "I won't speak of your little... incident if you do not wish it. I have several hours to kill, and you are by the far the most interesting person I've run into today. Please, keep me company."

Despite her desire to depart, her curiosity glimmered faintly at his words, "Is that why you seemingly tracked me down? Boredom?"

"Hardly tracked you down, love." Klaus said after placing an order for two more drinks with the waiter. "You're in the pub of my hotel. Merely, came downstairs and saw you."

Camille blinked before she sat back and viewed the bar through new eyes. There was an entranceway toward the back that she now realized led into a lobby. Marble floors and polished banisters gleamed through the glass door. It fairly screamed expensive. It also explained the quietness of a bar... the stillness that had drawn her inside.

Klaus watched her perusal with muted amusement, "You have no idea where you are. Not that you're in a bad neighborhood, mind you, but it is foolish to not have your bearings about you."

Camille silently stifled her unease as again his words rang true. A sense of danger lurked with his presence that she was only beginning to acknowledge, but something kept her survival instincts from fully sounding off.

"I wasn't really..." She trailed off as she realized her words would only reinforce his point about being foolish.

He knew it too.

His head tilted to the side and his eyes softened with an understanding that she swore he shouldn't have. It was similar to the way he had looked at her as she had been carted off by the police... Cami didn't understand why it had seemed to soothe and irritate her then, and she still didn't understand it now.

"Running away, were you?" Klaus intoned sagely, "I know a fair bit about that, but you don't strike me as the type to run from a situation. What demons plague you, aside from the obvious?"

Cami snorted and wondered if this counted as talking about her incident, but found herself replying, "Demons is a bit harsh... and why would I tell you, Nosey Stranger, anything about my demons?"

Klaus grinned and was stalled from answering as their drinks arrived, "Well conversation is easier when at least one party opens up, no? And you can call me Klaus. Niklaus Mikaelson."

"Cami." She returned softly, "Why don't we focus on you, instead? What brings you to my little corner of the word, Klaus?"

"I am not nearly that interesting."

"I somehow doubt that."

"Doubt all you like, but I could say the same of you."

"Could you?" Cami said almost teasingly as a smirk tugged at her lips.

Klaus huffed a low laugh as he conceded, "Well, I could if you told me about yourself."

They were flirting, Cami noted distantly as they exchanged not-quite-shy smiles again. Her head spun – how had this happened? She had been thoroughly annoyed with this man not even ten seconds ago. And while some of that sentiment still lurked, she now could only think about how handsome he looked when he smiled... actually smiled, not smirked.

One thing was for certain, she wasn't feeling quite so numb anymore... and she wasn't sure that was necessarily a good thing. Despite how handsome the man before her was or how charming he was turning out to be, she had the distinct impression that she was a match strike away from playing with fire.

"How about a question for a question?" She proposed almost absently and nearly cursed as soon as the words left her tongue.

Klaus considered her offer with shrewd eyes, "Any question?"

A reluctant sigh left Cami, "Let me guess, you have a question about Saturday night?"

"A few." Klaus acknowledged with a sly quirk to his lips, "But mainly one pressing one."

She shook her head and dragged the untouched drink he had bought her to her side. If they were going to play this game she would need the alcohol, "Fine. Ask."

"What did he do?" Klaus asked quietly as she hesitated, her glance almost suspicious – he explained, "In two minutes of conversation, I've ascertained that you are not a rash person. A bit foolhardy perhaps, but you've been moderately cautious since I've engaged your interest. You also don't strike me as the type to attack someone without reason. So, what was your reason? What did he do?"

There was a long silence as Camille gauged what she wanted to impart. Several glib answers rested on her tongue, non-answers that would dismiss his question and move their conversation on, but the truth burned in her throat. It would be nice to tell someone who didn't know her, who didn't know Scott or Marnie, who wasn't there to judge her actions as just or fair what her motivation had been...

"I have a roommate. We've roomed together the last three years – and she's great. Sweet, shy. I couldn't have picked a better roommate... or friend." Camille started quietly. She ignored the lick of angry flames that sparked in her belly, "She met him a few months ago and they hit it off immediately. I liked him. He was funny and he brought her out of her shell."

A wave of nausea swarmed her simmering fury and she paused as she remembered the carefree way Scott would greet her. The little presents that he would bring for Marnie. Those gifts seemed so more insidious now that she realized those parcels showed up after every incident.

Klaus waited patiently, somehow knowing not to speak as she sought the proper words. Her jade eyes had deepened to a sparking emerald, imbued with dark emotion.

"Then one day she came back to our room. Her shirt was covered in blood, a plaster taped over her nose, and two black eyes. He had hit her. Only once she said. It was an accident she said, but he broke her nose." Camille swallowed and resisted the urge to ball her fist, "She refused to go to the RA or the Dean or any other official and just waved me off. It wouldn't happen again, and I knew that was bullshit. I knew..."

The shiver of rage in her tone struck a chord within Klaus as he watched her. Any hint of his earlier joviality and curiosity had vanished in the face of her anguish. His own anger growled in answer to hers – he had never been one to shy away from violence, but brutish nonsensical abuse had always been and always would be a sore point for him.

"How many times?" The question slipped out before he could stop it.

If Camille had been paying closer attention, she would have noticed the almost eerie calm that had leveled his voice. Instead, she shook her head, "Too many."

Another sip from her glass, "He sent her to the hospital Friday night. Two broken ribs and a concussion. I had been with her all night, and I just couldn't go back to our dorm, so I wandered. I wandered and before I knew it, I was inside the campus bar and there he was... Scamming on a freshman. Both of them laughing at some stupid funny joke he had said, as if it were just another Saturday. As if he hadn't just pulverized his girlfriend and left her to rot in a hospital as if he hadn't been getting away with much of the same for months. I was so incredibly angry and all I wanted was to make him stop."

Warm skin brushed across hers and she glanced down to see he had cradled her hand. She was trembling. It was so faint, but the box that she had been stowing all her wildly out of control emotion into had been pried open with his question.

His fingers curled into her palm like an anchor into the seabed and she smiled bitterly, "Still think you received a good show?"

It took Klaus a second to remember his words from that night, but he didn't scowl.

No.

His smile was tinged with undue pride and awe, "I think you just made it even better. I had initially thought you to be some hellcat. Sent into a jealous rage at capturing your boyfriend cheating. The truth is far more satisfying. You're a protector. If anything, I stand by my earlier sentiment. Do not regret your actions, Camille."

She blinked at hearing her full name cross his lips, most assumed her name was Cameron when she introduced herself as Cami, "My name, how...?"

Klaus smirked, "Camille O'Connell, you are under arrest."

His voice was flat with an American intonation, but what part of America she was unsure as his little gimmick threw her from her despair into a baffled disquiet.

Slowly she cringed, "Okay, one – don't ever do that accent again. Just... no. Two – no one calls me, Camille, unless I'm in trouble. It's a grandma's name."

Klaus bit back a laugh as he pressed with his fake accent again, "What? You mean this voice? I think it's uh, rather convincing."

Camille shivered; it was almost like nails on a chalkboard when he spoke like that, but the tension her little story had engendered dissipated, and she felt a coil within her loosen.

She couldn't stop her snicker as she begged, "Stop, please. It's just not right. It doesn't fit you at all. Smarmy Brit is much more your style."

"Smarmy Brit?" Klause threw back almost indignantly, "You wound me, Camille."

"Somehow I think that's hard to do." She countered sagely, but she couldn't keep a grin from her mien. She appreciated his levity.

Klaus arched a brow, "You'd be surprised. Sometimes it doesn't take much at all to wound me."

"Oh?"

"A beautiful woman maligning my character five minutes after meeting me. Stings a bit, love." He answered indulgently, but there was a mischievous glint in his gaze that belied his words.

Cami giggled quietly, "You don't think you're smarmy?"

"I prefer the word charming." The faux innocent look he flashed her had them both grinning, "And I believe it is your turn to ask a question."

There were several that had erupted in her thoughts as they had spoken, but it was hard to choose just one. Part of Cami was grateful that he had lobbed such a hardball as a first question because it gave her clearance to do the same.

"What are you running away from? You said you had some experience with it earlier." Cami finally asked, figuring it would also answer the question of what he was doing here. Two answers for the price of one.

Like with Cami, Klaus sat in a long silence as he thought over his answer. Now he was the one who wished he had placed restrictions on these questions, but unlike Camille, he had no compunctions about lying. After all, they were still strangers, and he was still debating whether to continue their acquaintanceship after they parted ways. He had half a mind to seduce her, drink her, and dump her... but the more time he spent with her the less he wanted to dump her – at least right away. Camille was proving to be very intriguing indeed.

"Family. I'm running from family." Klaus announced, surprising even himself with the truth, "More specifically my father... though my brother is currently a close second."

Camille frowned, not liking the shine of pain in his eyes before he shifted to something more blank, more superficial. Perhaps her question wasn't the gem she had originally thought it to be.

At her muted concern, Klaus smiled bitterly, "My father has no love for me. Even less after it was discovered I was a product of my mother's infidelity. He's been bent on making my life a misery for as long as I can remember. The more distance I can put between him and myself the better."

"And your brother?" Cami pressed almost reluctantly, at once curious and hesitant about requesting such personal information.

"Has a great love for me actually and I, him. But I've... upset him and he needs some time to calm down." It was the most tactful way that Klaus could think to say Elijah was furious with him for daggering their siblings and supposedly dumping their bodies into the ocean. While the first part was true, the second was not... and he was not prepared for his older brother to discover that fact just yet.

An odd mildly entertained expression crossed Camille's face as she puzzled over his words. More questions surged to the forefront, but with great control, she managed to restrain herself... at least for the moment.

Klaus seemed to sense her desire as he cocked his head to the side and grinned, or she was simply terrible at hiding her thoughts, "You want more details."

Almost embarrassingly, she sipped from her glass as she fought a sheepish smile, "I really do."

"And you called me nosey? Sorry, love, you're just going to have to wait." He taunted lightly as she scowled at him.

He was saved from her retort as her phone chose that moment to sound off. Her previous merriment dulled in the face of the device's alarm and fell further as she glanced at the screen. Klaus watched as she reluctantly clicked the phone silent after responding with a text and turned remorseful eyes to him. This would be their parting it seemed.

"Such a dour glance. My last question then, who's beckoning you?" Klaus asked gently, an unexpected jolt of jealousy scoured his veins at her answer.

"My boyfriend." She quirked her lips self-consciously. She had no obligation to inform him of her relationship status and their conversation while personal, had always meant to stay a conversation... at least on her end. Yet, she felt a strange sense of guilt – she felt like she had led him on, "I should be going. It was nice to meet you, Klaus... and thank you for the drink."

Klaus tightened his grip over her hand, both had forgotten he had still been holding it, but now it worked in his favor. He wasn't ready for their conversation to end, "Stay, Camille. By the look on your face, it's what you would rather be doing."

Timidly, she squeezed his hand back, but her rueful smile told him that he was fighting a losing battle. He was tempted to compel her... but somehow that felt like the wrong move for this particular moment.

"He's worried about me. Everyone's worried about me. Or angry. This was a nice reprieve. One I really needed, but I have to go before that worry goes to def-con four." She said almost deprecatingly and moved to stand.

Cami was surprised when he stood with her until she felt him slip her phone from her other hand. A word of protest played on her lips at the theft, but she stayed her tongue as she watched him deftly enter his phone number. It was slightly embarrassing that he had caught her passcode pattern so easily. He must have the eyes of a hawk. He hit the call button and his phone vibrated in his pocket for a moment before going silent again.

Klaus returned her phone with a genial smile, "There. Should you need another reprieve, simply call. I'll be in town for a while and more than happy to indulge you."

"That was bold." She murmured, "Giving your number to a girl who just told you, she has a boyfriend."

He shrugged indifferently, "Fortune favors the bold, does it not?"

Cami snorted and shook her head, "Goodbye, Klaus."

"Goodbye, Camille." Klaus murmured, brushing his lips to her cheek.

The act startled her and brought a lovely blush to her smooth skin. He had no intention of this being their last encounter. Camille O'Connell would see him again. His cerulean eyes danced deviously as he watched her turn to go.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, and he was surprised to see a puckish light in her sylvan gaze, "Definitely smarmy."

Klaus choked on an unexpected laugh before he found himself calling through the pub, "Charming, love."

______________________

Hours later, Klaus remained at the little corner table in the pub. He had steadily nursed several drinks as he kept an eye out for a potential dinner – finding himself feeling pickier than usual about his fare. He was tempted to send Camille a text. She had been reluctant enough to leave that enticing her to return shouldn't have been much of a battle. He regretted not pressing his advantage earlier. They could have spent the afternoon in his bed, sated in every possible way.

Sighing in boredom, he ran an idle finger around the rim of his tumbler generating a low hum. His thoughtless gesture brought a few curious and annoyed looks from the nearby patrons, but no one had the gall to say anything. Something dark and angry lingered in Klaus's stiff presence that discouraged social interaction of any kind.

"Well, you look positively morose."

And yet not all were so cowardly.

Klaus smirked at the amused lilt that sounded behind him. He arched a brow as he awarded the young woman behind him a small smile, "Greta... you've arrived sooner than I expected. Fruitful day, love?"

"Yes and no." Greta answered loftily as she came to stand next to the table, "The witch we're looking for is proving rather difficult to scrounge up, though her boyfriend has been the source of a lot of gossip but..."

"But?" Klaus intoned softly, a dangerous edge tinging his voice. His mood for games had dissipated with the sun.

"He's in the hospital. Unconscious, someone caved his head in apparently. He would need some of your blood to be revived enough to get any information from him." She smirked, knowing how much Klaus loved to do such things, "That is if you're feeling generous."

Niklaus frowned; it would be too convenient... "What's the boyfriend's name?"

"Scott Nebroski." Greta answered simply with a raised brow.

The name had no meaning to Klaus. Camille hadn't mentioned any names when she had recounted her motives to him – and he didn't recall a name being spoken when the paramedics had arrived at the campus pub. Though to be fair, he had lost interest in the whole affair once Camille had been taken to the squad car.

Her fiery emeralds would forever be etched into his memory. There had been a moment where he had thought that she'd break from the officer's grasp and swing at him before something fragile... vulnerable had crossed her gaze and he had to fight the urge to go to her.

It had been an odd night.

"When was he attacked?"

Greta shrugged, "A couple of nights ago, I think. Some chick took a beer bottle to him. A lover's quarrel is the rumor. In which case, it should make him more willing to cooperate with us. He'd probably be looking for a little revenge."

A slow grin spread across Klaus's face – what were the odds?

"It wasn't our little witch who tore into him, love." Klaus murmured, "How long would we need to wait before you could conduct the ceremony?"

"The estival solstice isn't for almost eight weeks, that's when the spell will be at its strongest. We have some time." Greta replied softly as she watched the wheels spin in her master's head. She hadn't expected him to take the news of this current delay so well... but the calm, almost pleased smile playing at his lips spoke to plans with which she had no knowledge of, "The boyfriend?"

"He can enjoy his stay in the hospital for a while." Klaus said after a long moment. He refused to heal the cretin that had rightfully earned his beating at Camille's hands. He would not deny her victory, "Tomorrow I want you and Maddox to find out everything you can about Camille O'Connell. She's Marnie Taylor's roommate and friend... she'll lead us to our little witch."

Gently, Klaus reached out for Greta's hand, bringing her delicate fingers to his mouth as he pressed a kiss to her smooth flesh. He was feeling a tad grateful for the news she had delivered him, and she smelled sweet, like honeysuckle and ivy. His fangs edged at the inner muscle of his cheek, reinforcing his hunger... but he wouldn't bite her here.

Klaus stood and placed a few bills on the table, "Keep me company tonight."

It sounded like a request, but Greta heard the implied order to his tone. She could say no, and Klaus wouldn't bat an eye. She was under no illusion that she was more than a tool in his arsenal. Problem was, she had never been able to say no to him. Not to his power, not to his hunger, and not to his bed. She fully enjoyed being possessed by him. It was the shame that she could not possess him.

She peered slyly at him, "Merely company?"

An indulgent hum purred from Klaus's throat before he pressed his lips teasingly to the corner of her mouth, "You could never be merely anything, love... but I desire this luscious mouth of yours to be otherwise occupied."

Greta's smile turned sinful, "As you wish."

He breathed a kiss to her neck before turning to escort her upstairs. His soul ached for a taste of the hunt... something that Greta could not provide him – she was all too willing to fall into his clutches. She was decadence, chocolate, and champagne. Simply divine.

For tonight she would sate his baser urges, but tomorrow...

Tomorrow he would go after that which was not yet his. Fiery emeralds glinted in his mind's eye. Tomorrow, he would go after whiskey and smoke. Hidden passion.

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#disintegration #klaus mikaelson #Camille O'Connell #klaus x camille #the orginals fanfiction #the originals #fanifc #fanfiction #klamille

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