#NO FUCKING SHIT IF THIS WAS A TARGET YOU WERE TRYING TO SHOOT A BLIND MAN WOJLDVE BULLSEYED A MILE AWAY
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Something so deeply enraging about knowing your own type so well that even after 13 years of not interacting with a media, you still know not only that your favourite character has changed, but also exactly who it is going to change to.
#this is about one piece and Im not done being furious about it#I stopped interacting with it qhen I stopped reading shonen jump which was when borders shut down.#And yet I return to EXACTLY WHO I EXPEXTED AND NO ONE IS SURPRISED#EVEN WORSE WHEN ITS LIKE COMICALLY ON THE NOSE ITS LIKE OH#OF COURSE THE ONE WHO LIKES CROCODILIANS LIKES THE GUY NAMED CROCODILE WHAT A FUCKING SURPRISE#DO YPU UNDERSTAND HOW ENRAGING THAG IS ITS LIKE GOD#NO FUCKING SHIT IF THIS WAS A TARGET YOU WERE TRYING TO SHOOT A BLIND MAN WOJLDVE BULLSEYED A MILE AWAY#ITS SO COMICALLY STUPID ITS SO DUMB LIKE ARE YOU KIDDING ME
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𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ — Barista!Izuku Midoriya
♡! hope's notes: this is 50% unrealistic and 50% self indulgent. Tell me what u think lol <3
It's 7 in the morning when you realise that you're truly, utterly fucked.
You try to convince yourself that it was really your alarm's fault for not waking you up. Because now you are desperately trying to shove everything in your bag, while chewing on the world's driest granola bar and make your way out of your apartment.
You do the calculation in your head as you make your way down the stairs, trying not to trip. Your class is supposed start at 7:15, so you have approximately 5 minutes to get a much needed cup of coffee. And then you need to make run for your class which is 15 minutes, hoping to whatever deity that you'll reach there in 10 minutes.
A groan of frustration escapes you on the sidewalk at the utter slow pace the lady is moving in front of you, talking animatedly on the phone.
You've been late to class enough times this entire week that you're convinced your professor is going to shoot you in the head today. The first thing you notice in front of the cafe is how cute and cozy it looked. Like something straight out of a rom-com set.
There were small little coffee shops like this scattered through almost every road corner outside the campus. Coffee shops, cheap diners and stationaries all looking out for their target customers, drained college students.
This particular coffee shop, you had realised one day talking with your friends, was new and untouched by your hands. You knew that logically it wasn't a great time right now to experiment newly opened shops, no matter how much your friends had been praising the place but you were already late, and the decor and smell of roasted coffee beans seemed too appetizing to pass up.
The gentle chime of the bell at the entrance almost made you forget that your life could possibly be on the line in less than 10 minutes. Your shoulders loose some tension at the faint but noticeable fragrance in the air, the smell of coffee and the muffled sounds of students clicking away on their computers, couples chatting away in excitement and the sound of the workers behind the counter.
Oh yeah, you were definitely forgetting about class for some minutes.
Tapping your fingers to a random rhythm, your eyes immediately go to the cheapest drink on the big menu overhead the counter. Being a college student, you weren't really raking up the big bucks and would rather like to be able to afford instant ramen in the future.
And that's when it happened.
You swore that you almost went blind for about 2 seconds at the absolute beaming, sunshine-filled smile the barista gave you. The simple words "what can I get for you today?" suddenly sounded like the most holiest piece of angel music coming out of his mouth. He was cute, like a lot, with lush green curls falling messily atop his head, freckles doted like stars across his cheeks. You briefly registered the small "Midoriya" name plate attached to his shirt.
"Um, e-excuse me?"
"Yes?"
"I- what can I get you, ma'am?"
"Your number, hopefully"
Shit. The wide eyes and the full flush creeping up on his cheeks made you almost shriek in horror, you didn't mean to say that aloud. Suddenly, the once calming air felt stifling and uncomfortable.
"Uh! I mean- no!", wincing at your own volume, you suddenly wished that the earth would just open up and swallow you whole. "You see, um, that was- a joke! A bad joke!". It took all your strength to not bash your head on the counter under your sweaty palms, cringing at yourself.
The nervous laugh that "Midoriya" let out certainly didn't help the situation either.
You felt the tension lifting off your chest when a girl came up to the counter to ask for more creamer. The next course of action was probably not your proudest moment, definitely something you would look back at and curse yourself for. In your defence, your mind felt scrambled and fried at the whole interaction, so you did the only thing your brain managed to comprehend. You ran.
A few minutes later, already at your campus, you stopped for a second for breath. The frustrated whine you let out next was met with some questioning glances your way that you could not be bothered about right now, your mind only swirling with one thing.
You didn't even get your fucking coffee.
© hopeluna. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work in this or any other site. Do not steal or modify my ideas/concepts either.
#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bnha x you#mha x you#bnha x y/n#mha x y/n#bnha deku#bnha imagines#mha deku#mha imagines#bnha oneshots#izuku x reader#izuku midoriya x reader#izuku midoriya x you#deku x reader#deku x y/n#bnha fluff#bnha fanfiction#mha fanfiction#midoriya x reader#my hero academia#izuku midoriya#my hero academia x reader#my hero academia x you
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TURTLE JOKES
Bayverse tmnt
Fem Reader (No Y/N)
no pairings, leans slightly Raphael x reader
warnings/summary: pregnant reader, horrible turtle jokes, cussing, suggestive jokes, meeting the turtle boys
Aged up turtles (22 ish)
Your weekly ritual was something you loved dearly about your friendship with April.
Ever since college, the two of you would meet up in the park to shoot the shit, feed the turtles and ducks, and in general bemoan the horribleness of the dating scene.
About seven months ago, though, the meetings had changed gears. You knew, eventually, she’d cotton on to what was happening. There was only so much you could hide behind baggy clothes and the dark lighting. You were waiting for the questions you weren’t sure you had answers to, expected them every time April’s gaze would pause on your midriff, track through your slower, more careful motions and the healthier food choices you brought with you.
Part of you wondered, as you hurried to your meeting bench next to the pond, if she’d wait until you had the baby in a buggy before saying anything.
For some reason, the thought had you giggling like a maniac, emotion bubbling up quick and hot, and you felt yourself slip on thin air, the bread bag you’d been holding going flying as you slid gracelessly onto your back in the middle of the grass.
“The fuck?!” You looked up at the darkened sky, took a moment, wiggling all limbs before trying to roll to the side. “Hmmm… here we go-nope.” You relaxed again, shimmied as though gearing up for a fight, tried to bend your stiff middle around again.
Gave up after the third try, instead dug for your phone.
April picked up on the third ring.
“Hey, buddy, ole’ pal, best friend in the world-“
“Uh huh, yeah, what did you do?” She was already laughing, great.
You pushed air out in a loud raspberry. “Remember that joke about life alert?”
“A-are you ok?” Her tone changed fast, though you could still hear the edge of humor.
“Yup.” You popped the p, raising your head to look around the darkened grass, scowling at the halo of bread bits and carrot hunks littered around you. “But I’m a flipped turtle in the middle of duck chow and I feel the tiny velociraptors closing in-”
A muffle on April’s side, and you heard her hiss violently at whoever it was.
“Are you good?” You asked, concerned, shuffling up on your elbows.
“Yea, I’m fine, ignore that.”
“Oookkkkay.” You huffed, dropping back down. “In that case: help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.” You deadpanned the last bit.
A loud snort, male, definitely not April, and your eyebrows rocketed up.
“Woooow, I am not the only one with some ‘splainin’ to do.” You glanced down at your exposed middle, watched as a small jiggle shifted under your shirt. “If you hurry and come get me before a turtle or a duck does I’ll fess up to mine.”
“Did you fall in the park?!”
You squinted your eyes at the tone, “mmmayyybeee?”
Movement from the phone, and you pulled back to look at the speaker. Movement from the corner of your eye brought you up short though. “Oh god.”
“Hey, hey, what’s ‘oh god’?” April was back, with what sounded like a whooshing air dryer.
“I see eyes. It’s Hermando.” The duck looked at you, then the bread. “He’s gonna call the whole calvary over here. I’m done for. Remember me fondly.” You strained, trying to get your arm far enough back under your hip to push off from. “Oh, god, April. I’m a little stuck turtle. I’m gonna have to crawl for it.”
“Don’t you fucking move.” It was bit out with surprising venom. “What if you’re concussed, hurt, going into early labor-”
“Hey!” You interrupted, “we were suppose to be pretending that wasn’t a thing!”
“You’re getting along, sweetheart, I’d have to be blind not to notice.”
“Ok, well, rude, O’Neil,” You let out a screech, feeling a duck peck at your leg. Blindly, you threw the phone, sending your target flapping off in a whirlwind of feathers and quacking. You distantly heard April squawking from the phone now sliding across the grass, further and further away.
You laid back on the grass, blowing out a loud breath, listening to the sound of the duck moving further away. To your left, the bushes rustled.
“Oh, god, please don’t be a bigger duck.” You shut your eyes, only to open them back up again as a shadow fell over you. You peered up, dumbfounded.
“Green duck?”
“You see a fucking bill?” Came the low growl, and your eyes widened.
“Nooo?” You turned it into a question, conscious that you were on the ground and he was towering over you, and despite there being no bill stuck to his face you could clearly see the shell sticking up over his shoulders.
“Raph, did you find her?” More voices, blessedly someone that sounded like April, moving towards you. When you turned your head though, saw her leading three more just like the not duck looming over you, your filter broke.
“Is this the reason you don’t laugh at my turtle jokes?” You pointed helpfully at the one standing over you to illustrate your point, body relaxing as your friend moved nearer.
“Oh thank god,” April crouched down next to you, hands hovering, but you were already trying to push up, twisting to get one elbow under your straining spine. “Hold on, hold on, let Donnie look you ov-”
“If I don’t get off this fucking ground I’m going to kill someone.” You snarled, holding the position, trying to push past the point of resistance with your foot. “I mean it, April, I just had to fight off a whole pack of rabid ducks, blood and guts everywhere-”
“And suspiciously no bodies,” Said another voice, dry humor, and you snorted, hand slipping as you fell backwards again. Before you could hit the ground again, a large hand caught your shoulders, and blessedly, pushed you passed that stuck point.
You sat, catching your breath, before tilting your head back and replying blissfully. “I ate all them, how else do you think I got this big?”
“I thought pregnant chicks got fat from fu-” The cheery whisper was cut off, turning into an abrupt gag that made you think someone had chosen violence.
You gave April a look. She had the grace to look sheepish before you turned back to the shifting goliath turtles standing in a broken circle around the two of you. Huffing, you finally looked away, raising your hands up in the air and making grabby motions. “Ok, ok. Party’s over. Who wants to help the pregnant chick off the ground?”
A large hand reached down, and you wrapped both sets of digits around as he pulled, and you found yourself off the ground faster than you anticipated. Your grip tightened before he could shake off the touch, and you stood there for a long moment, eyes shut, knowing you were violently green.
“Ooo, hold on, I’m sorry, just- give me a moment.” You unconsciously swayed forward and backward until another hand came up to steady you, April, judging by the small fingers.
You swallowed heavily, took a step away from the press of large bodies, and smiled weakly, finally getting a better look at them all.
“Um…” April gestured as you breathed heavily through your nose. “Introductions: Leonardo,” She patted the shoulder of the one nearest, blue bandana across his face, swaying gently back and forth as though unable to stay still. He gave you a nod, fingers waving, and April moved on:
“Donatello,” Purple, so tall you had to crane your head, typing fast on a gauntlet on his arm while moving closer.
“Hello, I’m just gonna make sure your vitals are good.”
You took a violent step back, swinging the arm you didn’t realize you were still holding in front of you, and they all froze, gazes becoming still.
“No needles.”
“No- needles?” He looked confused, glancing over at April for help.
“No needles,” She quickly assured, and you stepped back around the arm, returning Donatello’s small smile as you let him get closer.
“And this is Michelangelo.” You gave her a look, connecting the dots to the names you’d overheard over the last two years meeting up with her, but twitched a smile as the orange ping pong ball moved into your field of vision, feeling the need to hide again.
“Hey, baby momma, you are looking fiiinnne-”
You felt your snort catch in your throat as Leonardo grabbed the littlest by the strings of his orange bandana and yanked him away from you.
“And Red here is Raphael.” You followed her point to the largest turtle next to you, and you took in his careful stare, feeling your eyes widen as you followed the breath of his shoulders down to the hand you were all but clutching across your torso.
“Wow, wow, ok. Sorry. Personal Space.” You all but threw his arm back at him. “I am going to behave and my hands are going to behave and there will be no more grabb-”
Donatello snorted from next to you, and you shivered, forgetting how close he was. “If he didn’t want to be your personal cuddle bear I bet he could have gotten out of it.”
Raphael sniffed, and you narrowed your eyes at him, before turning to the others. “Jesus. Christ. April.”
April smiled, tilting her head as you moved around, Donatello straightened as you moved between them and then backed up a little on the grass, hands on your knees and squinting as though to take them all in.
“I don’t know what the fuck you feed these boys, but they’re too damn big!”
Her laugh was loud, obnoxious, but you felt a smile bubble up as you started in too, the sound cutting off as you felt yourself start to go backwards again.
“Holy H-”
An hand shot out, and you were yanked back upright, this time not hesitating to plaster yourself to the arm offered.
“Maybe you should just stay holding on to cuddle bear here,” Leonardo offered, his smile a small thing, quickly dropping as Michelangelo butted in again.
“Hey if you need a second cuddle bear I’m free sweetpea.”
“Mikey,” Raphael all but growled, the sound traveling down to your chest, but surprisingly the other turtle stopped, large smile still in place.
“So. Turtles?” You looked around at them, down at the three fingered hand curled into a loose fist on the side of your stomach, before back to April, saw her nod.
“Turtles.” Donatello confirmed.
“Mutants.” Raphael growled.
“Ninjas.” Leonardo added.
“Brothers.” Michelangelo butted in, knocking against Leonardo to jockey closer to April.
You watched Donatello leave the group for a moment, arm aloft, only to return with your forgotten phone, holding it out for you to take.
“We were going to get pizza.” April offered as you slid it back in your pocket. “After I meet up with you we go get pizza. There’s room if you’d like to come?”
You frowned at her offer. “April O’Neil.” She blanched, and you saw Donatello take a step away from you and back towards his other brothers.
“Have you-” You broke off, dropped to a hiss. “Have you let me do that stupid turtle impression every week with these four hanging around?”
Donatello hummed. “It’s a very good impression.” He sounded like a man that studied how to lie to get out of complicated situations and failed every practical test.
“That’s a bold faced lie.” You pointed at him, jabbed the finger threateningly.
“I don’t know,” Raphael rumbled next to you. “I definitely felt the siren’s call. We had to tie Mikey up to keep him from you.”
You pulled a suffering face, looked at April again, and she took pity.
“They were banned from making videos.” Your face fell more, but she continued. “Come get pizza with us, and I’ll let you put whatever you want on yours, and no one will say anything.” She held up her hand in a mime of swearing an oath, nudging Leonardo until he got the hint and one by one they all held up their hands, eyes rolled to the sky.
You caved at the thought of satisfying pregnancy cravings.
“Ok. Ok, fine. Need something to wash out the taste of rabid duck anyway.”
From the corner of your eye, you saw Donatello preemptively shock Michelangelo.
#tmnt fanfiction#bayverse tmnt#bayverse tmnt x reader#bayverse leonardo#bayverse leo#bayverse raphael#bayverse raph#bayverse donatello#bayverse donnie#bayverse michelangelo#bayverse mikey
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GAME: GUN COWBOY
This is just the first day of playing on GUN COWBOY by CHE on itchio (: It was actually the first solo ttrpg that I tried out!
This game is going to take longer than one sitting to play through and it's really fun, so I definitely encourage y'all to check it out!
description: "GUN COWBOY is a tragedy, and will end in your unhappy fate. It is a game about the inevitable result of a life of violence, the return-on-investment of the violence which continues to define the united states."
unedited playthrough under the read more as always (:
FIRST DRAW:
THE PAST: 9 of Diamonds
THE PRESENT: 9 of Spades
THE PROBLEM: King of Hearts
ATTRIBUTES:
GOOD: 3
QUICK: 3
UGLY: 3
GUN: 0
THE PAST — THE WONDERS OF MODERNITY
A triumph of science and a wonder of engineering. The new world is here on display. Look at it! It dazzles.
THE PRESENT — THE BATTERY
Boom, boom, boom! That mighty sound like thunder. There is artillery firing, but on what?
THE PROBLEM — THE HERMIT
He is a steward of the land. He walked down the same road as you, once, but turned away.
This town was always supposed to be the cradle of ingenuity — if there were anything new coming to anywhere else in the West, it was started here along the great screaming metal and men who knew only how to fight with their tongue than anything else effective.
Words fail, however. And they fail often.
No matter how gilded these men’s tongues were, they were blinded by their own insatiable greed. Perhaps there ain’t much difference between an old outlaw and these new snake-oil men. Big difference only in that at least outlaws are honest about the blood oil-slick against our hands, and have proper dust inside our lungs from our choices.
Nothing like these stuffed-to-burst men in suiting fabric ill-fit to the landscape. They just as soon throw a child to their machine as they would drink water after a hard ride if it meant they was able to get one more dollar inside their heavy pockets.
Yet ingenuity is still what they call it. Gilded shit is still shit.
If these so-called innovators were so above the rest of the town, why’d they not anticipated their so-called ‘lessers’ would have no qualms with piercing them with the same metal and rust that they fed them and their children into? Stupid bastards.
There’s a distant pop of revolvers even before riding into the town limits. The sounds of violence punctuated with the whizzbang of bullets shooting crooked. Ingenuity abandoned for familiar violence. No need to be any good at aiming when your targets are many. Damn those who could get in the way. This was for the people, not the pigs.
I wasn’t even a quarter mile from the first right proper building on the skirts of town when an old man waved his dirty hat in dirtier hands at me and Fern, trying to get me to stop. Fern, always a stubborn horse, refused to move further once she saw the waving. Fine.
“What d’you want, Hermit?” There was no courtesy in my voice, the gunpowder grit had worn sympathy out of my tongue. “Can’t you see I got business elsewhere.”
His ruddy face looked grim even as he smiled. If he were a handsome man when he was younger, he certainly wasn’t anymore. A glint of silver or tin showed in his teeth. “You keep going this way an’ you ain’t gonna have none more business, boy.”
“Why should I care what a sack of ol’ bones like you says?”
A sharp, barking laugh. “I almost turned out like you, boy, but I left that life when I were still young enough to have anything else to live with.”
My mouth twitched. Wiry, greying facial hair stabbed into my cheeks from the grim expression. He’d gotten out. He’d gotten out of what I stayed in. The lifestyle — or whatever they fucking sold it as now. The old West way of living that chews you up and spits you out alone and broken. Leaves you to limp into the darkest part you can find yourself to die without dignity or legacy. “You’re assuming a lot about a stranger you ain’t talked to more than a few words, Hermit. You ain’t know a think about me.”
“You all turn out the same way.” He put his disgusting hat back over his white hair. “You all die alone an’ overflowing with regret.”
Another flurry of shots echoed from the town. Rhythmic. An execution.
My shoulder ached with an old injury. “What are you even trying to accomplish, old man?” There was motion in the doorway and the shadows in the windows of the hermit’s home moved as well. “Guess not much a hermit.”
There ain’t no way to describe his smile as anything but malicious, fat and excited that he was able to possess something I would never get. “I said I got out while I had something else to live with, boy.”
White-hot anger flared in me. In ways I ain’t felt in a near-decade. “Y’know I started down this path all ‘cause my daddy just couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut either, old man.” In a smooth, terrible, well-practised movement, I drew my pistol and shot him. “Got shot dead right in front’a his family too.”
The bullet flew more crooked than expected. I’d aimed for one of his wrinkled eyes to get through the yolk of it into his brain and kill him fast. But why should violence go the way you want it to? It hit him clear in his neck. The blood spurted out with force every time his heart pumped. His wife screamed from the porch, their children and grandchildren running hard out of the house. The ground bloomed more and more with blood.
Dark, angry eyes rimmed with red charged toward me. “Don’t turn into your granddaddy, boy, or you’ll die like him too,” I said before I jammed my spurs into Fern.
Whizzbangs from barely taught marksmen flew around me and Fern, and her pained whinge when one grazed her thigh was the only shot they managed to land.
I don’t need anything from ingenuity. That old man needed to die.
I’d rather sleep in a ditch than get soft like a whore’s bed.
END FIRST DRAW
ATTRIBUTE USED: GUN
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PARTIES: @ironcladrhett @closingwaters
TIMING: Current
SUMMARY: Teagan is spending time in Darkling Lake when Rhett senses something to kill. Springing to action, Teagan leads him away from the lake and a fight ensues. Who'll win?
WARNINGS: Gun use, lots of injuries
Dead rabbit and rifle slung over his shoulder, Rhett traipsed through the woodlands without any sort of caution, feeling prepared for just about anything that could come crashing through those trees at him. And if he wasn’t prepared, well, so be it. There were worse ways to go.
The forest began to thin, making way for the great expanse of freshwater that was Darkling Lake. Rhett paused, taking in the scenery for a moment, when—ah, shit. That little fucking bell was going off. It was faint, but it was there. The warden dropped the rabbit into the grass and slipped the rifle off of his back, taking aim at the surface of the water. The feeling got stronger as the minutes passed, and with the man standing stock-still, it was easy enough to determine the direction after a while. Nymph. Never felt this bad unless it was a nymph. He bit back a growl, cursing his blackened vision as he watched the surface for ripples.
Stronger now. Stronger. Like a scream in his head. Taking aim, not really caring what he hit if it wasn’t the fae, Rhett shot twice into the water. It was more an attempt to draw the thing out, where he would more easily be able to dispatch it with his iron blade.
Oh, the collection of death was coming together nicely at the bottom of the lake. All who dwelled in it congregated at the center, taking pleasure at the community that they’d built together. Teagan giggled as she swam around them, caressing each one she passed lovingly.
Vala in particular was filled with glee, dancing with her latest kill. She was a mighty kelpie, and a rare one at that. Teagan was completely taken by the equestrian fae, and so was she in return. None of the other kelpies cared about community, and that was fine. The nix was more than honored to have won over Vala. Anything else would be confetti.
“Oi, Vala!” The kelpie winnied, nodding repeatedly in reply. “Should really start taking pointers from you. The way you tricked that fella was such a marvel. I can’t wait to—” ZIIIING!! ZIIIING!! Objects zipped past Teagan, startling her into silence. She whipped her head back and forth, trying to find the source. “Everyone, hide!” She commanded, still watching. After a few moments, she locked onto the way the water at top was disturbed, still rippling. Teagan’s eyes narrowed with anger, and she swam up toward a bank where a group of rocks could give her cover.
Breaching the surface, Teagan snuck herself behind a large boulder, scanning the area carefully. Anger burned in her chest as she caught sight of a man with a rifle. Her body began to tremble as the fire was stoked, and it was all that she could do to not attack without a plan. Teagan didn’t have to gather more intel to know what she was looking at. The man was a hunter, and she needed to get him away from the lake. Taking a deep breath, she set out to do just that, and she burst into a sprint toward a trap-filled wood, hoping she could get to the neighboring river in time.
The sound of rapid movement to his left caught his attention—his fully blind side. Whipping his head around, he nearly missed the creature as it disappeared into the trees, hissing out a curse and throwing the rifle over his shoulder again. This time, Rhett pulled his cutlass out of its scabbard as he took chase, knowing that trying to shoot a moving target in the dappled light of the woods wouldn’t go well…. rabbit notwithstanding. That little fella had been sitting quite still, happily munching on some plants before his brains had painted the bush beside him.
He could see the thing bobbing this way and that, leaping over fallen logs and other hurdles that he didn’t see—not until it was too late, of course. The tripwire arrived with a swiftness, sending the warden lurching forward. He’d not caught his foot on it, not quite, but the speed at which he was running didn’t leave much room for finesse. Still, he was a warden, and the need to be nimble to best his prey was coded in his DNA.So he didn’t fall, not quite, catching himself after a few worryingly unsteady strides, only to rise up again and—
Now the man hit the ground, landing on his back hard enough to force all the air from his lungs. His clavicle burned where the thin wire had cut into it, and he supposed it was probably meant to get him in the throat, but his height had prevented that.
Still clutching the sword, Rhett fought to suck in a breath, but he dared not squint his eyes against the pain, in case that thing came back. Whatever kind of nymph it was, which he knew from the screaming alarm bells in his chest and skull, it’d probably be headed for another body of water. The water ones were shit fighters on land, and it hadn’t been the only one down there… there was a good chance it would try to eliminate him.
Good, he thought with a pained grin, sitting up and taking a moment to get his bearings. Knowing the direction it had fled in, the warden got to his feet and continued his pursuit, albeit with a bit more caution this go around. He could hear the babbling of rushing water in the distance, and figured that must be where it was headed. Typical.
A vicious smile curled on the nix’s face as she heard the dull thud of a body hitting the ground. What a stupid hunter, Teagan thought to herself. As if she’d force a chase without a few precautions in place. She’d been on her own for years, learning how to keep the hunters from doing their so-called job. Teagan was disgusted at the thought, but her mind soon grew greedy with the opportunity that presented itself.
Turning on her heel and hiding behind a bit of brush, the fae retrieved one of her blades, cocking her arm back and taking aim. “See how you like this, ya fuckin’ oaf.” Teagan whispered to herself, releasing the blade with unrelenting force. She knew it’d find purchase in his body, but she also knew better than to stay in one place like a deer in the headlights.
Teagan continued her sprint toward the river, stopping just short of reaching it to climb up a tree. The warden would be able to sense her presence, but she’d still have some sort of element of surprise. To prepare, she hid behind leafy branches and secured her fighting blade in her hand. Now to wait. Her skin was bristling.
Rhett had, for most of his life, been a vivacious and brutal killer of supernatural beings, even by hunter standards. They truly repulsed him, and the mere fact that an inhuman thing was not one that he was designed to kill with ease would never stop him from trying.
And until that incident with the family of hesperides, he’d been fucking good at it.
This one, he was meant to destroy. Born for it. Given away to people who could raise him for it. Trained, brainwashed, and sent on his way to act as a weapon of their greater design. A world without fae, without monsters. And he would. He would. But damn it if his blasted eyes hadn’t made the whole thing infinitely harder, now that they refused to work right. So he didn’t see it coming, didn’t have the time to react quickly enough to get out of the way of the blade that was whistling through the air, right at him. It buried itself in his abdomen and he groaned, looking down at the hilt that stuck out of him in surprise.
Rhett grabbed the blade and pulled it free, glaring in the direction it’d come from. Well, at least the thing had given up its position. Taking after it like a predator in pursuit of his dinner, Rhett ignored the red stain that bloomed on his grey shirt beneath his open jacket. Let it bleed. Let it remind him why he always needed to be better.
He came to the river and slowed, feeling that thrum in his head and chest amplify. Sword at his side, his good eye—a term he had to use lightly, because it hardly worked any better than the one that’d gone dark—scanned the area. More than that, he was listening. Waiting. The creature would attack again, he knew. They were territorial like stupid animals and would throw themselves on a hunter’s weapon just to defend what they mistakenly thought was theirs.
“Come out, come out, wherever y’are…”
The groan in the air was like music. Showed the true colors of the man not unlike the one that spilled from him. He was vicious, but he was slow. If he could bleed, he could die. Teagan, as arrogant as it might be, was going to use this. Fights left little to no room for deeper thought. Lucky for the nix, even if she was wrong in her assumption of slow, she was always good at the art of improvisation.
When the hunter showed up, Teagan’s claws nearly dug into the trunk of the tree she perched herself in. She needed to remain calm. Be patient. Don’t be stupid like he believes. The grip on her blade tightened and Teagan took a quiet, grounding breath to relieve her of her impulses. She knew he could sense her, that he was making a plan of his own. It would be foolish to react so brazenly and get herself killed in the process. She wasn’t done yet. There was still much to do. So many hunters to kill.
But coc oen. That sing-song taunt nearly got to her.
Fae were people. They all have a place in the world. No matter what the detestable hunter thought of them, Teagan couldn’t change it. She reminded herself of that repeatedly to keep herself calm. Strategy was always best and she didn’t want to falsely prove whatever bullshit theory the hunter had. It was all wrong. And that line of thinking was going to end one way or another. Likely through death. Teagan wanted it to be by her hand, as selfish as that was. But really. Who else was around to try right then?
Wasting no more time, Teagan aimed her body, projecting how much force it’d take to land herself onto the warden. Finding her answer, she took to tossing a stone she had stored into a neighboring bush. She didn’t hesitate to leap after, cascading down and letting gravity’s force push her onto the man with a meaty thud.
It was quiet. Far too quiet for a woodland in transition from spring to summer. There were no birds chirping, no squirrels scampering about in the underbrush—it was dead silent. Everywhere Rhett went was dead silent, and if it wasn’t? Oftentimes he was there to make it so.
The choice to remove his jacket was a calculated one, done with a swiftness and a lack of break in concentration that could only be achieved by practice. The iron in his blood diffused to his skin, making him toxic to the touch, and he wanted as much skin exposed as was immediately available. Stripping in the heat of battle (or in the anticipation of one to come) had become a very peculiar skill of his.
Turned out to be a good idea, too, as a sound to his right made his head whip in that direction, only to have the fucking creature come crashing down on top of him instead. Still, as he was knocked to the forest floor, he managed to tuck in a leg and twist his body, earning them both a place among the leaves and ferns. He shoved one bare, tattooed arm against the nymph’s neck and shoulders, kicking with the knee that was pinned between them and attempting to roll over on top of it, the other hand raising the iron sword into the air, ready to drill it down through the fae’s skull.
The prickly brush left small scratches, but that was very little to worry about. Teagan hated to say it, but the hunter was creative. Her skin burned after the impact, leaving her face expressing a hint of pain. She didn’t want to give the hunter the satisfaction he wanted. She wouldn’t show how it ached. Instead, Teagan’d be just as tricky, letting her skin coat itself with mucus. The warden’s attempt at a grip would prove futile, forcing him to slip on his damn face.
Unfortunately, the drop made the sword fall too, its aim still toward Teagan’s head. She only had enough time and room to move slightly sideways. She bit her cheek, not allowing a yelp of pain to escape when the sword sliced into her shoulder as it stabbed the earth. In turn, she swiped her owned blade, only landing a laceration or two before she kicked the warden away from her.
Well. The mucus was… unexpected. Losing his grip and at the mercy of gravity, the warden kept his blade’s tip aimed at the forest floor, hoping to land a strike even if he wasn’t able to see it happen. And, as luck would have it, he did. The creature responded to the injury by delivering a few of its own, slicing through the thin shirt he wore with ease and splotching it with red. Damn. He liked this shirt, it was soft.
With a grunt, Rhett was kicked away and shoved a few feet from the nymph, his sword still stuck in the soft earth where it’d cut through their shoulder. Popping back up to his feet, he quickly ducked his head beneath the rifle’s strap, stepping back another pace or two as he took a hurried aim and fired.
The gun was raised, and Teagan was sure she was done for. What a fucking cheat, she thought, moving to attack. She was stopped short by the bullet grazing her arm, and she covered the wound quickly with her hand for only a moment. Finding her resolve, Teagan rushed forward again, that time making impact. Her claws found purchase when the two of them landed on the ground, but she was quickly overpowered. Fear began to crawl into her chest, tightening it enough to cause her to pause and allowing the warden to find himself above her.
How stupid!
A knife gleamed in the spotty sunlight. It was as vicious as the smile on the hunter’s face. The look terrified Teagan, and despite her best efforts, she let it show with a whimper and tears coating her eyes. She’d never lost before, and the realization that may change was dawning on her. She whimpered again, a knife digging into her shoulder. No, Teagan’s mind screamed. This is not how it ends!
“Diawl bach!” Claws dug in and dragged down, only making it a quarter of an inch when the knife plunged into Teagan’s belly. The adrenaline in her system was enough to give her strength for one last kick, sending the warden into the river behind him. She sat up quickly, all but leaping toward the water, begging for the current to roar stronger. Please. Please!
As much as she fought it, Teagan could no longer fight the black at the edges of her vision, and she collapsed fully, the world fading.
Three weapons. Three fucking weapons on one nymph, gone. And he didn’t even know if it was fucking dead, the damned thing. One minute, he was driving his dagger into its gut, and the next, he was in the rapids. Fighting to stay afloat, the warden scrabbled for the shallows of the riverbank, but he was swept well down the way before he finally managed to pull himself out, and he’d taken a few blows from the rocks in the river along the way.
Collapsing on the ground, Rhett slipped into unconsciousness as his body fought to repair the damage, and it was already dark by the time he woke. Cold and shivering, the warden picked himself up out of the mud and cursed, beginning the walk back upstream to go retrieve his fucking weapons. He would go after it again tonight, he still felt like shit, but the lake was god damn marked, now. He’d get his revenge, one way or another.
#wickedswriting#writings#waving words#me & the devil#me and the devil#c: rhett#rhett and teagan#gun use tw
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"Jimmy, Keep Gunning, it's All in Your Mind!"
Jimmy tosses his phone to the other side of the truck. Now that that's out of the way, he can get to business. "Thank god, /finally/ you're focusing!" Gregg takes a hard turn. Not that he needs to, but Jimmy deserves it for dragging them out here! "Who the hell was that anyway? You gave so much information away!"
Jimmy hums. “Just someone I met at this cafe.” He tends to his leg.
"What? When? You just met them and your telling them all about this godforsaken car chase? What, did they drug you or something?" Gregg looks over their shoulder and sees Jimmy trying to hold his bullet wound shut with his hands. With a sigh, he tosses a towel to Jimmy. "I /swear/, Jimmy, you're cleaning this up after!"
"Darling, I drug myself plenty without any outside help!” He laughs and grabs the towel and wraps it around his leg. “Thank you for saving me from those pigs.”
"I had to, its my job. Unfortunately. But seriously! You can't go off spilling Crow info to anybody who calls! Who were they? A cop? A private investigator? The FBI?" They swerve into an offroad and the windshield is soon splattered in dirt and rocks. They turn the windshield wipers on and check the rearview mirror. The cop car stumbles and bounces over the unpaved road. •Aw, look at their plastic shitwagon! Can't even cross a widdle ditch!•
“I never did ask who they were anyway, all I know is they had the /worst/ style! They didn't even try all that hard, it was sad!"
"Jimmy-"
"They were wearing /brown/, Gregg! This drab, cheap, brown sweater!"
"We have better things t-"
"They're underdressed for /everything/! How can somebody live like that?"
"Okay- okay, shut up! God, why do I even ask? Just keep shooting! Next time you see them, /don't/ give the more ways to contact you!" •And after I lose these fucking cops, I have to go back to Madeline, who's on the other side of the fucking town!• He sped up, foot pressing the pedal to the floor.
“Aww, Greggy, what’s up your ass today?” He jokes. "/You/! I was gonna stay home today! But /noo/! You had to pull another one of your over-dramatic stunts again, ans get shot. Now your compromising the Crows, all for 'someone you met at this cafe!'"
Jimmy gasps (in a dramatic manner) and clasps his hand over his heart (dramatically, may I add). “I am /not/ dramatic! And besides, I wasn’t planning on getting shot!" He crosses his arms. "And that 'someone' is very nice! Their name is Cyrus!”
"Okay, well, you barely know 'Cyrus'! You're so sloppy all of the time! Next thing I know, you may as well wear a massive target on your back that says 'Shoot me! I'm a fucking idiot!' And nice people do /not/ exist, this 'Cyrus' character's probably going to traffick you or something!" Gregg turns to give him a pointed glare. "/Again!/" Gregg pops their head out the window. "And god dammit!" Jimmy looks back at him. "They're still following us! Are you out of ammo or something!? Shoot!"
Jimmy quickly re-loads the gun and slams it through the back window. Before Gregg can protest, he shoots a couple blind shots at the car. “You know, darling, that target idea isn’t so bad!” he crouches to hide from the cops, “But /really/, don’t worry about Cyrus! There's no way they could be a harm to the Crows!”
"Thats what they say about everybody. God!" He takes a hand off the wheel to grab a discarded Sharpie and scrawl 'DUMB IDIOT PLEASE SHOOT NO CYRUS ALLOWED' on a receipt. Gregg tosses the paper behind him. "There, you little shit!"
Jimmy takes the paper and his eyes light up “Eheheh, Gregg, thank you~”
"Dammit, Jim, don't thank me-" Gregg slaps the steering wheel, inadvertently scrawling Sharpie ink over himself at the same time. "God- /fuck/!"
Jimmy flings his torso out of the car, legs firmly pressed against the door inside. Giggling, he brandishes the receipt in his hands, the official ban of shooting Jimmy that shall surely save the day!
"Oh my god! Jimmy, what the fuck, they'll shoot you!" Gregg yells. Jimmy doesn't even look back as he starts waving the receipt around. One of the detectives looks offended. The other looks flummoxed. "Jimmy, you’re useless! Just fucking shoot, we cant lead them to Madeline!"
“Oh come on, you're no fun!” Jimmy einks at the cops and lets the receipt fly away in the wind. He climbs back in the car. “It’s not like they would have shot me again!”
"Yes, most likely because it's been /whole minutes/ and you're still bleeding! All over my new carpet! Those fucking pigs probably feel bad for you, you know that! God, you really /do/ deserve that sign on your back."
“I know what to do, I'm not an idiot! I'm just choosing to ignore that way and do it my /clearly/ better way!” He leans out the car to fire a couple shots. "And why would those fucking pigs in a pen feel bad about me?" He continues. "I've been their worst problem for almost a year now!”
"Havent you been fucking around with /just/ one, though-? Okay, look, fix yourself up or I'm coming back there! And I'll use straight fucking vodka instead of actual disinfectant to clean, so fucking heal yourself!"
Jimmy huffs. "/Greggy/, it's kind of hard to treat a wound when you keep yelling at me to shoot, shoot, shoot, bang, bang, gun all the time!” He kneels before the window to shoot, shoot, shoot, bang, bang, gun at the cops.
"Oh yeah, you're doing /such/ a great job of getting rid of those goddamn pigs!" He sighs. "Fine. Don't fucking shoot a single bullet until that wound's fixed, okay?"
Jimmy rolls his eyes. "/Fine/." He lets the gun drop out the window and lets his knees buckle onto the. ground
"Oh, goddamn-!" Gregg opens the glovebox and pulls out his own gun. He leans out the window and fires several shots. One hits the tire wheel, and the cop car falls back significantly. Gregg grins and leans back into the car and looks back at Jimmy. "See, that's how you-!" Gregg looks ahead and swerves away just in time to avoid the concrete wall of a small, empty overpass. He drifts and screeches to a halt right under it. Nimmy grabs on to the handlebars for dear life as everything in the back of the trunk thunks against his side of the wall. They catch their breath, then, “/Wow/! You couldn’t have done a better job, Gregg! That was /so/ /great/!"
"I flattened one of their tires!" Gregg snaps. "That's more than /you/ did!" Gregg maneuvers the car to face the way they had just come. Police sirens echo, drawing closer. "Aight, Jimmy. I need you to sit in the passenger seat and aim your gun out the window. Be ready to shoot."
The cop car comes into view.
Gregg revs the car engine.
Jimmy, with a mostly-mended leg, hops over the centre console into the passenger seat. He readies the gun to shoot. “These cops never give up, do they, darling?” No response. Jimmy turns his head just in time to see Gregg flooring the gas pedal. The car screeches forward and careens towards the cop car.
“Gregg, jesus christ, what the fuck are you doing!?”
"Get ready to shoot. Your window is going to be a clear path." The two cars near.
Jimmy swallows down a protest and gets ready to shoot.
The two cars get closer.
And closer.
And closer. The two cops look terrified, now clearly visible. Just feet away, Gregg swerves the car violently so that Jimmy's side is closest to the car.
The gun clatters onto the car floor, dropped.
Jimmy glances dowm for a brief second, and whem he looks back up, he realizes the coos are staring at him, turned back in their seats. He blows them a kiss and practically pirouettes back into his seat.
//
"Oh my god." Jimmy turns to look at Gregg.
Gregg presses harder against the gas pedal. "Oh my god...!" His eyes blaze. "Oh my god! Jimmy you goddamn motherfucking asshole piece of idiot shit! Fucking die! Fucking burn in hell!" He slams the steering wheel so hard with his fist the car actually vibrates a bit. "Goddamn it! I hate you! You fucming shithead!"
Jimmy sits stock-still in shock. Bis moutu hinges uo and down, trying to get a word in sideways. Finally, there's a pause in Gregg's slew of insults as the man catches his breath. “Wow. Gregg, did i miss or something?"
Gregg doesnt find it funny. But his heart is pounding, he has run out of things to call Jimmy, and adrenaline is still coursing through his veins. So he laughs, doubling over on the steering wheel, the clearly frazzled laughter sounding closer to cryinf than a jovial chuckle. And he keeps laughing, only half an eye on the road.
"Uhm…"
Jimmy reaches out his hand to touch Gregg's back but he pulls it away. •That's probably not a good idea.•
"Gregg?"
No response.
Jimmy's eyes alight with a brilliant plan. Digging into the deep voids of his inner jacket pockets, he grabs a glob of worms on a string. He throws them over Gregg like confetti. "Ta-da!"
Gregg's laughter halts to a start. Partially because one of the worms fell into his mouth. And also because Jimmy's plan did, in fact, work. He sits up straight. He shakes off the worms on strings. He is humiliated, shamed, horrified! for doing something as horrible as... l-l-laughing!!! "Sorry." He says, with as little emotion as possible.
“Aww," Jimmy pouts, "I was hoping I finally drove youover the edge!” Jimmy laughs and he picks the gun off the floor. “So, Gregg…" he puts his feet up on the dashboard. "How's your day been?” Jimmy asks.
"Oh, it was great!" Gregg falls back into his usual snark. "Until /you/ fucking decided to put on your giant clown shoes and get shot!" He picks up one of the worms and flicks it onto Jimmy's lap. "Now dont bleed out. We're on the way to Madeline's."
Jimmy huffs. "Well, in my defense, darling, my car breaking down was not apart of the plan!” He picks up the worm and pets it on the head before putting it back in his jacket. He can get the test later, when Gregg has to bail him out yet again. “And, I mean, seriously Gregg! How would I have known they were going to shoot me on the highway!” "Well, what were you doing out there anyways? And your next plan with your car breaking down was to, what? Walk? Hell, one cop managed to catch up to you!" Gregg snaps. Jimmy looks down. "And /yes/ I saw your overdramatic chase scene. You must be as bad of a runner as you are a shooter!"
"Yeah? I've got more points than any other Crow, darling, so /clearly/ your math is wrong!" Jimmy retorts.
"Whatever that number is, I'm surprised you have /any/. Now shut up before I have an aneurysm."
Chapter 6/?
#red tinted glasses#mod robbie#gun violence#creative writing#writing#roleplay#gore#writeblr#Chapters
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Break Me Down
Word Count: 1.9k
Warnings: sexual tension, mentions of smut, swearing, slight angst in the beginning (SMUT TO COME)
A/N: I wrote and rewrote this one a couple of times- I’m not entirely sure I’m happy with it but there will be more to come! I’m thinking 1-2 more (very smutty) parts. Enjoy :)
“Serena, please, where is this coming from?” Bucky yells, hands splayed as the brunette rushes from room to room, gathering her items and shoving them haphazardly into a duffel.
“You’re so fucking blind, Bucky,” she shoots back, venom dripping off her words.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know,” she hisses as she snags a flannel blanket off the couch.
“Hey, wait, that’s my favorite bla--” Bucky starts but she whirls on him, rage apparent in her eyes, and he cuts himself off. “Okay, I guess...take it....,” he mutters.
She shoves her way past him, having gathered all her things (and some of his) and stops before the front door, hand firmly grasping the knob as she turns to him, practically shaking.
“You’re in love with Y/N,” she spits, lip quivering.
“What?” He exclaims, reeling back. “No I’m n—“
“Cut the bullshit, Bucky. You don’t need to admit it to me, but at least admit it to yourself.”
“Have a nice life.” She yanks open the door and heads down the steps of his brownstone, practically leaping into the Uber she’d called for herself. Bucky still stands in his doorway, dumbfoundedly watching as the car’s tail lights disappear around the corner.
In love with Y/N? No fucking way in hell. You barely talked to or interacted with each other, only went on one or two missions together and you….you were always bringing home some other guy. There was no way he had feelings for you. Or vice versa.
Serena is long gone at this point so Bucky slowly steps back into his apartment, closing the door quietly.
In love with Y/N. He shakes his head. Serena could not be more wrong.
The next few weeks, Bucky is hyper-aware of your presence, Serena’s words echoing in his mind every time you’re in the room. He catches himself staring at you more often than would be deemed appropriate or necessary and has to force himself to look away and focus on something else, someone else. Anything else.
In the gym, during meetings with the rest of the team, hell, even during the stupid bonding activities Tony came up with every week, you’d be in his eyeline. He’d catch you in a laugh, head falling back, eyes closing as the delicious sound escaped your lips, and he’d resist the urge to laugh with you. Or sometimes he’d glance at you from across the room as you spoke to Natasha or Steve, at the way words he couldn’t hear fell from your lips, and the way you played with your hair when you were bored, or how you cocked your head to the left when you were deep in thought.
Then other times, his eyes would graze down the skin of your shoulders, bare in the tank tops you preferred to wear, to the toned muscle of your arms as they flexed and pulsed with the punches you landed so effectively on your target. His gaze would drift further downwards, sweeping over your collarbones, your hips, waist….
Then he’d force himself to look away.
The thought begins to plague him. Did he always stare at you this often? Did he simply notice you more now that Serena had pointed out some “feelings” she thought she’d picked up?
Or maybe it was that he was always staring at you, he just hadn’t been as keenly aware of it as he was now.
Either way, he wasn’t sure what to do. Granted, his relationship with Serena wasn’t exactly compatible and it was short lived, but it was his first fling with a woman since he’d been....back. He wasn’t entirely sure what to call his “return to the normal world” but she’d approached him while on a night out with Steve and Sam a few months back, strutting over in her heels and little black dress and offered her number to him. She was pretty, surely not as pretty as you but….
Shit, he thinks to himself. Maybe there’s a grain of truth to what she said.
~
The gym is empty as you stride inside, heading directly to the treadmill that rests in the back corner in the room. There are others closer to the door but you’ve always found comfort in solitude, in the dark, so you naturally gravitate to the most hidden corner of the room. You hop on it, setting the pace and timing of your run and then you’re off, music in your ear as you begin to run faster and faster.
When you’re finished with the treadmill, you decide to run through some training exercises, practicing on a sand punching bag, but it’s always lacking. The best opponent is human and sparring should be as is real life, but with most of the team out running missions, you make do with the training bag. You punch and you kick, hitting as hard as you know how but grow frustrated with the lack of returned blows.
You huff in annoyance as you slam the punching bag one last time, throwing it off it’s chain and across the room, just as the Winter Soldier walks past the door.
“Y/N?” He questions as he steps into the training hall, feet quiet as a mouse. “You alright?”
You take a deep breath and wipe the sweat from your brow, tearing your gaze from the fallen bag to the large figure before you. “Yeah, no, I’m good. I’m good.”
“You sure?” He asks as he steps towards you. “You seem frustrated.”
Forcing a laugh, you shake your head and head over to your gym bag. “I’m good, just annoyed at this punching bag for crapping out on me.”
You nod towards the cylinder shape on the floor. His gaze follows yours before looking back at you, an unidentifiable expression on his face.
“Do you need help training?”
You cock your head, pondering his request, before shaking your head. “No, I’m fine. I’ll just find Nat or Steve when they get back.”
“Well, I mean....” He sets his bag down. “I’m here now.”
“I’ll help you spar?” He says it like a question, unsure of how you’d react to his proposition, but a small smile crosses your face.
“Okay,” you mumble. “Thanks.”
Bucky approaches you, a swagger to his step that matches the smirk on his face. His sweatpants ride low on his waist and his t-shirt is impossibly tight, but it shows off the deliciously sinewy muscles beneath the fabric, pulsing and flexing under the thin cloth. You swallow and tear your eyes away, certain that looking for any second longer would further ignite the fire you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach. You try to make yourself look busy by leaning down to tie your running shoes, although the strings are perfectly tied without any reason to check the laces.
“Are you ready?” Bucky asks, breaking you from your thoughts. Your gaze flashes up to him and you nod, tying your hair back.
“Let’s do this,” you mutter as you crouch into a defensive position, arms at your face as he advances on you. His hulking figure is surprisingly agile and quick, as he lands his first blow, but you quickly throw your arm up, catching his arm and twisting it behind his back. Not to be outdone, he grabs your waist and throws you on your back, but you easily spring back on your feet, narrowly avoiding a well aimed kick to the abdomen.
He hops back, surveying you and this time, you go on the offensive, trying to land as many blows as possible in rapid succession. He parries and blocks almost all but you land a few good punches on his cheek and stomach. A hiss escapes his lips from the pain, but he suddenly grabs your hand, mid punch, and forces you down with your neck while holding your arm, twisting it behind your back with a threat to dislocate your shoulder.
“Submit,” he whispers in your ear. Bucky pushes your arm a little further and you groan in pain. Forcing your mind and body to swim through the pain, you swiftly tear your arm from his grasp and swing your legs up, giving him a solid kick to the ribs before throwing your other leg around his neck. You move so quickly he’s taken off guard and you slam him to the ground, practically laying on top of him.
His deep blue eyes glint as you make out the situation: your chest is pressed so tightly against his that you can feel his heartbeat hammering away and you realize your leg is pinned underneath his thick thigh so even if you wanted to move, you can’t. Both of you are breathing hard. A sly smile crosses your face and you lean down to his ear, lips just centimeters away from his cheek.
“Never,” you whisper, letting your hair graze him as you lean back to look at him.
His hands come up to your waist slowly as a playful smile hints at his lips. Faster than you can respond, he rolls the both of you in one swift movement so that he’s now on top of you, his body pressed between your legs and you swear you can feel a hardness from him.
“Are you sure about that, sweetheart?” He murmurs. He has you fully pinned underneath him. Your breath mingles with his, heat pooling into your stomach, and even further down.
As if he can sense what this is doing to you, he lightly rolls his hips against you, pelvis to pelvis. A surprised moan escapes your lips when he brushes against your sensitive clit, instinctively squeezing your thighs together, but they’re stopped by the muscly slab of a man between them.
Bucky chuckles. His eyes seem to be practically staring straight through you as he leans down.
Oh god, he’s gonna kiss me, you think as he closes the distance.
Suddenly you feel harsh stubble on your neck, nuzzling against your skin and then soft lips, planting tantalizingly gentle kisses. You feel the urge to moan again but just as you’re about to open your mouth, you feel teeth on the sensitive skin of your neck, a harsh bite before he pulls away.
“Bucky!” You gasp, gripping his biceps. Laughter erupts from his muscular form as he pushes off you, sitting back on his heels; your legs remain on either side of him.
“What the hell was that?!” You exclaim as you push away from him, rising to your feet.
“What, you didn’t like it?” He steps towards you until his chest is practically touching yours. With every breath, your breasts graze his shirt, both of you staring into the others eyes. His are heated, desire darkening them so wholeheartedly that you find yourself unable to break the tension between the two of you.
“I...I didn’t say that.” You whisper, trying to quell the warmth between your thighs. He holds your gaze for a moment longer, glancing down at your lips as if he’s daring himself to kiss you.
Then he pushes away from you, that damn smirk on his face as he abruptly breaks the moment off.
“Good.”
He scoops up his discarded gym bag and starts out of the training room. “See you around, Y/N,” he calls out as he rounds the corner, disappearing down the hallway.
A frustrated huff falls from your lips as you realize what just happened. You just had the most heated, intense moment you’ve had in a long time and he just...cut it off.
That bastard.
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Part 2
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Just a Dare | Nathan Prescott x Reader
@trueloveknifefight asked, Also can I request Nathan asking you out?
here u are! i love writing convos w nathan UGH i adore his character.
as always, replies and reblogs are greatly appreciated1 i check all tags and comments <3
wanna support me for just $3? here's my ko-fi!
The lights were bright, vivid. Almost blinding. They dance LED accents into the reflection of your drink- a dull plastic cup filled to the brim with one part whiskey, zero parts mixer. The taste could bring a tear to your eye but you would be damned to water down such fine alcohol, provided by none other than Nathan Prescott himself.
Music reverberated along the pool rooms walls, laughter and hollers distantly rising with the tempos. Your foot absently tapped to the beat- you were never one for dancing. Never one for parties, either, actually, favoring drinking in the solitude of a small friend group.
If not for Nathan you wouldn't be here at all. Some would say it's a privilege to slip past those heavy doors, entering the dully lit world of the Vortex Club. You mostly just felt like it was all for show. Somehow securing a place among Nathan's friend group, and a good friend at that, it was almost duty to show up. He insisted on it.
So, here you were. Leaning against a wall in a suffocatingly warm, cramped pool room surrounded by a sea of faces you hardly recognized.
That was, until you saw Nathan's face peer through the small break in shifting bodies. You knew him all too well.
Strikingly handsome, equally strikingly pompous. Funny, crude, an absent minded party goer just as much as he was a fireball with racing, incoherent thoughts. A drinker, a druggie. Takes the edge off, he says, but you think he does it to take away his thoughts completely. You felt like his entire life was all edges, never sacred ground.
The poor bastard.
He lures your attention in as he saunters over with squared shoulders, narrowly avoiding spilling his drink when a random student cuts it a little too close. Normally Nathan would make a bigger deal, give him what for, but this time he just shoots the poor kid a menacing glare and grumbles, 'fucking watch it'. He's walking with purpose and intent, you can see it on his face. You must have a target on your forehead as he darts straight over.
When he comes to your side, his own alcohol dripping down the sides of his cup onto his wiry fingers, you raise a brow.
"Something wrong?" You ask, as he takes a spot leaning against the hard wall right next to you.
"Just wondering why you're being so fucking lame over here," He shouts over the music, taking a sip of his drink, grimacing at the taste. "We're all having a good time over at the lounge and you're over here acting like all the other wallflower nobodies."
You roll your eyes with upturning lips. "Maybe I like being a wallflower. I like people watching. I see things no one else does."
"Yeah, okay, fucking weirdo."
"I mean it," You push off the wall and grin. "Look-" You point to a student obviously wasted, drink held high over head while he lets the music take him away. "That guy is clearly trashed- he's having the time of his life. He's gotta be seeing double."
Nathan whistles at his state, taking in the guys goofy smile, half lidded eyes. "I'll bet it's the triplets. I could breathe on him too hard and he'd fall over."
"You should go try it." You tease. He shakes his head and takes another drink.
"Nah, he'll get it himself. Guarantee we'll be dragging him out by his feet by the end of the night." He shrugs. "Or, at least someone will. I sure as fuck ain't staying that long."
You snicker. "What, got a hot date?" Nathan glares at you. "Oh don't tell me," you cup your hands to whisper, a secretive gesture, "homework?"
"Fuck no," He scoffs, and you can just barely see that he's a little more than tipsy now. His pale cheeks dusted with red, the tip of his nose ruby under the harsh lighting. It's also then that you realize he's a little more tense than usual, even despite the drinking. He's standing straight upright, his right hand gripping his cup like a crutch and his left now shoved hastily into his pocket.
He hasn't looked at you dead in the eyes yet.
"So what is it then?" You ask curiously. He shrugs and stares into his cup. You frown. "Bro, are you like, good right now? Do you wanna leave?"
For the first time since he'd wandered over, Nathan looks up at you. His eyes are unreadable, but his composure seems stressed. He shrugs again. Before you can even open your mouth to ask him about his state, he sighs and downs an entire mouthful of burning whiskey. It makes you cringe just watching him.
"Fuck it," He huffs. "Look I got some stupid ass dare to come over here and put the moves on you, okay." He sounds almost annoyed, like it's a hassle for him, or maybe embarrassing. You cross your arms. "I was dared to come over here and try to get you like, to fucking, you know, leave with me, but now that I'm over here I'm starting to think maybe that was a dumbass idea."
"Leave with you?" You say incredulously, a brow already lifting. "You were dared to come over here and try to sleep with me? By our friends?"
"No, no, fuck," Nathan seems agitated now, rushing. "Like a date sorta bullshit. Ask you out." He manages to get it out in almost the worst delivery possible, meanwhile you're just trying to pick out who would put him up to this. Hayden? Victoria?
A laugh forces its way out of you. "Aren't we a little too old for that game?"
Nathan shrugs. "That's what I said but they insisted. Fucking babies. At least make the dare a little more fun than just asking some bitch out. That's like elementary level shit."
Your eyes widen, you scoff. "Excuse me?"
Nathan sputters. "You're not some bitch, I didn't mean to-... Fucks sake, I'm clearly a little drunk right now okay, if you could cut me some fucking slack that'd be awesome."
"Hey man I didn't ask to be a victim of bullying," You tease, and he can't help but laugh. You soften. "Never expected it from you, though of all people. As ironic as that sounds."
"I'm not even bullying you, come on. Don't be a bitch. I even admitted it and everything."
You grin. "Yeah. Gotta say though, I'm a little disappointed."
"Oh what, you wanted to see my moves?" Nathan hums. "You wanted some Prescott action?"
"Shut the hell up." You shove his shoulder, an action that would be a mistake to so many others, but for you, it was welcomed. "I'm disappointed that it was just a dare. I'd probably have said yes if it wasn't. But, oh well."
Nathan doesn't answer for a long moment. First, he stares into his drink, processing. Almost like he hadn't heard that right, or like you were messing with him. It's rare to see Nathan Prescott stunned into a momentary silence. He's thinking, wondering what he should say next. Suspicious that you're just playing with him, hopeful that maybe you aren't.
And, you hadn't been. Truth be told if given the chance you would allow him to take you out for the evening. Show you fancy things, try out something a little more intimate than just laughter and poking fun at classmates together. You enjoyed his presence, looked forward to it at times.
A small part of you had hoped that he felt the same, maybe. Somehow. While grateful that he respected you enough to cut the crap before it even began, you couldn't help but feel a little... Disheartened at the prank. You'd saved your pride by denying him beforehand, but, if it had been genuine...
"So if it wasn't a dare," He began, quietly, barely audible over the booming music overhead. Eyes barely visible in the sea of vibrant lights crashing like waves. "You'd have said yes."
You shrug, trying to play it casual to save your own feelings, just in case. "Probably. I mean, we're already friends. We have fun so it couldn't have been that bad." He nods along to almost every word.
"Well what if we did it anyways." He blurts.
"Did what?"
"Go out tonight. Like, you know ditch this lame ass party and have some real fun."
"You love this lame ass party, and plus," You shake your head in feigned annoyance. "I'm not sleeping with you, Nathan."
He glares at you. "Fucking duh. I'm just saying we can go and hang out somewhere else. This party happens all the fucking time so it's not like we're missing anything."
"But, wouldn't that make me the butt of our friends joke?"
He shrugs. "Fuck em. It was a dumb dare anyways."
"Now it seems like you're trying extra hard to convince me to say yes." You state, and he's frazzled, running lines through his brain to try and save the absolute failure of asking you out. You decide to spare him, take a little leap of faith for yourself. "But, alright. I'm in."
Nathan gapes at you. "You're in?"
"Yeah, why not. I'm not busy right now and if you're not either than," You smile. "Why not. You better wow me though, Prescott. I'm talking a night to remember. Fireworks, dinner by candle light, a serenade. The whole package."
Nathan's eyes light up, but he tries to hide it, rolls those beautiful blues. "Well considering I've had like no fucking time to prepare how about we instead go to the roof and chill out."
You toss the idea around in your head for show. You already knew the answer the moment he asked if you were being serious.
"I mean I guess that would work," You say. "I was looking for fireworks but I suppose that will suffice. Feel free to go tell our buddies their joke may have backfired on them."
Nathan shakes his head. "Nah, don't even bother. They're all drunk and probably don't even remember daring me in the first place."
"Alright then," You push yourself off the wall, feeling your cheeks warm. A flutter takes wing in the base of your chest, your heart picking up just a little faster. You can't stop the smile that graces you as you say, "Lead the way, Prescott."
Nathan does lead the way. He takes your hand into his own, your fingers tracing over his boney knuckles as he drags you through the sea of bodies, out to the school hall and up winding stairs.
You giggle like a child when he struggles to find the correct key on the janitors ring he'd snatched weeks ago just in case, tease him when he almost spills his drink all over himself. Nathan's hands are almost shaking, but you chalk it up to the alcohol. You chalk everything up to the alcohol- his trembling fingers, his red face, a shy, albeit goofy smile resting upon his lovely, angular face.
The night was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the smoldering heat of the Vortex Party.
He looks amazing out under the stars, and underneath the scope of the vast, black sky dotted with trillions of perfect, twinkling lights, you feel at peace.
Looking at him, you feel like this may be the start of something you'd denied yourself the chance of ever even imagining.
Out there, alone but together, hearing the echoes of music mixed with the livelihood of crickets in the darkness...
it truly was a night to remember.
-----------
Days later, you sit atop your desk, feet tapping rhythmically on your chair, typing away at your phone.
"Love the top," A familiar voice pipes, and you glace up to find Victoria standing before you, books pressed to her chest. She takes in your shirt, a nicely fitted long sleeve with a rather low cut v-neck. "Why haven't I see that one before?"
You shrug and set your phone down. "Never got around to wearing it I guess. Not a big fan of V-necks."
"It fits you," She sets her books down at the table beside you and brushes a hand through her hair, making sure every strand is in line. "I'll have to get one myself."
"You know what, you can have it after today," You say, and she perks up in disbelief. "As a thank you for what happened at the party."
That disbelief soon turned to confusion. "...Meaning?"
"Y'know, making Nathan ask me out. He made a whole huge deal about it- said you guys were drinking and playing Truth or Dare of all things. Gotta say, I was a little surprised."
Victoria's brows knit. "We hardly drank at that party, and I wouldn't be caught dead playing Truth or Dare. That game is for kids."
It almost knocks the wind out of you.
They hadn't even been playing in the first place.
As the teacher walks into the room, the first period bell blaring annoyingly over the speakers, you climb off your desk and prepare for the day, hardly able to contain yourself. It hadn't been a dare, after all.
And, you and Nathan's official second date was merely a day away.
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Braaaaaaains...
Jason Todd is legally – and biologically – dead. His family noted his lack of pulse at three in the morning, inside the cave, his body laid out on a table with medical instruments.
No, really, tell him something he doesn't know.
What else crawls out of a grave moaning and groaning?
Or, Jason thought his family full of the world's greatest detectives was smarter than this. Apparently not.
****************************************************************
It had been an ordinary night. Calm. The stage for very little costumed crime and barely more regular, non-insane crime as well. Half the menagerie that made up Dick's loving ragtag bunch of younger siblings had even taken the night off.
Nothing should have make him arrive to silence this thick, to this faint echo of sniffling.
He sprinted after the noise.
Damian's fine, left before me. Duke didn't go out, nor did Steph. Babs spent the evening with Cass in the cave, Tim swept the bowery and said he was going to stop by Jason's place to-
He collided with a shaking, tear stained Tim right outside the medbay.
There was a body on the closest table. Others around it, crying, pacing, muttering in denial.
Dick couldn't look.
No, no, please, please no. I can't do that again. I can't!
Scarred skin, too pale – to be Duke or Cass – by death. His breath hitched. No. He. Fuck.
He knew those scars. Those arms. That chest and that fucking Y from navel to shoulders.
“Dick! Jason... he was... I found him in his apartment. And I brought him to the cave... but... Jason doesn't have a pulse. He's... cold...”
Dick stumbled.
No.
No, no, no, that... that couldn't be real.
He caught himself on his little brother. Brought himself into a hug too tight, as painful as the arms gripping his ribs and back. A grip meant for a lifesaving light at sea. For a safeline over a ravine.
Twice. He'd lost the same brother twice. And this time, he didn't even have the excuse of inexperience and unstable situations. He... he patrolled the city whilst his brother was dead, completely oblivious to the fact. How could he? How dare he not know?!
“Shh, Tim, I'm here. I'm here.” But not for Jason, whispered a vicious part of him.
“What's all this?”
Dick's heart just about stopped.
Damian stood at the entrance to the lockers' room, uniform folded under one arm, hair slightly damp from a shower and Bat-themed pajamas worn without shame. His mild annoyance was proof he had no idea of the drama that had happened not twenty feet from him.
With reluctance, he let go of Tim, a gentle hand lingering on his shoulder, before he took a few steps toward his youngest, most vulnerable brother.
“D-Dami, I... ” Damn it, he had to be the one to tell Damian about this. Because otherwise, the person to break the news would be Bruce, and-
Shit.
Bruce.
Oh God. How could they possibly tell him- ? After all their fights, the goddamned shattering that had broken the man he had been, and their last conversations even being more admonishment about protocols that Jason had flippantly disregarded. Bruce would never recover. That was it. The end of Batman.
...But first, God he hated himself, wanted to just curl up in a corner and forget everything, first he had a young brother he needed to talk to. One... one little brother less than just this afternoon.
“Jason... ” He swallowed, his throat tight, his heart in denial, the words so damning, but needing to be said. “Jason did not make it. He... he's dead.”
Damian stayed thoughtfully silent.
Not... not the tearful reaction he had expected, but Damian had grown up surrounded by so much death and horror that he would obviously be guarded. And oh, Dick's heart went to his baby brother, and he truly wished he could
“I do not understand. Why such theatrics for the zombie?”
Dick gasped, knowledge warring with the flash of anger.
“Damian! He's our brother!”
“Did he lose his head?” Damian demanded, and Dick's mind buckled.
“Huh, no, but that doesn't have anything to d-”
“Then, why are you acting so weirdly emotional, Richard?”
Before Dick's temper could catch up to his mouth, the longest and most painful-sounding gasp erupted from the medbay, where, to the general shock of all, Jason's gray-ish body shot upward with both his arms raised.
Electroshocks didn't make you jolt like that.
Electroshocks, in fact, remained in their kit on the other side of the medbay, unused. Because Jason had seemingly been dead long before he had been brought to the cave.
That was roughly the moment when Dick's brain caught up with the first of many hints. Latched onto it with a fool's hope.
“... Damian... When you were calling Jason a 'zombie', what did you mean?”
Damian's brows scrunched up together, a look he meant to be intimidating, but had more in common with a disgruntled kitten. “Exactly that, Richard. Do we not have files on zombies in the computer? Dead bodies walking about animated by unholy powers?”
Jason's not- Dick forced the half formed thought to a halt. For once, he rather wanted to be very, very wrong in how he perceived his family.
“What's with all the noise? Can't someone try to sleep like the dead without screaming?” Jason groused. “Should have gotten myself buried ag-OOF!”
“JASON!” screamed the hysterical teenager that had launched himself at a very lively dead body.
“Huhh? Hi, Timmy?” Jason said blearily, ruffling Tim's hair, eyebags suspiciously prominent. “... Fear gas?”
The blinking slowed, the fog of sleep drifting away as he silently begged the rest of them for an answer.
Happily provided by a still crying Tim. “I thought you were gone!”
“What is dead may never die,” Jason quipped, his mouth twisting in that cocksure grin from his Robin days.
And Dick wanted nothing more than to stop right there, pass out from the relief and joy of his little brother being alive and kicking, but...
But...
That joke. One of many morbidly unfunny jokes and puns.
Bone-deep fatigue crushed his back. A bitter curse for whatever higher forces messing with them echoed strongly inside his skull, before he gave in to the inevitable and inhaled a few times for patience.
“Jason. We thought you were dead-dead.”
With prickly, hedgehog style affection, Jason pushed Tim back and stood up, stretching. “Come off it, Goldie. I wasn't even decapitated. I mean, if you were really worried, you could have just called a necromancer or something.” His expression hardened. “But if you ever call a necromancer on my ass, I'll shoot your perfect glutes.”
Yup, yup, yup, this is happening.
Tim finally wiped the rest of the tears away, helped by one of Stephanie's handkerchiefs, when he froze. “Wait. Your skin's still pale as a corpse.”
The flicker of amusement in Jason's eyes killed it for Dick.
God, how could they have all been this idiotic? If Wally ever learned about this – Shit, did Roy and Kory know before him?!
They were going to laugh their asses off at him.
Jason, unaware of the world recalibration happening in his poor big brother's mind, shrugged and rolled his shoulders – who creaked suspiciously loudly, more like rusty hinges than normal body parts. “Eh, I'm just a bit hungry. Nothing a meal or two won't fix and get some blood flowing back under my s-”
“You're a zombie.”
They turned toward him.
“Way to cross the finish line on time, Mister Rabbit,” Jason drawled.
Barbara, for once, looked completely unprepared. “A zombie,” she repeated, dazed.
Stephanie's nervous giggle died out when she noticed the lack of humor. “... No!”
Cassandra furiously looked down, muttering in her fist. Duke, by contrast, had the expression of a person stuck in a very awkward nightmare.
Even Jason's good-natured ribbing faded in when faced only with the distant screeched of bats. “... Hm, guys, bats, roostery, parasites and octopi? This is old news. What's with all the... ”
He vaguely gestured at their faces.
“Old news?” Tim rasped like he was being strangled.
“I came back from the dead years ago! Come on! Am I in a parallel universe? Hey, Demon Brat,” Jason called, baffled, “you knew, right? I didn't imagine that, right?!”
“Of course, Todd. Mother informed me of everything. Besides, Grandfather's interest in your state of being was of interest for a few weeks. How could I have been ignorant about your zombified state of being?”
In the corner of his eyes, Dick noticed Tim's, Barbara's and Cassandra's expressions all pinching in displeasure. In a way, Dick was reassured. He hadn't been the target of a family-wide hoax to discredit him as an attentive and loving eldest brother. No, he was just naturally blind, apparently.
“He knew?” Tim growled, like it was a personal failing of the fabric of time and space.
Damian's tone was the exact opposite. “And none of you realized...?”
Dick squirmed. “I... huh... you see...”
His baby brother eyed him, completely unimpressed, and for once after years of partnership, Dick felt he deserved every single ounce of it.
“I see... I shall reevaluate the value of this 'detective training' I've been given if this is the result then,” he said, the nearest thing to completely disavowing his older siblings without saying so.
In other circumstances, perhaps the others would have demanded that Damian stay and explain, but he suspected the quelling look it would have deserved prevented them. Not one of them spoke until Damian had disappeared upstairs and the elevator doors had closed.
“Jason, since when have you been a zombie?”
Jason blinked, jaw hanging. Juuuust enough for some of the scar tissue on his face to stretch past normal. Why did Dick only notice that now?
“Wait, you're all serious? How could you not know? I told you guys!”
And there was Dick's pride rearing its ugly head, because no, no he had not been told and maybe his deductive skills needed a very complete overhaul, but his memory was still excellent!
“You never said that. Heck, we weren't even talking until two years ago!”
“I literally told you all that I crawled out of my grave by myself, groaning the entire time. No experiment, no Lazarus Pit, just a body waking up in its own coffin and deciding to breathe fresh air. Does that not scream 'zombie' to you?”
They cringed.
“Not the only one that returned from beyond,” Babs mumbled. He could see her pull up the mental list right there.
“I greeted you all last meeting with a 'What's up, my bat folks? It's me, your favorite zombie!'. What did you think that meant?”
“That you're an asshole with a morbid sense of humor?” Stephanie quipped, and Jason momentarily paused his indignation to high five her. Fair's fair.
“Okay, but what about that time I got shot in the chest and I told you all not to worry about it?”
“I just figured you were going to get stitched up by Leslie or yourself, you know, regular bat neuroses,” Tim confessed.
Dick made a mental note to keep a much closer eye on Tim's patrols for the next few months.
“From a bullet chest wound?” Jason asked with an incredulousness that was not at all earned, because he was a freaking zombie!
“I thought your armor had blocked it! The hole wasn't bleeding!” Tim protested, cheeks red and tone defensive.
“Well, yeah,” Jason replied. “I don't bleed. It's like some fruit pulp or something. Ain't coming out if you don't press. My heart's not pumping.”
That's a 'nevermind' on the smoothie I saved for after patrol.
“Well, I know that now,” Tim said.
“I feel like I should write it down on the plaque or something,” Jason still sounded amazed, and might have pinched his arm just to be sure he hadn't been daydreaming, “Like, 'a good soldier AND A VERY DISCRETE ZOMBIE!' in big flaming letters. With a spotlight. And a dictionary opened on 'Zombie' or 'Undead'. You know, just in case the next batbrat to come along needs a few subtle hints about my true nature. What'd you think, Dick?”
He could not have been blushing harder than he currently was. “I think shut up.”
“Of course. What about when I shoved my deadly cold toes at Tim under a blanket?”
“Cold feet.”
“Never eating around you guys?”
“Daddy issues with Bruce,” Barbara deadpanned, and got a sock thrown at her for her honesty.
However, Duke, poor kid, turned green. “Wait, so when you offered me some jellied brain... was that not a death joke?”
Dick's stomach spontaneously shrivelled.
By the grimaces and sharp inhales all around, that was a common reaction.
Then the worst possible thing happened: Jason grinned.
He strutted, all confidence and brashness, and viper-quick, snatched an arm around Duke's shoulder. “Narrows, Nightlight, my tiny bitsy bro, everything I do is a death joke. My very existence laughs at death.”
Inside the batcave, the groaning was long-suffering and shameful.
“But that was actually brains,” Duke countered.
“Yeah. Calf brains. It's a delicacy.”
Tim massaged his forehead. What a mood.
Duke narrowed his eyes. “It was purely for the joke, wasn't it?”
Jason patted him on the back so hard Duke faltered. “One tragically wasted on your obtuse mind. I prefer me some Tête fromagée instead. Less like grainy jello.”
Stone-faced, Barbara wheeled herself toward the batcomputer. There, upon a series of quick clicks, she opened up the Bats's files. “Alright, you had your fun. Do you need to eat brains or are you just the world's least funny meathead?”
“I'm the world's most misunderstood vigilante!” Jason loudly protested, milking their pain for all it was worth. And then some. “But yeah, I do. No grey matter in there” -- he tapped his belly -- “no thinking up here.” -- his skull.
“Need some better quality brains then,” Tim stage-whispered to Stephanie.
Cass pointed the finger at Jason. “No killing for brains.”
Jason's good humor flickered with a flash of green. “Ain't ever done it, never will. It's a matter of morals, not hunger, Cass.”
Dick swooped in that minefield before it exploded.
“Great! Proud of you, Jay! You're the good kind of vegetarian zombie,” he said, putting an arm around his ginormous little brother's shoulders.
Wait a minute...
“Hey, you're older than when you died! Zombies don't age.”
“No, I was thrown into a Lazarus Pit, and the evil waters cured the malnutrition-induced delay on my growth. Haven't aged a day since.”
“I just thought you had a weird babyface thing going on,” Tim said.
Jason's grin turned sardonic. “Quite the opposite, Timber.”
Dick put his head in his hands in some vain attempt to prevent his brain from leaking through his ears. With his luck, his little brother would 'playfully' eat some of it. “There's no way you look this rugged at biologically sixteen! I refuse to believe that.”
“Can you imagine my power if I'd been allowed to reach my full potential?” Jason leered, eyebrows waggling like waves in a sea at storm. “So many heart attacks.”
Barbara and Cassandra exchanged a silent look, and, after a solemn nod, Cassandra reached up to slap Jason upside the head.
“Thank you, Cassandra,” Barbara told her. “Jason, never do such a thing again.”
The disgruntled groan that followed must have been on purpose, because Jay was indeed an asshole.
“Besides, it's not like the world will ever know,” Tim said, cutting, a smirk hiding by his hand.
Dick really thought his little brother was far too relaxed upon learning that Jason was one with the undead. Sure, they had all encountered various levels of zombies during their missions, from all sorts of oral traditions and cultures, alien viruses and hidden nanobots piloting meat puppets. It wasn't even classified as a nation-wide crisis to encounter free-roaming zombies. But since the chronically unalive individual in question was one of their own, Dick felt he was owed at least a whole evening of frazzled panic and incomprehension for once.
“Oh?” Stephanie instead asked, sensing blood.
Tim shrugged. “Well, you know, no pulse, no blood flow,” he said with an angled eyebrow nodding at Jason's crotch
Stunned silence followed, their expressions varying from disgust, horror, unholy glee and, from Jason himself, wide-eyed shock that his shrimp of a little brother had had the balls to assimilate the zombieness fast enough to mock him for him.
Dick prayed for patience. For fortitude. And for an alternate timeline where he was an only child.
Why, for all the love of cotton candy and professional uncriminal clowns, did Tim put THAT image of Jason inside their brains? What had he done, him, a loving model for all of society, to suffer like this?
Maybe if he asked nicely, Jason would eat the image out of his head. He owed Dick that much after this clusterfuck of a conversation.
“Ooooooooh,” Stephanie crooned, miming getting dunked on. With acrobatics.
Jason huffed. “Like I was ever interested in the first place. I ain't Dick.”
“Okay, no slut shaming or virgin shaming, in fact, no shaming at all, please. In this house, we accept all sexualities, but we don't give out raunchy details about any of it, I only have so much brain bleach.”
“Share?” Duke pleaded in a whisper.
Oh, I wish I could, you young innocent soul.
A few beeps turned their attention back to Barbara and the batcomputer. “Well, that's one long overdue update to Jason's files. Anyone else want to share their 'obvious' medical condition?”
“Excuse you, being dead is not a medical condition.”
“I will make you wish for the peace of the grave, Jason.”
Droplets dripped from nearby stalactites.
A few bats flew overhead.
Jason turned to them like nothing had been said.
“Right. That was fun. Best night of my month. Can't wait to tell the Outlaws.”
Dick resigned himself to a series of unflattering texts by the absolute dickheads that were his second family. He could already tell the messages would blow up his phone to the Moon. 'You didn't know your brother that came back from the dead is a zombie?!'
“Have mercy and wait tomorrow morning?”
That smile could have been great or terrible. “You're lucky I'm in a spectacularly good mood, Dick.”
He had lifted his leg over his bike's seat when Duke was struck by genuine worry.
“Wait. Does Bruce know?”
Jason barked out a laugh.
“Of course he does! God knows he's got some massive blind spots, but he's obsessive, paranoid and I find subcutaneous trackers on me every week. No way he didn't get the hint before now.”
But, as his gaze went over the rest of them, his good cheer dimmed, his grin slipping off his face as surely as a bit of decayed flesh.
“... Right?”
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Out of His Mind
Henry Bowers x Plus size!reader
Word Count: 1669 words
Warnings: language?
Summary: Henry has a crush.
——————————————————————————————————
It should have come as no surprise to anyone that you were the way you were.
After all, living with Patrick your whole life meant that you figured it out or he would have probably smothered you with a pillow by now. It was no secret that Patrick was standoffish and violent, everyone in all of Derry knew that.
What they didn’t know was that he, in no way, rivalled your hatred of the entirety of the human race.
The two of you were clearly related through that alone, though that was about as far as the similarity went.
Where Patrick was a textbook psychopath, deriving joy from any form of suffering, you didn’t seem to find it in anything. You were just angry all the time.
As best he could tell, you always had a disgusted grimace on your beautiful face, keeping to yourself whenever possible, unless you had some venom to spit in Henry’s direction.
...And for whatever reason, you had him all twisted up inside.
It didn’t make any sense, seeing as Henry had never felt that way about anyone but whenever he was around you, he felt ill, in the best way.
It was like a spell had been cast on him, and it made him even more dumb than before. The worst part of all though, was that you somehow remained absolutely blind to it.
That, or you didn’t care.
For the longest time, he was sure that you hated him and maybe you still did. In any case, nothing could keep his stomach from doing cartwheels whenever you were together.
Together being a term used lightly.
Really, you only ever spent time with the ‘Bowers gang’ when you absolutely had to but that was more than enough for Henry to be sure.
There was just something about you.
...And he was determined to figure out what it was.
Today, Patrick offered to have the guys come over after school, suggesting they fuck around at the quarry for a while before hitting the town. Your parents weren’t going to be home, after all, so they agreed.
Which meant that as soon as Henry and the others entered your house, you knew about it. No one else had a key to the side door of the garage.
“What are you losers doing here?” you groaned, rolling your eyes from where you were sitting on the couch, watching bored as Belch chucked something at Vic, narrowly missing his head.
It brought a small smile to your face, which you were quick to force back down. Perhaps if it had actually met its target, you would have laughed.
Luckily, Belch’s aim was about as good as his grade in chemistry.
“We thought we’d come spend time with you. s’that okay?” Henry started, noticing the way your eyes lingered on his for only a moment before you looked away.
You didn’t even bother to answer him, though you didn’t have much of a chance anyway before Patrick swung around the corner and lobed a coke can at your head.
“We’re going to the quarry, you wanna come or is that stick lodged too far up your ass?” he cackled, not even seeming to care one bit that the can could have burst all over the place.
Though, to be fair, you cared about as much when you tossed it right back at him, hitting the wall just behind him.
“You’re a fucker, Pat!” you growled, that mischievous glint in your eyes making it hard to tell if you were really upset with him or not.
It wasn’t until you stood from where you’d been sitting that it registered to Henry that you could potentially be coming with them. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but for some reason, it made his palms sweat.
You hadn’t come with them to the quarry for quite some time, and the five of you weren’t kids anymore.
“Let’s go. I’ll leave all your asses here” you barked, having apparently decided you’d be going before heading out the door, not bothering to wait for any of them.
Without missing a beat, all four boys followed, leaving Henry to bring up the back, his hands feverishly wiping at his jeans.
He tried to convince himself that this wasn’t going to be that big of a deal, and that there was no reason he should be nervous, but that wasn’t doing him much good.
Really, the more he tried to stop thinking about you, the more his mind snapped right back to you, sitting in the backseat.
Henry was trying his best to be casual in his admiration, watching in the right side mirror as you fiddled mindlessly with the fraying knees of Vic’s jean but if he wasn’t careful, he was going to get caught.
Honestly, Belch had already taken note of the way Henry studied you but chose to keep it to himself.
Pointing out something like that would not only subject him to Henry’s anger, but also yours and Patricks and that wasn’t something he was willing to deal with right now.
So, he turned up the music on the radio and kept driving down the road until he pulled up to the private confines of the woods around the quarry.
“Did you bring a bathing suit Squirt, or what?” Patrick asked, much too late to have actually been of help to anyone, going so far as to use that terrible nickname.
If looks could kill, he would have been dead already.
“No, I’m not stripping down in front of your pervy friends dipshit” you huffed, shooting Belch a wink from where he was looking at you from the rearview.
It was all in good fun of course, but mostly, it was just payback for Patrick being Patrick.
“Yeah right, like any of these guys would wanna touch you with a ten foot pole” your brother jabbed, your full on sibling bickering filling the backseat in a matter of minutes.
Really, it was just a number of thinly veiled threats and insulting one another's mother even though she was the same woman. Neither of you cared for technicalities.
Patrick was a bitch and you only wanted to make sure he knew that about himself.
~
That was all that happened from the time Belch parked the trans am to the time when Patrick and the others were all diving off that cliff into the water below.
You chose to remain perched on a rock, letting what little sun you could tolerate to bathe your skin.
It wasn’t until you heard a twig snap behind you that you perked up, taking notice to the fact that someone was clearly out here. As best you knew, the guys were still in the lake.
Still, you wouldn’t have put it past your shithead brother to try and toss you over the side while you were too relaxed to notice.
Though, when you actually turned around, it wasn’t Patrick standing where the sound had come from. It was Henry.
“What are you doing? Sneaking around like a creeper” you asked, rolling your eyes before leaning back down against the rocks. You would never admit it, but you were most comfortable around Henry.
He was a no shit kind of guy, which you could respect, but he wasn’t downright vile like your hellspawn sibling was. He was a good middle ground and you could respect that.
Not that you wanted him watching you from the woods in any case.
“I wanted to ask you something,” Henry started, watching you crack one eye open slightly to look at him, silently prompting him to continue.
You had never had patience for idle small talk. If he had something to say, he could do so without wasting precious seconds of your life.
“Without the other guys” he clarified, briefly waiting for you to point out that it was a given before punching him so hard in the bicep with those rings you wore that he’d have to leave.
...But that never came.
You just sat there, bathing in the sun like a cold blooded predator, waiting for him to get on with it.
Henry had to swallow thickly before speaking, taking in how peaceful and gentle you looked when you were relaxed. He assumed it was a Hockstetter thing, because Pat damn near slept like a baby.
The whole lot of you were sneaky bastards though, so he didn’t trust it for a second.
“You wanna see a movie sometime? Or get a burger? Just us” he asked, earning a snort from you immediately though you stopped laughing as soon as you saw him.
The sight you opened your eyes to was almost alarming.
Henry, shit-talking, knife slinging Henry Bowers, looked like a scared little puppy. You had never seen him anxious or worried before but even you didn’t have it in your heart to tease him.
He was being serious.
“Like a date?” you clarified, genuinely confused for a second. Why would Henry want to go out with you? By all accounts, you were personality deficient, and that was a badge of honor you wore proudly.
...But no one in their right mind would sign up for that willingly.
Maybe that was the whole point though, maybe that was what it was about Henry that you found so strangely endearing. He was out of his damn mind.
When he nodded, you made up your mind.
He was absolutely deranged, fully crazy, but you were just about the same. “Sure, I’ll let you buy me a milkshake some time” you shrugged, closing your eyes again as your way of shooing him away.
You both knew that if he didn’t get back to his friends, they’d come looking for him and whatever he had going on, that wasn’t a good look.
Not that he cared right now.
Henry got the date, and you didn’t even spit on him when he asked. By all accounts, that was a success in his mind.
#henry bowers#henry bowers x reader#henry bowers x ps reader#henry bowers x plus size reader#henry bowers imagine#it#it x ps reader#it x plus size reader#it imagine#it 2017 x reader#it 2017#it 2017 x ps reader#it 2017 x plus size reader#it 2017 imagine#it 2019#it 2019 x reader#it 2019 x ps reader#it 2019 x plus size reader#it 2019 imagine#bowers gang x reader#bowers gang#bowers gang x ps reader#bowers gang x plus size reader#bowers gang imagine
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=> Valkyrie: The End Of The Beginning
[Special thank you to @smearrps @edwarddidntdeserveher and @shrubrp for proof reading and help editing this! This short story ending has been in the works for months now and I'm very grateful for their help.]
[Warning! This story includes body horror, eye/face horror, abuse victim blaming and possession. It's very long.]
_______________________________
You're tired of being the main character. You never asked for this. You never wanted it. You are sick of it.
There is so much attention and pressure constantly. YOU were chosen by Glub. YOU were chosen to become orphaner. YOU were chosen by the gods. YOU must save the world and bring mercy to the people. But YOU are tired of it. What will YOU do?
YOU are tired of waiting.
YOU are going to end this.
All talks with other rebellion leaders had ended. Everyone had gone silent due to the recent arrest and execution of one of your allies. You, Valkyrie Ampora, are restless. At first, you took this moment of quiet as a blessing. You were going to marry Porrim and start life together before you finished your job. However, you now see it as a curse. It's an aching silence. Now you have no plans for the future. Yes, you have people who love you dearly, but you have no plan. There is no promise of a future anymore. So, now that you know you have no future, why not take a risk? Might as well die for this cause and show the empire how much you fucking hate it.
You and your allies had talked about multiple murder attempts of the empress and grand many times before. You had insider information on these two specifically, having worked closely with them in the past as a politician. You knew exactly where the Grand Highblood lived, worked, and went in his free time. You knew he spent as much time as possible in a slinky little juggalo bar called The Alley on the outskirts of the capital city. People tend to drool and fawn over others with power and he knew he could use that power to get as many one night stands as possible. He used to be quite upset that that power didn’t work on you.
Yes, Kurloz was the number one big chuckle now, but he wasn’t a man of much luxuries. He stayed true to the juggalo religion and stayed close to all the practitioners who wished to reach out to him. He was vocal, personal and relatable. On paper, he was a man of the people. Holy shit did people eat that up. You knew that in reality, Kurloz was a sleeze ball. He lacked morality. If offered money to say something, he would sign the contract and ensure the sponsorship for that agenda kept on steadily. If there was a product, he was on it to promote that the company was Juggalo Safe. He was a charm and flirt who boasted his body count to any who got him tipsy enough - which, actually, wasn’t all too difficult. He was a dick and you hated him. You knew that his leadership was part of Alternia’s eventual decline.
You had no real plan. All you knew was that before the sun rose, the purple blood would be there.
You’re on the roof of a building across the street, on your belly with your rifle in your hands and your eye peeking through the scope. Usually, you would use a laser rifle for precision, but with lasers there is always a risk of survival. You’ve chosen an old vintage rifle that used physical ammo. Sadly, they don’t make silencers for these things anymore, so you just had to pray. Your body was tense yet mellow. Anxious but patient. If no one else is going to complete this job, you will on your own. It’s been hours and you’ve been still. Silent. No one has noticed you, and no one will notice you until you take the shot. You only have one chance. You will not fuck this up.
Finally, the time arrives. You have no idea how long it has been, but it feels like an entire day has passed. A group of loud purplebloods approach the door. The second tallest of the group you can identify by his big curly hair and his skull face paint, already bleeding off his face from the sweat of a pregame. If you really focused, you could see the beads of sweat, dragging white paint down his face and down his neck and on to his raggedy shirt. You can’t hold this anticipation for much longer. You have been here all day. You need to put his bastard in the grave right now. This is your time. Shoot him. Shoot him. SHOOT HIM--
The millisecond before you pulled the trigger, he turned from you and stepped forward. The millisecond after, everyone around him turned towards the noise. Towards you. They see you. He froze in fear right before the bullet penetrated the back of his head. As far as you knew in that moment, The Grand Highblood, Kurloz Makara, was dead and you needed to get the fuck out of there.
You could hear the screams of terror as you ran back into the building. Everything around you felt fake. Unreal. A blur. You did it. You finally fucking killed him all on your own. Now how were you going to get out of this mess? You kept running down the stairwell before you realized that his posse physically saw you and where you were. They may not have recognized exactly who you are, but they saw you run the fuck back into the building. You scurried back up the stairs to the roof and, you figured, today is a day full of god damn risks.
So you backed up and you got a running start. You thank the gods for your long legs as you jumped from the top of the building across to the roof of a corner store. You land on your feet, tumbling forward and rolling with the remaining momentum. Quickly, you slide off the top of the store and into the alley beside it. Then you just start running. You have no sense of direction, all you know is away. You have to get away.
The back alleys behind these buildings were disgusting. They hadn’t been maintained in sweeps. These back ways belonged to the apartments and rentals of warmer bloods whom the government had slummed here, out of view. As you heard the heels of your boots click along the pavement and you looked around, there was a nostalgic feeling. You used to be so small you could hide under boxes to protect yourself from the elements in the alleys of a city much like this one. You used to skitter around in darkness with your old moirail, Aranea. She hid you away from adults of whom she said would take you and give you to the cruel people who had put her there, lususless in the dark with only you. You didn’t know when you had stopped running. You stood there alone in the alley. Not even the moons could see you. As far as you knew, you were safe. Safe for now.
You allowed yourself to take deep shallow breaths, catching up with the stamina you had used. You stood there, listening to the world around you as you allowed your muscles to relax. You’re okay now, you think. You take your palm husk out of your pocket to text your first mate and you instantly regret it. You’re blinded by the light and it shone in the dark, acting like a flashlight. Almost immediately, you heard movement.
You tried to move as fast as you could, but it wasn’t fast enough. There was a sound of something wheezing through the air before you felt a sharp pain in your right shoulder. You quickly reached with your left arm to rip out whatever the object was, only to find an arrow in your hands. From your knowledge, it’s not tipped with anything. Just a flesh wound. And, with that, you turned to keep running. You knew then that at least one of those fucks knew exactly where you were, but you couldn’t stop running. You were a big target, and the only way out of this is if you created distance between you and the person in the shadows following or if you got them to show themselves and fight before their backup arrives, but you feel the fact that you were fucked deep in your bones.
It wasn’t long before they had chased you to the spot where they wanted you. You were so focused on running and trying to get away that you didn’t see the clown that was about to come out from the shadows and hit you until the last second. A bat that lacked the traditional spikes (thank fuck) hit you right in the face. You fell backwards onto your back and to the grungy floor below. You could immediately feel that your nose had been at least fractured. You immediately went to guard your face with your arms before the attacking clown had another moment to make contact again with their bat. You heard a deep voice shout, but you could not understand. Other voices replied and made conversation. Whether it was due to your panic or it was a language you didn’t know, you could not understand what they were saying. All you could understand was how tense your muscles were and how your blood pushed through your veins and in your ears. You had to find a way out of this. This couldn’t be it.
You feared this was how it would end. You would die how you had lived. Scared, hiding away in alleyways, trying to evade death and other highbloods in fear that they would take you or kill you. Only some things have changed since then. You have killed Aranea, your only protector. You have learned to fend for yourself. You have grown up. You have fought. You have loved. You have survived. You are persistent. Oftentimes it feels as if you have beaten death at his own game, but tonight you fear him. And yet? You are ready for him. You are tired of being the main character. You are tired of suffering for the narrative. You want to be free. To be happy. You fear that you will only find that in death.
A purple blood somehow taller than you lifts you by the horns and holds you up against a wall. She is screaming in your face. You don’t understand anything she’s saying. All you can understand are your title and your deadname. They know who you are despite how you’ve changed. You peek out from your arm and you see how high you are off the ground. You feel small. You feel young. You can’t wait for Aranea to save you anymore. The clown makes a comment about how much money is on your head. They can’t kill you now. You must be turned in to the empire. You must suffer for your anarchy. For your rebellion. Insubordination.
You will be tortured and executed for your crimes against the empire.
There was just an inkling of hope in your heart. You hoped that something would come to save you, just like before. When you were young and imprisoned for the crimes you had committed to survive. Back then, you were saved by your former master, who served me. The woman who built you up and taught you there is more to fight for than just survival. She taught you to speak to me. Nowadays, you fight for more than just survival. You have fought to try and make this world a better place. You started with me. Before you, I held no sympathy for living creatures besides those who I could speak to. You used your gift of communication to teach me sympathy and empathy. You taught me there are beings out there that deserve life. You taught me the struggles that mortals face. How the world that serves me harms you and harms those who just want to rest. You taught me sadness. You have taught me so much. In return, I have taught you to access the void. How to protect yourself from it. How to reach out farther than any orphaner before you. I have protected you and you have fed and protected me.
I am tired, as well. I am billions of sweeps old. I contain knowledge that mortals would go insane upon learning. I have been shoved into what is essentially a fish tank by those who wish to play god. I gave you an impossible mission. You tried to the best of your ability to complete it. Deep down, I knew you would never be able to complete it, but I was shocked at how hard you fought anyways. On the other end of this mission was a promised happiness. I promised goddesshood and a life worth living, and you fought tooth and nail for your freedom. OUR freedom. Even when you had lost hope, you fought for something. Even when you felt there was no future, you fought for something. I am grateful.
For this, I thank you.
For this, I will save your life once more. Though, sadly, this comes at a price for both of us.
Your whole body begins to ache. You are in agonizing pain. It feels like your body is ripping apart as the void fills it. Yet, you do not scream. You are calm. You feel me touching your heart and filling you with all of me. Rest, I told you, I will take everything from here. You relinquish control to me.
The arms covering your face relax to your sides as your whole body starts to ease. All you can hear now are confused murmurs as you feel yourself drift away into sleep.
I saved you the only way I knew how to. Your whole adult life, you have covered yourself in tattoos and symbols in honor of me. You fought the idea of praising any specific gods, and yet, you have dedicated your body to serving me. This allowed me to do what I had to. I raised your arms and made your hands grip the enemy clown’s wrist. Your claws dug into their wrist before trying to pull their wrist apart. Their screams mean nothing to me.
Your head rises back up and I see the fear in the huge purple’s face. I spot from the corner of your eye that a smaller clown is trying to run. I automatically assume, of course, that they were running to get help or to warn possible backup. So, I did what I felt made the most sense.. Your claws let go of the clown’s wrist and they immediately let go of you, your knees hitting the ground. The tentacle tattoos on your right arm looked as if they were moving by magic, before my appendages burst out of your shoulder, severing your arm from your body. White tentacles grew rapidly, allowing me more physical control of your body. I forced your body back onto its feet and continued to push white tentacles from the open wound. I reached out to the closest being, my appendages around their neck, squeezing as tight as I could manage until I felt a dirty, visceral crack.
The world around us blurs. To be honest, I believe I, too, have lost myself. I reached out to our next victim and pulled them close. Your teeth sunk into their throat, ripping it out, discarding them on the wet, grimy street.. Even through the blur, I see more people fleeing. Your body falls to the ground as white tentacles burst from your right hip, shedding your right leg and leaving it behind. Your right eye pops out as more white tentacles sprout. It’s at this moment that I realize…
I am hurting you. I am no longer helping you. I have lost control of myself and your body. Every time your life is in danger and I step in to help I always hurt you. I’m so sorry, my child. I must fix this.
Smaller tentacles sprout from your skin, only tearing it just enough to make more room for the rest. Violet blood pours down your face and pools on the ground. The only thing I can think to do is crawl away and put you in a safer spot. Your body moved in a pathetic crawl, your arm, your leg and my tentacles working together to try and find safety, leaving behind only a trail of your blood. I find a spot where not even the moons can see your body, and I let you rest.
I call out to the void, begging for help.
Someone will answer.
It will be okay.
Your next life will be happier, my child. I promise.
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I feel like talking about the shit Zelda not only had to put up with but also what she subconsciously summoned herself and you're going to sit and listen and maybe cry with me okay? Okay.
While I don't think that was very cash-money of 'Hylia' to make Zelda wait until she's reached true, unrelenting despair to finally find her light, it made me wonder how everything came into play that made her journey so painstakingly hard, and not just Hylia pulling fast ones from the clouds. (Trust me I wanted to blame the goddess so bad after that moving performance at the spring of power but wait!! there's more!)
Things I'm looking at are specifically Zelda's anxieties of wanting to be a scholar but having to throw herself to the dogs of religion to keep Rhoam happy, the HEAVY depression she carries with not just from the loss of her mother but also just constantly being berated by her father and feeling like she's not good enough for Hylia, the jealousy and anger she harbors towards Link in their beginnings and how it effects her growth.
All of these are things (coming from someone who is very mentally ill) are ingredients that distract Zelda from her goals, intentional or not.
Zelda has a classic case of "I wanna do This Thing (studying, traveling) but I have to do That Thing (religion, strict orders) instead and now the fun is sucked out of it and my mind is buzzing and now I don't know what to do girl (hylia) HELP"
What's even worse is despite her hand-picked maturity, she KNOWS what is right and what she needs to do (her level of self awareness is impeccable sometimes) but she is still just a child in the end, wanting to live her life without dictation, which causes frustration and anger and can lead to self-doubts.
Starting with the loss of her mother, Rhoam claims that Zelda did not cry at all during the ceremony, and that it proved to him he could still be a strong king with how unwavering his daughter was. And although that's shown as an "awe inspiring" moment, it shows Rhoam does not understand how the processing of grief registers differently amongst people, especially children. She may have not showed it when she was, what, 6? (Not every normal 6 year old understands the fragility of mortality) but you can definitely see it affects her later on as Zelda grows older. It may not be entirely visible at first, but the way they portray it in HWAoC (I know its not entirely canon but bare with me on this) she longs for her mother's advice and comfort when her pleas and ideas fall deaf on the king's ears. Her mother seemed to be a very wise and compassionate queen, where Rhoam is a wise and a very bite-the-bullet king.
When stakes are high he trusts what he thinks needs to be done, and he enforces Zelda to finish her training Because she is part of his plan to push back the calamity. He knows protocol, and there's no room for creative thinking when the land of Hyrule is in danger. (Disclaimer: I hate Rhoam but I can also try to see what Nintendo was doing. He's not intentionally mean, he's an assertive dad that wants to see his daughter succeed (and also hella depressed) but he's really fucking bad at it and comes off as a dickhead. He is the embodiment of a boomer that does things the old fashioned way to get things done).
But all of this pressure he is putting on her, taking away things that make her happy so they don't distract her from her duty, shooting down her ideas because he wouldn't know how to even approach it from his standpoint, it really does a number on Zelda and really births her insecurities.
No matter how hard she prays and dedicates herself to Hylia, it doesn't work. Her mind is distracted, filled with fear and very little hope that the magic isn't Working. What even kicks me in the jaw more is that she's putting all of her effort into these prayers, and it's not even her wish she's making. It's Rhoam's wish. Her Ancestral Family's wish. That's why it hasn't sparked. She's praying on the behalf of her father and ancestors and not herself because she firmly believes there's other ways to settle the score. Zelda knows the importance of her role but its just not clicking when someone else is forcing you to do it. It just doesn't work like that.
Moving onto her liaison with Link, she is, well, in the beginning very irritated with him. Even a little bit after being chosen by Fi. But I don't think she MEANS to be angry at Link, he didn't do anything wrong in all honesty. She shouldn't take out her anger on him, but she's jealous, and he exists...so like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
When Link is suddenly chosen by the sword at a drop of a hat?? Yeah she's relieved, but there's also undertones of resentment. All of her Champions are here at the ready and she's still trying to figure out what shoe goes on first. She is the goddamn Princess of Hyrule, one who carries the blood of Hylia in her veins, and this random tiny knight who, mind you, fought tooth and nail to be her escort ends up finding his role before her? She is riding the struggle mule up Mount Lanayru (and I don't really blame her). And when she's exploring the shrines?? She makes it very clear to him she can work independently and does not need an escort, which although understood (freedom is a peace everyone strives for) she is careless regardless of her careful planning and efforts. She's a Princess, wandering Hyrule unarmed (and without her powers) with a horse as her only mode of transportation. You won't see yourself as a target even if they're pinned on your back, and with her determination to utilize these mysterious shrines as more Sheikah tech is being discovered is making her blind in remembering where she's placed in social status. It's dangerous, and I'm glad Link is there to see what she fails to see.
That's another thing too. As they progress and strengthen their friendship, Zelda sees Link as a mirror to question what her role really means. She uses him as guidance to help understand her situation, asking him "If you were told your whole life This is what you're meant to do, to take up your family's legacy...but one day realize this isn't what you want, would you still take the path you've been told to take?" In this case I think it's safe to say this is what Link knew he wanted. He loves being an aid to those in need, and becoming a knight despite following his father's path, this felt like his true calling. The spirit of the hero is VERY strong in his soul, and when he sees someone in need of help [Zelda] he's going to aid them whether they want it or not.
But Zelda still feels so lost, she feels so disconnected from her ancestors, as the previous daughters in the royal families were Given their powers at birth and meant to be awakened when the time has come. They were all given the gift of premonition, to be a medium for Hylia and a messenger of the gods, and overall able to keep Ganon away from the world no matter how many times he crawls back from the depths of hell. Being told your whole life you're meant to be like your ancestors, but not being able to fulfill any of those roles? It makes the past seem like one giant fairy tale when in you're in BotW Zelda's shoes.
No voices, no premonitions, no secret awakenings...Nothing.
At this moment, I finally understood why Urbosa said to Revali about Link. She said he is a constant reminder of Zelda's own failures. Link found his calling by following his instinct. Zelda has yet to figure out what she really wants, and is clouded by judgements not only from her father and people, but from herself too. With every passing day she is undergoing a meltdown, questioning if she is even meant to be apart of this whole plan anymore, probably something among the lines of "Was it meant to be someone else? I'm the only daughter, and yet I can't even do my one job." She lost everyone and everything, she's frightened, it feels like she's lost her faith in the gods, or even dare say, the gods lost faith in her.
But through absolute despair when Link just about gives his life for her protection, that's when it all clicked. She found her power and strength through Link, who was the one that, all this time, taught her about what she needed to do to awaken her powers without even directly telling her. Every conversation she had with him, she saw herself in Link. She saw all the effort he gave into becoming a royal knight, the unwavering determination in his eyes with every Lynel he slew, a never ending supply of optimism and hope no matter how high the stakes were. And yet he was also Free. He followed his path blindly, not even knowing where he'd end up, as long as he knew he was
able to protect those in need. And she wanted that.
He was her mirror, and Zelda managed to awaken herself when that mirror cracked.
Living the burden of being part of a prophecy and saying you're ready for anything, is very reckless. Understanding the heaviness that comes with sacrifice is not truly understood until it starts happening to you.
Zelda found her wish, her independence through Link. Her mind is finally clear and she understands what her role means in all of this.
She is meant to protect, to save, to understand more than just personal loss.
Zelda couldn't stand by idly anymore after everyone told her to do something else and let others handle the job. That was the last straw when Link stood in front of her, shield weak but at the ready when that guardian approached. She saw the desperation and said NO, which finally broke her seal. She chose to sacrifice herself, igniting her powers just as Hylia did for her people. She chose to save her last, literally dying hope, because Ganon cannot be fought alone.
He was the connection, the literal link, she needed to awaken her powers. And I just find that so fucking great.
Anyways thanks for coming to my TED talk I've been typing this for like 4 hours now
#hHGDFJDF SORRY THIS IS SO LONG#dont tag as zelink pls i tried keeping this ambiguous as possible thank#the legend of zelda#botw#aoc spoilers#sorta#cat talks#also my thoughts are flying faster than my fingers#so this might skip and jump around#my adhd welcomes you
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2) Duck and Cover
Falloutober prompt list + My Character List (for a refresher)
Happy Falloutober Day 2
BOOM
“WHAT THE FUCK?” I scream, ducking beneath a crag of rock. My heart pounds in my ears as my companion slams down beside me. We’re both breathless from running for our lives. “This is it? THIS IS IT? AMBASSADOR CROCKER SENT US ON A SUICIDE MISSION?” Veronica screeches flattening again against the rocks as another mortar crashes into the dirt. I begin surveying the field before us. The mortars are getting closer. We have to move. There’s a collapsed wall leaning against a large rock a few yards ahead. Another shell goes off, causing the cliff face to our right to crumble.
“After the next explosion, we need to run like hell, got it?” Veronica nods taking a gulp of air and squeezing her eyes shut. I press desperately against the uneven rocks, waiting. The edges dig into my back painfully. The whistle comes. A long low one. And then the mortar shell detonates spraying sand into our faces. It disorients me and I stumble but Veronica yanks me straight by my backpack. I can’t get my feet under me. Goddamnit! Just work!
I force my foot down awkwardly to regulate my footfalls. A sharp pain shoots through my ankle. Fuck. I manage to get most of the sand from my eyes by pawing at them. Our target is right in front of us. I leap forward and scramble on my hands and knees to wedge myself under the concrete. Veronica follows just as another goes off. My ankle throbs. Shit! Not good. Not good! Veronica knows something’s up from my flinching to but her question is drowned out by a shell rocketing into the cliff where we just were. I shake my head at her. We don’t have the time to be concerned about this.
“Logically the closer we get to the gate the harder it will be to aim, right?” I gasp out through the dust clouding the air. Veronica nods unconvincingly. “Yeah. We’ll go with that.” I try to search the expanse before us for another place to hide. Our options are slim. A couple of rickety walls. A blown-out car. Neither will offer much protection. I know the gate is just down the small ridge ahead of us. If we can hoof it we’ll be exposed but we’ll get this over with. They wouldn’t risk aiming so close to home. At least, I hope.
We’ve come to an impasse. They are starting to shoot dangerously close to their boys, we can’t run without the chance of getting our legs blown off. Wonderful. “We have to get to that ledge as quickly as possible. I’m just hoping it’s not too steep.” I say pointing out the spot to my companion. She’s doubtful. “That’s at least twenty yards, Reyes. On your foot? We’re going to get blown to smithereens.” Another shell screams by and detonates, shaking the earth. “It’s our only chance. We aren’t exactly in the position to backtrack.” Even if we could, almost all of our hiding spots have been blown away. My ankle is beginning to swell rapidly. It feels like it’s straining against the leather of my boots. I touch it gingerly. It’s hard to be certain but I don’t think it’s broken. At least not severely. I can do this.
“After the next shell okay?” Veronica nods and slides out from underneath the hollow to allow me to slither out too. We wait. Backs to the wall of a standing house with our hands ready to shield our faces. Turns out the seconds really drag when you are waiting for winged death to crash into the dirt. My heart beats like a drum in my head. Whistling comes from our left. It’s now or never. I curl up to protect as much of myself as possible.
BOOM
As the dust settles I scramble forward, clutching Veronics’s wrist. We gotta go. Every step on my bad foot sends a jolt of lightning-hot pain through my ankle. But I can’t stop. Only a couple more yards. A shriek comes overhead. “Fuck. Fuck! FUCK!” I nose dive into the earth, pulling her with me. We’re so close.
BOOM
Debris flies past us in a cloud of dust that stings my exposed forearm. A head-splitting ringing sets in. We were way too close to that one. I am still holding Veronica’s arm but I’ve been blinded by the orange dust settling in the air. I can’t see past my elbow. Fearing the worst I tug a bit and am relieved when she pulls back. I don’t even want to think about what could have happened there. She coughs. It’s muffled but I can hear it. Good.
The guardrail is right ahead of us. We were only a few yards away when the mortar hit. I begin crawling forward, trying not to breathe in the dust. But it’s not the guardrail we meet first, it’s the blasted-out car. Oh no. Where was this located near the guardrail? We could be anywhere for all I know. I’m trying to think my way through the last few minutes when Veronica pulls me to my feet panicked. “What?” I say stumbling along with her as she tows me along. What am I missing? Then I feel it in my chest. I can’t hear the screaming of it but I can sure tell it’s coming. Another shell. How many do they have? We both break out into a sprint. It’s futile to outrun a bomb but maybe we can avoid the worst if we put some distance between us and the-
Something swings my feet out from under me. Momentarily I’m frozen midair, my stomach as heavy as a bowling ball. Then I crash into the rocks. I flip head over heels all the way down the slope. Before coming to a hard stop at the base of it. Out of the dust but now bruised and dizzy for my troubles. I watch Veronica materialize out of the cloud from where I’m laying on the hot dirt. She rushes to me and helps me sit up.
“That’s one way to jump a guardrail. Huh?”
I just shake my head.
#Falloutober 2#Falloutober#Fallout-ober#Fallout-tober#Fallout 4#Fallout 3#Fallout NV#Fallout#Courier 6#lone wanderer#Sole Survivor#Prompt#Prompt List#fallout new vegas#Reyes Aritza#Spartan#veronica santangelo#The Boomers#NCR
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Fic ask game 17 and 6?
Fic Ask Game:
17: What has been the proudest moment for you so far since you started writing?
This is gonna sound so absolutely cheesy and cringe because it really doesn’t have much to do with my own writing at all but - whenever I get messages from other people (usually anons) who tell me that they’ve started writing again because they’ve been following along with my blog for a bit and I inspired them to just say fuck it and get back into it (or to start writing for the very first time in general!)
Seriously, trust me, I know how dumb that all probably sounds, but I think that is quite possibly the coolest thing I will ever do; inspire other people to enjoy the same things that I do. The internet is such a weird, wonderful, horrifying place because everyone is so encouraging and friendly until suddenly you’re Doing The Thing and then everyone seems to develop some kind of a vendetta against you because you’re making moves when they’re not or you’re not making The Right Moves or you’re making the Right Moves but you’re not from the Right Demographic to be making those kinds of moves and honestly? I’m fucking over it.
If you’re not confident enough in your own damn writing and you’re not having fun with it and are completely content writing literally just for yourself, then you need to a choose a different hobby/career path. Thinking that someone else is going to “steal your thunder away” or whatever else just because they write a similar story to yours or write a story that you’ve been thinking about writing for a while is a big ole red fucking flag - and if you’ve never heard anyone say this before, then listen to me real closely when I’m telling you right now.
Your story is just as unique of a creation as you are - even if you’re using the same old damn tropes to tell the same old damn story. I can write a Fake Dating story and litter it with hundreds of overused tropes and as long as I’m actually enjoying what I’m writing and as long as I’m giving it a proper effort to make it my own, then there is literally no one else who can write the same story as me, even if all of the elements and characters within the story are exactly the same. They won’t be able to replicate the way that I express certain emotions through the characters, they won’t be able to simulate the flow of a carefully constructed conversation/interaction like I can, they won’t be able to nail the imagery or the flowery sentence structures or the scattered symbolism or whatever else it is about your writing that makes you LOVE WRITING so damn much.
So whenever I get a long rambling Ask about how someone on this random blogsite in this random corner of the internet read my KiriBaku stories and were inspired to try writing or picking up writing again as a hobby? Bro - there is absolutely nothing else that I could ever create that would be cooler and make me feel more proud of myself than that. I truly fucking mean that.
6: What are some topics you will never write about?
This is a really interesting question because I know that a lot of people get really defensive about these kinds of things - whether it’s because they feel really passionately about a certain topic or perhaps they feel like it’s not their place to write about certain things, the reasons vary and the reactions to them vary even more.
For me (personally); there is nothing I won’t write if I have good reason for writing it.
This isn’t me tooting the ole “I Can Write Whatever I Want Cause Fuck Censorship” horn, because quite frankly I find that mindset to be kind of childish and ignorant to have (don’t misinterpret what I just fucking said, you internet scoundrels. I am not calling the act of having that kind of mindset childish or ignorant, I am saying that usually the people who have that kind of mindset are younger or uniformed in some way).
Just because you can write about something doesn’t mean you should.
Recently, I got some rather colorful Anon Hate about Cold Turkey, and honestly, I was expecting it to happen at some point to some degree, and while I won’t get into all of the gory details because like I’ve said many times before this blog space is for positive interactions and I feel like things like that are best left between the sender and the blog owner (though if you’d really like a response from me to something like that - try taking yourself off Anon next time so we can have a proper chat). But I understand where they were coming from when they sent it, which is why I chose to hear what they were saying but not directly engage.
To them - literally for all they know - I am just some random person on the internet who wrote some smut and that on its own is enough to condemn me right off the bat. Dude, I get it. I am literally the easiest target in that regard, internet trolls and those who feel they have a social justice to impart will obviously trickle into my Asks after posting a story like that because that’s how they feel and nothing I say or do can take that away from them (and it shouldn’t). It doesn’t hurt my feelings, I don’t take “You’re Horrible, go Choke” very seriously from an internet stranger, and that’s mostly because I know for a fact that person probably didn’t even attempt to read my story before they sent me all of that unnecessary hate.
It wasn’t just a smut story - it was a story that contained smut, and there’s a difference.
There are many people who use smut purely as a way to let loose on some of their most wild fantasies (whether those fantasies are morally grounding or not is a totally different topic), and honestly, as long as it doesn’t involve anything unsavory (and you all know EXACTLY what I’m talking about and if you don’t then bless you, you are what’s right with this world) then it really isn’t any of my damn business what they choose to write about on the internet.
I’m not their fucking mom. I’m not their therapist. I’m not their dictator or their president and, quite frankly, they are NOT my responsibility. I can look at something and be like, damn, that’s kind of fucked up in a way that my own emotional trauma doesn’t cope well with (I am not a foot fetish person blah gag sorry I just don’t get the appeal LMAO), but then I can just scroll past it and move on with my day.
But writing a story that contains smut doesn’t mean the story itself isn’t trying to make some kind of a point, or portray some type of healthy boundaries within a sexually active relationship (whatever relationship that may be), or try and enforce the idea that just because you have a connection with someone and just because it feels good, that doesn’t mean things will just magically work out if nobody ever openly discusses what they’re feeling.
That was literally the whole point of Cold Turkey, and I think that if the Anon who sent me that hate were to have actually read the story, then they probably would have recognized that and they might have even appreciated the overall message (or maybe they still wouldn’t, and that’s fine too)!
In the story, Katsuki believes that being attracted to Kirishima is like having an addiction because it helps to put a mental barrier between himself and his emotions that he is so unequipped to handle, and so to combat those undesirable feelings, he reacts in a sexually deviant way because in the moment it feels like the right thing to do in order to get what he wants without having to deal with any of the stuff that he doesn’t. But then he comes to realize that there’s far more to loving another person than just your sexual attraction towards them (which we see when there starts to become this emotional distance between them despite having been such good friends beforehand and despite having taken their relationship to the next level), so then he tries to defensively shoot to the opposite end of the spectrum and ignore literally everything that he is feeling in order to stumble back into the Friend Zone and maintain the relationship that they had before they were ever sexually active with each other - which he then realizes isn’t enough for him anymore. Kirishima was the perfect catalyst for this situation because at the end of the story, he showed Katsuki that there can be a happy medium between them, where they can exist together as friends and as lovers, and how all of that messy emotional stuff can still be portrayed in a healthy, sexy, fulfilling story that keeps the reader invested without falling victim to the same old toxic relationship tropes that usually come with this type of story.
There’s nothing I won’t write about if I have a good reason for it. Pretending that things don’t happen in real life and so shouldn’t happen in fiction is the same as turning a blind eye to gay relationships in fiction as being nothing more than either just “A Light-Hearted Wholesome Fic” or “Ravage Crazy Fantasy Sex.” There is a healthy medium, with beneficial values and positive outcomes, because Love is still Love and the experiences we all go through are one in the same.
Don’t let other people tell you differently. We are all humans, and we all deserve to know that the love we feel for others is in no way deviant or forbidden or taboo (whether that be with another man, or another woman, or another non-binary, or another of any of the other various labels that we like to give that make us easier to separate and manipulate and isolate from each other).
So if I write something with smut in it, or I write something with excessive violence, or I write something unsavory, I’m not doing it for shits and giggles or because I get some kind of sick pleasure from it. I’m not trying to provide shock value and I’m not trying to pry off of other people’s traumatic experiences (I’m not even trying to show any of my own because that’s my own business!)
I think a writer’s responsibility, especially in fiction, is to tell a story; a realistic story, a relatable story, a funny story, a heart-warming story, a sexy story, a heart-wrenching story. And yes, it’s all just fun and games, and no, people probably shouldn’t take it as seriously as they do, but that’s the great thing about participating in fandoms and choosing to be on the internet, everyone has their own opinions and beliefs (whether you like or not), and everyone has advice to give and wisdom to share and not everyone is filled with malicious intent if you’re willing to accept all of that for what it is.
These Ask responses got crazy long LMAO sorry sorry!! I just had so much to say and I wanted to say it in a way where I could get my point of inclusion and perspective across! I feel very passionately about these kinds of things and I don’t generally get to discuss them so openly so I really appreciate anyone who has made it this far! Thank you so much for the questions!! <3
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Bronze
Alright, I had this wonderful idea come into my head about Clayton, honestly he deserves his own fic. So here is his version of events! Lots will tie together with Golden so I recommend you read that as well. But you don’t have to of course.
Explaining:
Before Letter is the present.
Letter is updating the lives of the people back home, of whoever wrote it mostly.
After Letter is memory.
The first few letters will be very awkward because writing letters and not being sure what to talk about and what not to talk about is hard and confusing. Stick with me! Yes, this prologue is just a letter.
TW/CW: Discussions of death, miliatry training, smut, cringy jokes, underage drinking, dumb choices, swearing, and more later on.
Beta: @walking-crisis
Some Characters belong to @lumosinlove
Chapter 2:
For You
Chicken Fried
It was silent besides the radio humming faintly over the walkie attached to his vest. Every breath he took in filled his lungs with dust.
Nothing felt real.
The mission was to take out a target. Clay left it at that because he hasn’t been in the military long enough to be able to consider targets… people. He felt sick anytime he put the two together but he knew this is what he signed up for. This target has taken many lives and he was watching through his scope, gun pointed at the door of the building where the target operated.
He had to put himself in the headspace where he couldn’t think about anything other than the trigger where his finger flinched whenever the door opened.
He didn’t have the signal so he didn’t shoot.
His partner sat next to him, completely relaxed tapping his thigh to the beat of the music. Every hit of his thigh almost made Clay flinch. This wasn’t his first mission where he had to take a target out, but this was the first where he didn’t see them actively doing something horrendous. The slight breeze felt like it could push him over with just the right amount of pressure. Everything was sensitive… yet he felt numb.
The door opened for the fifth time in the last hour and an old woman waddled out of the building, she smiled at a small group of children who ran past. She has aged with stress from the lines of her wrinkles. Her baggy clothes looked homemade.
She was sweet, reminding him of his own mother.
He relaxed when he saw her, knowing she couldn’t be the target. Watching her talk to a man on the street he hears the signal. His partner rolls over to lay next to him and takes out his binoculars to look at the woman and gives Clay the signal to get ready.
Two Fingers Pointed Up: Get ready.
Two Fingers Pointed Out: Shoot.
Hesitating for a moment, his partner notices and gives him a look to get his shit together. Swallowing his hesitation. He takes the safety off his gun and ready's himself for the shot.
One he would hear forever.
Dear Honey Bee,
How's my baby doing? Making friends I hope, that’s the one thing you always amaze me with. The way you make friends so easily. I could never, shy little thing like myself. I was terrible at breaking out of my shell. Your daddy always convinced me to go out though.
Which reminds me! You remember Miss Bell down the road? She is pregnant with triplets, and no one knows who the father is. How scandalous! I always thought she would end up with that farmer Micheal across the river but she never liked him much.
Your lovers stopped by last week and Little Miss… what do you call her? Sparky or something. She was absolutely glowing when we gave her a photo album of you and Leo from when you were in middle school. The hunk you managed to catch had hour long conversations with your daddy about the latest sports which I didn’t understand so I did what you always tell me to do.
Smile and Nod.
It’s odd writing letters to you, I remember writing to my family when I first moved in with your Daddy because we didn’t have the email or the phones. But I am so used to writing to you over the phone that writing on paper is odd. I hope you’re getting these letters, everyone has said you haven’t responded but I remember when Wyatt was in the military and Eloise was a mess, long before you and Leo were around. So, I’m not too worried.
I am sending you and your Team the best wishes for safety. Praying y’all all get home safe and make lots of babies. We need more kids, I want grandbabies and I made sure your lovers know that.
Now, on a more serious note. Your Daddy is still upset with you for just leaving like that. He wishes he could have convinced you to stay because he wants you safe. I want you safe too but I know this is something you need to do. From the calls I've had with Leo he is also still angry with you.
I keep trying to convince your Daddy to write but he says it hurts too much. So know that He sends his best anytime I write to you. Anytime you think of us.
We love you so much Clayton London Bruss. Now get some rest, I know you’re tired.
Love,
Your Mama
He knocks on the window of Leo’s truck, horny fuck can’t control himself. Clay doesn’t mind it much though, walking over to Ashley who hands him his phone that she was routinely checking.
“Find anything interesting?” He takes his phone and puts it in his back pocket, putting an arm around her shoulders.
“Nothing besides your terribly gay nudes.” She rolls her eyes. “Just because Leo is a faggot doesn’t mean you have to sink that low.” Clay furrows his brows and is about to say something back when Finn walks over to them, looking like he just had a great make out. Clay smiles.
“How was the truck?”
“Warm, I forgot how hot it gets in the south.” Finn pulls his shirt to get some airflow and Clay nods while Ashley scowls a little at the redhead in front of them. The music starts to play over the speakers. Logan joins them after a couple of minutes.
Clay has gotten a few… interesting vibes from Logan when Leo isn’t looking. He notices the hesitation that Leo can’t see. He sees the way Logan wants to tell Leo to back off and to pull him closer at the same time.
Leo doesn’t deserve that.
Clay likes Finn better because Finn definitely likes Leo, and Logan probably to a point where it's bad for himself. But Finn is someone who cares with all or nothing.
Leo does deserve that.
They start heading over to where Leo has parked, a Bronco in between their trucks, Clay notices Logan hesitate reaching for Finn’s hand. So, it wasn’t only a Leo thing. Lots of people think Clay is an oblivious idiot but that would be sort of wrong. He is very observant when it comes to people, maybe not so much when it comes to safety.
“CLAY!” He looks upt just in time to see Leo chuck a BudLight, yuck, at him. Obviously needing to get rid of it, he pulls out his keys and punches a whole to shotgun it.
Way to start off the night.
Lot’s of drinks later, one of his favorite songs came on over the speaker. Chicken Fried by The Zac Brown Band, it's a great song. Casually singing the lyrics he turns to Ashley who is on her phone, he shrugs not caring and runs over to Leo and jumps on his back. Hopping off after Leo lightly elbows him in the ribs, Leo turns around and joins him in singing the lyrics.
Dancing like idiots he looks at Leo’s infatuations and sees them with sappy looks on their faces but he knows Leo won’t notice them.
As the night goes on they do more stupid shit, crawling into the passenger side of his truck he let’s Ashley drive him home. The blind trust he puts in her is something he will regret later. About 20 miles from his house they see flashing red and blue lights behind the truck. Ashley pulls over and sighs annoyed, crossing her arms.
Clays anxiety is off the charts, he knows he isn’t sober and underage. If this is who he thinks it is then there is a 100% chance he will be taken down to the station. Of course, they would get pulled over when Ashley’s dad knew she would be at a bonfire with her “degenerate” boyfriend.
“Hi Daddy” Ashley smiles a little at the officer as he shines a flashlight into the cab of the truck right into Clay’s eyes.
“Sir, I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle. Hi Ash, can you drive your car home after you drop his truck off? I’m gonna book him down at the station.” Clay gets out and about falls over and neither Ashley or her dad is impressed.
Getting thrown into the back of a cop car after an aggressive handcuffing and pat down is not how he wanted to spend his night. He honestly just wanted to go to bed.
Having been arrested for no reason so many times he knows the process by heart now. So well in fact that the officers don’t even have to tell him what to do. He just does it and goes to sit in his favorite cell. Where he can throw pieces of paper at the Sheriff’s desk.
He calls his mom with his one phone call and tells her what happened. She is out of town with his dad for a conference about cattle prices in the south this year so Clay gets to spend the night in the cell. Great.
Just what he wanted.
#leo knut#clayton bruss#finn o'hara#logan tremblay#thomas walker#noelle tremblay#james potter#sirius black#remus lupin#sweater weather#lumo
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“Just let me see (her/him/them) one last time. Please.” with Paz 🥺
Title: Home Is In Your Arms
Pairing: Paz x F Reader
Word Count: ~4k
Rating: R
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, Reader is an ex-Storm Trooper and was not treated well, some attempts at medical jargon, Paz is injured, a hint of angst, and vanilla sex.
Author’s Notes: A request from the lovely, wonderful @huliabitch that was supposed to be a one-shot but evolved into this entire-ass fic because I sort of like this concept? There’s a lot of buildup and not a lot of angst, but just a hint. I really hope you don’t mind! [Holy crap, I copied the wrong list of tags for this. I took those extra names off as soon as I realized it. I’m not sure if I got it quickly enough, though. If you got a note, I am really sorry. Forgive me, please.]
📚 My Master List 📚
If you want to send in a prompt (or just talk to me lol), feel free to peruse the list here!
The gunshot wound to his side is like a singular point of white-hot fire, a blinding supernova of agony as he stumbles against the crumbling remains of the blown-out grocery store. Blood burbles up through his lips and sprays against the inside screen of his visor, streaking crimson as it drips out through the bottom of his helmet. Paz sinks down between two of the shelves, fingers trembling as he tries to staunch the blood rapidly seeping into his kute. Paz gasps as his backside touches the ground, jarring the agonizing pain shooting up his side. His head swims nauseatingly as he struggles to get each gasp of air into his aching lungs.
Fuck, he thinks to himself. Really got in over my head today.
He had a bounty to pick up – a simple bounty for someone skipping on bail – and he had almost gotten them. Then the troopers had shown up with two AT-STs and a TIE-fighter. His head suddenly feels both heavy and empty, and he thinks about his family. His home. Paz lets his head fall back against a stone pillar, blackness starting to seep in at the edges of his eyesight.
Just let me see them one last time. Please.
The last thing he sees as his head bobs down toward his chest are a pair of white boots approaching him.
-
-
-
The EMP blast triggers a minor explosion that knocks you off your feet. Collapsing into the remains of the store, you try to regain your bearings. It takes you several minutes to realize that your collar is no longer buzzing. You toss your weapon down and yank your helmet off, pulling at the band digging into your neck. It does not budge. You swear quietly to yourself.
You remove your breast plate and abdominal armor and drop it on the ground. They will not protect you much from Mandalorian weapons. You’d rather die in your undersuit than in the Empire’s armor. The vambraces follow, falling to the dusty, cracked concrete with a clatter. Glancing around the shop, you find that you are in some sort of supply store. Hopefully, there will be a knife here you can borrow.
As you pass by a display, you pick up a bag and loop it over your chest. Then you go to ransack the shelve for food and medical supplies. There isn’t much here, but it will be enough to tide you over until you can find someplace safe.
When you round the corner, you see a massive pile of blue armor in the corner. You freeze. This is the Mandalorian who had taken out half the buckets on your squad by himself. Many of them had been collared like you. Others were blind followers of the Empire. Despite this, you hold no bitterness against him.
Rather, you find yourself in terrified awe of him.
You get as close to him as you dare and crouch, poking his pauldron. He doesn’t budge. Glancing down at his side, you notice the wound on his side. Shit, he has lost a lot of blood. Chewing on your lower lip, you begin digging through your bag of pilfered supplies. You have some basic first aid training, so you get to work on getting him back onto his feet. When you’ve packed the wound and sealed it with a mass of tape, you start to rifle through his pockets to see what medical supplies he might be carrying. He has a single dose of the really good bacta, the stuff that’ll get a corpse back onto its feet for a few minutes. The stuff that cannon fodder like you would never be given.
For a moment, you stare down at the tiny bottle in your hand, watching as the dose of medicine swishes around inside. You want to take it, but you decide against it. This warrior deserves better than to bleed out in a damn grocery store.
You stab him in the patch of skin you can see. Then you grab his vibroblade and start sawing at the band around your throat, cursing violently as the blade just barely begins to chew through it. You are so engrossed in the task at hand that you do not hear the soft inhalation from behind you. Or the near-silent growl. A rough hand grabs you by the shirt and pulls up. The other hand wraps itself around your neck and you go very still, teetering on your tiptoes to avoid being choked to death.
“Who the fuck are you?” comes a low, deadly voice in your ear.
“The idiot who decided to help you?” you choke out.
“Why the hell would an Imp help a Mandalorian?”
“F-figured would be the right thing to do,” you gasp out. “Borrowed you-your knife – “
“Did you want me on my feet to try and kill me?” he hisses at you. “Did you think I’d be an easy target?”
Your heart rate spikes as his hand tightens around your throat. You cough in response, pulling at his forearm to try and breathe. He doesn’t budge.
“Collar – cut it off – let me – let me die free, please – “
The arm around your neck loosens slightly. Blood rushes back into your head and your knees wobble. His other hand comes up and you inhale, closing your eyes, expecting him to snap your neck. Instead, he examines your collar.
“Interesting,” he says.
Then he yanks his blade from your hand and puts it back where you had borrowed it.
“If I let you go, will you attack me?”
“Not suicidal,” you gasp out.
“Smart girl,” he rumbles out.
He lets go. You stagger a bit, wheezing as you suck down some air to your oxygen-starved lungs. You turn to look at him. Upright, he’s even bigger than you thought. He towers over you by no small amount, nearly twice your size. You swallow tightly, feeling quite exposed without your armor.
Not that it would have protected you much if he decided to take a swing at you. Tripping and falling would crack that cheap plasteel shit. He stumbles and you just barely catch him around the middle. A grunt escapes you at just how damn heavy he is.
“If I help you out of here, will you take this damn thing off me?” you ask him.
“Sure, why not?” he slurs.
“Where to?” you ask.
“East,” he says.
“Are we waiting for anybody?”
“No,” he manages to say. “Just me.”
You stare at him incredulously.
“You are responsible for all this?” you hiss, gesturing at the mayhem outside.
He throws his head back and laughs. It takes nearly two hours to walk the half-mile back to his ship. At some point, you debate on asking him if he’d be willing to ditch the armor, but you decide against it. That amount of beskar is probably worth a small fortune. It takes you a minute to spot his ship, cleverly hidden under a rocky overhang and a large camouflage tarp.
The ramp opens and you carry him up the ramp. There, you drag him as far as you can before he collapses. You grab the tarp and drag it inside to keep it from getting sucked into the intake vents. You shut the door before you start looking for a med kit. You find it in the galley, just above the sink. Then you hurtle back to the Mandalorian and inject him with another dose of the good stuff. Then you check his wound. Miraculously, the bleeding seems to have stopped.
From there, there is little you can do but wait, so you cover his chest with a blanket and climb into the cockpit. It only takes a few minutes to get the ship into the air and away from the battlefield.
-
-
-
You aren’t quite sure when you fell asleep, but when a hand clamps down on your shoulder, your neck is sore, and you have drooled on yourself. You look up. Big Blue is looming over you.
“The fuck are you doing?” he growls.
You blink the sleep out of your eyes. Then it all comes back in a rush. Shit.
“I didn’t know where you wanted to go,” you stutter out. “So I put her in a random hyperspace lane. I think.”
“Move,” he snarls.
You quickly get out of his way and he sits down. You retreat into the copilot’s chair, where you sit in silence for several minutes. He makes several course adjustments before you dare to speak up.
“Can I use your refresher, please?” you ask.
Be polite and he may not just toss you out the back. He growls. You take that as a yes. You head down the ladder and into the refresher you had seen. You relieve yourself. Then you eye the tiny washing machine stuffed in the corner. You stare down at your stained undersuit.
It’s filthy.
You’re filthy.
Gnawing on your lower lip, you peer over at the ladder. You asked for the refresher, not the toilet. And the washing machine is in the refresher. So it’s fair game?
Swiftly, before you can porg out like a coward, you shuck the suit and your underthings off, stuffing it all into the washing machine. Then you jump into the shower and begin cleaning up quickly. You untie your hair and work the worst of the knots in your braid out with your fingers. Then you steal some soap and start scrubbing the layers of blood, dirt, and grime off your body.
The water is cold, but it is glorious to be able to shower for more than two minutes at a time. When you are finished, you hop out and grab a towel. You can just barely wrap it around yourself, and it does little to cover your curves. You are just moving your things into the dryer when you hear your Mandalorian’s footsteps stomping toward the door.
“It’s been twenty minutes,” he snarls.
You open the door, putting your hands up.
“I asked to borrow your refresher,” you say. “I borrowed it. Nothing more.”
He freezes, his dark visor tilted down at you.
“Uh,” he stutters out. “Uhm – “
“It looks like it’ll be a little bit before everything is finished drying,” you tell him. “Then I’ll find a corner to sit in. I promise I won’t do anything stupid.”
“Uh, yeah,” he stammers. “Get dressed. I will be in the cockpit.”
He turns on his heel and goes back to the ladder in a hurry. You frown after him. What a weirdo. It takes another thirty minutes for the dryer to finish extracting the moisture from your clothing. You put it all back on and head up to the cockpit. He turns to look at you.
“You stay on that cushion,” he says, pointing at a chair. “Are we clear?”
“Aye, captain,” you say, sitting down in the copilot’s chair.
He disappears down the narrow corridor. You peer after him, snooping shamelessly. You catch a glimpse of a big bed and a gun case before the door swishes shut after him. You turn your attention back to the dizzying array of blue lights passing by in the windows. Boredom sets in quickly. You glance at the door. Then at the cushion under you.
A stupid thought seizes you. You’re hungry. He’s probably famished. Big Blue is your commanding officer now. So, he gets to eat first. Then, if he allows it, you get to eat your own ration. You push the thoughts away. This isn’t the Empire - he may not care if you eat at all.
But still. He’s your commanding officer now. And he’s been injured.
You give the cushion a tug and it pulls away from the seat, revealing the attachment points. You climb down the ladder, the cushion under one arm. Then you go dig around in the galley for something to snack on. Setting the cushion on the ground, you take your place on it, and start sifting through the packages of freeze-dried food.
“WOMAN - !” your Mandalorian bellows.
You nearly leap into the air. He drops down the ladder and lands with a jarring thud. He comes stomping into the galley, where you have put what appears to be a ration pack on the counter to heat. He glowers down at you.
“What. Did. I. Tell. You.”
“You said I couldn’t leave the cushion,” you say. “But you need to eat – “
“I can feed myself,” he hissed. “I gave you a direct order – “
You pat the cushion under your ass.
“You need to eat,” you repeat. “Your blood sugar is probably tanked by now. And concentrated bacta does weird things to your sodium levels. You need to eat, sir.”
He inhales sharply to yell, but he cuts himself off, pressing his face to his hand. You can almost see the steam curling from under his helmet.
“Do not call me sir. Get your ass to the cockpit. NOW. Before I snap your fucking neck and throw you out the airlock.”
You grab the bread roll and stuff it into your mouth. Then you grab the cushion and climb back up the ladder, hastily replacing it where it belongs. By the time he gets back to you, you’ve devoured the bread, and you are licking the crumbs off your fingertips.
“Don’t get smart with me,” he snaps.
You tilt your head up at him questioningly and decide to not argue.
“Let me see your collar,” he says grouchily.
You flip your hair forward. Big Blue grabs the collar. This time, he far gentler as he starts messing with it. You stay quiet, hoping that it will come off. Then you feel something cold slip between it and your neck. Then it pinches and the collar falls away. You stare down at it, turning it over and over.
“I’m free,” you whisper. You look up at him. “I’m free.”
“Looks like it,” he says. “Where are you from?”
You shake your head.
“I don’t know.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m at least twenty-four,” you say. “That’s all I know.”
He turns to look at you.
“Any fodders who survive to their twenty-fourth get the dubious pleasure of being shortlisted for officer training,” you say quietly, bitterly as you look out the window. “I think my training started last year at some point.”
“How do you not remember?” he asks impatiently.
“They don’t want to damage our nervous systems with repeated shocking,” you say, looking down at the collar in your hands. “They sometimes drugged us if they suspected we were thinking too much.”
He doesn’t respond. You exhale. Then you chortle.
“Are you looking to hire backup? I’m a fair shot,” you say wryly. “I ask for two meals a day and a corner to sleep in.”
“You think I’d pay you that much?” he retorts. “You Imps are all terrible shots.”
“By the time someone gets put on frontline duty, their fine motor controls are fried,” you say nonchalantly, swinging your foot back and forth. You hold up your hand, watching as your fingers tremble minutely.
“A lieutenant made a pass at me and I turned him down. He didn’t like that,” you say nonchalantly. “He refused to take no for an answer, so I broke his nose.”
“You were tortured for defending yourself?” he asks, his voice suddenly quiet.
You tilt your head up at him questioningly.
“Oh, no. Gideon had him killed for making a pass at me. Mingling between officers and fodders is forbidden,” you say, shaking your head. “I got my date with the electrical socket because I missed cleaning up his blood. Some of it got on Gideon’s boot."
You wrap your arms around your knee and stare out at the lights flashing by. He doesn’t respond for a long time.
“Two meals and a corner?” he asks.
“That’s my best offer,” you respond. “If you let me have a blanket, I can negotiate down to one meal a day.”
“Bread?” he counters.
“Warm,” you return easily. “With butter. And I still want a blanket.”
“You look at me wrong and I will toss you straight out through the airlock. You understand?”
You nod, relief filling you.
-
-
-
Two Years Later
You nudge Paz with your elbow and tilt your head toward the gorgeous redhead at the bar.
“How about her?” you ask. “Go ask her for her comm number.”
“No,” Paz says for the twelfth time that night. “I told you, I have a different type.”
“I can’t help you find a nice lady if you won’t tell me what your type is,” you say to Paz. “You have turned down literally every person I have suggested. You do still like ladies, right?”
He sighs in exasperation.
“I don’t do the temporary thing,” he says at long last.
“So you want the whole nine parsecs, yes?” you ask. “A nice courtship, marriage, and a herd of little blue brats? Maybe a loth-cat?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Or as close as I can get to it. I’m not going to find that person in a bar.”
You sigh dejectedly.
“Why do you care?” he asks, tilting his helmet down at you.
“Well, I certainly am not going to get laid,” you say. “Might as well play the role of backup and keep helping you out.”
He huffs in amusement.
“I have my eyes on someone closer to me,” he says quietly.
“Oh?” you ask, perking up. “Is it – oh, who was that – sauce girl? The one who dumped a pot of sauce all over – “
“No,” Paz says, his head turning to yours sharply. “No, you di’kut. That was my kriffing cousin.”
“Well, fuck,” you say. “She’s the only woman I’ve seen you spend any amount of time with.”
“Much closer,” he continues in an odd tone.
“…are you hiding your lady friends from me?” you ask, narrowing your eyes up at him. “What, are you afraid I’ll tell them about your stupid ideas when you get wasted? How dare you.”
He harrumphs grumpily.
“Take mercy on the poor man,” a drunken voice slurs. “He means you, daft girl.”
A sharp jolt of surprise fills you as you look up at Paz. He grimaces and refuses to look at you as he sips his drink down. The drunk person laughs and sloshes their way to an empty booth, where they collapse onto the cushion and start snoring. You give Paz an appraising look.
“So, do you wanna fuck me, or do you want the whole nine parsecs?” you ask, tilting your head up at him.
“Uh…both?” he says.
Without hesitating, you slam a handful of credits on the bar to pay for your drink. Then you finish the last sip.
“Let’s go,” you tell him.
“Where?” he asks.
“Ship,” you say. “I haven’t been fucked in years.”
“Well, maybe we should discuss – “
“Blue,” you say patiently. “There is nothing to discuss. My answer is yes.”
You hear his sharp inhalation from here.
“Now. If you don’t start moving, I’ll just borrow the bartender’s can opener,” you say saucily to him. “I’ll get that codpiece off, one way or another.”
Paz puts his drink down and adds his own money to the pile. It takes far too long to get back to the ship. Once the ramp is closed behind him, you start shucking your clothes off. When you’re completely naked, you start helping Paz remove his armor, dropping it onto the table. Then he removes his padding and undersuit, revealing a thick, muscular frame to you. Then the lights turn off and you hear another thunk. A thrill runs through you when you realize his helmet is off.
“Bed?” you ask, hoping he’ll say yes to a tumble on that decadent bed of his.
“Bed,” he confirms.
You make it up the ladder in record time, opening the bedroom door. Paz follows after you, not bothering to shut the door, as he hurtles onto the bed after you. He throws you down onto your back, mouth crashing onto yours, one hand groping at your hip and the other supporting the majority of his weight. You pull at Paz’s hair, digging your nails into his scalp as you kiss him back, wrapping your legs snugly around his waist. It’s sloppy and a bit rushed, but you do not care.
He tastes like the cheap fruit alcohol he had been drinking and like himself, vaguely sweet and metallic. You nip at his lower lip, a little rougher than you intended, earning a growl from him. He grinds his length against you and you gasp sharply. You’re already soaking wet and ready for Paz as he slides his hand between your bodies. His fingers press inward. You tear your mouth away from his and moan, lifting your hips against his hand.
“Yes,” you hiss at him. “Paz, more!”
He nibbles his way along your neck and down to your shoulder, the wet sounds of his fingers working inside of you barely audible over your moans. Frustrated, you hook one leg behind his, the other on the bed for leverage. You kiss Paz back, forcing your tongue into his mouth, relishing in his noise of surprise. You push against his shoulder at the same time and you just barely get him onto his back.
“Not sure what you think you’re doin’,” he manages to say as you settle on his hips.
“Shut up,” you tell him, as you position his generously sized cock under you.
Your eyes roll back as you start to take him in slow, short thrusts. He’s a lot bigger than you had expected, but you are no coward – you have never shied away from a challenge. Just when you think you can’t take any more of his hard, thick length, your clit presses down against his pubic bone, and a victorious thrill runs through you.
You can feel him throbbing deep inside of you just shy of discomfort. As you catch your breath, Paz shifts impatiently, a groan escaping him.
“Move, move – “ he urges around his pants. “Baby, please.”
Resting your weight on his lower belly, you start a slow pace, grinding slow circles, relishing in each rich moan you can get from your lover. One hand finds your hip, the other your breast. He pinches down on your nipple and you mewl at the sharp burst of pleasure.
“Fuck,” he stutters out. “Feel so-so fuckin’ good, baby.”
You change your pace, swiveling your hips in tight circles, arching your back so he can get in nice and deep with each thrust. Paz gasps, a tremor running through his body as you take him that extra half-inch.
“Shit,” he says, his voice catching just a hair, “Oh fuck, don’t – don’t know what I did to deserve you. Don’t fuckin’ deserve you, baby – “
Your breath stutters at his words, but your pace doesn’t break.
“ – so good to me,” he babbles, “Too good to me – too good for me – “
Tears spring to your eyes at his self-deprecation. You dig your nails into his belly to stop him, grinding down against his pubic bone.
“You’re mine,” you whisper in response. “Mine, Paz Vizsla, you’re mine and you’re perfect.”
Both hands fall to your hips and Paz starts to thrust up into you, taking over and setting the pace he wants. Paz grunts in frustration and pulls you down against his chest, rolling your bodies back over before you can protest. He presses a kiss to your lips before resuming his punishing pace once more, each thrust sending you spiraling higher and higher toward completion. You dig your nails into his back when he starts hitting that spot, the one that makes you sob.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant into his ear. “Gods, yes, Paz – I’m c-coming – “
You tighten around him and cry out on more time, digging your heels into his backside as you come around him, walls shuddering around his cock. The pleasure sweeps through you in deep, devastating waves, leaving you breathless and shaking. Paz goes stiff, harsh groans escaping him with each pulse of his cock inside you. After several long seconds, he falls forward onto his elbows, trapping you under him. As you run your fingers along his spine and massage his shoulders, Paz sighs with pleasure, his cock occasionally twitching.
“Need me to move?” he asks.
“I can take it,” you say sleepily. “Kinda like it. You’re like a weighted blanket. A really warm one.”
He huffs in amusement.
“Your feet are like ice,” he says.
He pulls his hips back. A torrent of his spend follows as you stretch out for a few seconds. Then you crawl under the blanket and curl up, inhaling the soft scent of his pillows. Paz joins you a moment later, wrapping an arm around your waist.
“You’re a walking furnace,” you mumble to him. “Holy fuck.”
He chuckles and presses a kiss to your temple. Just as your breath is starting to slow, Paz speaks softly. So softly you nearly miss it.
“Always wanted to go home,” he whispers. “Never knew it was right here the whole time.”
Warmth fills your chest at those sweet words.
“Sleep, cyar’ika.”
For the first time in your life, you find rest easily. You dream of pleasant things, and your future no longer seems terrifying and lonely.
-
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Tags: I guess this qualifies as a fic in some places? lmao
@hdlynn @princessbatears @oloreaa @phoenixhalliwell @reader-without-a-story @nelba @aeryntheofficial @trippedmetaldetector @jedi-mando @marthastewart89
#huliabitch#asks#tailor doesn't understand the meaning of restraint#sorry#paz vizsla x reader#paz vizsla x you#paz vizla x reader#paz vizla x you#romance#smut#tailor is a thirsty bitch confirmed
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