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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 6 months

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Psycho Analysis: Yanni Yogi

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Case 1-4, “Turnabout Goodbyes,” is sort of the grand finale of the original Ace Attorney, and it ends the overarching story in a very satisfying way. We have the culmination of Phoenix and Edgeworth’s character arcs as well as elaboration on their shared history, we get some interesting developments about the past, and it features some of the most iconic moments in the entire series, from pointing out that it almost being Christmas means it wasn’t actually Christmas yet to cross-examining an actual parrot on the witness stand. Throw in the debut of charming hick photographer Lotta Hart and Larry Butz proving himself to be a bumbling asset, and you have one of the best and strongest cases the game has to offer (though in contrast with a lot of the rest of the series, it feels a bit easy).

Of course, a good case would be absolutely nothing without a good mystery leading into an impressive villain, and this case manages to have two! The first of them is without a doubt one of the single most sympathetic killers in the series, if not the most sympathetic: Yanni Yogi. Formerly a courtroom bailiff, being implicated in the DL-6 incident led to his entire life being ruined even if he was able to walk free. And in 1-4, he decides that enough is enough and he wants to get even. How exactly is this sympathetic? Well, that’s what this analysis is for.

Motivation/Goals: To put things extremely simply, Yogi’s goal is revenge. But nothing about 1-4 is simple, so let’s take the opportunity to do something that will be unique to some of these Ace Attorney analyses: Discuss the victim, Robert Hammond.

Hammond would likely have been worthy of a Psycho Analysis on his own if he wasn’t already dead; the man was a defense attorney who only cared about winning his cases, a very dark reminder that it isn’t just the prosecutors who are amoral in this series. Hammond took on Yogi after DL-6 and forced the poor guy to play the part of an insane man so that he could get out of the murder charges levied against him by Gregory Edgeworth’s ghost. And it worked! Yogi went free! There was just one teeny tiny little issue:

Yogi’s life was fucking destroyed.

Socially he ended up as an outcast, and things got to the point where his fiancee Polly committed suicide after dealing with the backlash. What’s more, Yogi was forced to continue living out his life as a deranged man, unable to really go back to normal. And keep in mind: All of this was done to free him from the consequences of a crime he didn’t commit, a crime he was only accused of because the victim’s spirit couldn’t possibly have known the real murderer was lurking outside the elevator.

It’s genuinely hard to blame Yogi for capping Hammond, because the dude was an utter asshole who demonstrably ruined Yogi’s life. Hammond absolutely deserved what was coming to him. Now, framing Miles Edgeworth, on the other hand… That’s a lot less forgivable. Edgeworth certainly never meant Yogi any harm, and he had just as poor an understanding of the situation as both his dead father and Yogi himself. No one involved here was on the same page, and all of them were being manipulated by the real murderer as part of his master plan to get his ultimate revenge.

Performance: In the live action movie, Yogi is portrayed by Fumiyo Kohinata, and to say he kills it in the role is an understatement. I think a lot of it comes from the movie showing rather than simply telling when it comes to Yogi’s horribly tragic backstory, with him getting to act out his reactions to Hammond’s cruelty towards him as well as stumbling across his wife’s body post-suicide, but he definitely ends up as one of the strongest aspects of an already stellar adaptation.

Breakdown: Yogi actually has one of the more lowkey breakdowns in the series when it comes to sympathetic killers, almost to the point that he doesn’t really have a breakdown. One minute he’s the teetering, goofy old man:

And then one avian cross-examination later, he gives up the goat and reveals his true self:

I actually think the lack of an extreme reaction gives Yogi a unique level of dignity and really highlights how utterly tragic his circumstances were, even if he really didn’t go about things in the best way.

Best Scene: The movie actually shows Yogi finding his wife’s body, and if it didn’t hit home how absolutely miserable and tragic this poor man’s life was before, well, here you go.

Final Thoughts & Score: More than any other sympathetic killer in the series, Yogi is the one who my heart goes out to most.

Yes, he’s not as friendly and charming as Acro, and he’s definitely not anywhere near as sexy as Geiru Toneido, but if you look at the facts this guy genuinely just didn’t deserve anything that happened to him. He didn’t kill Gregory Edgeworth, but no one believed him, not even his own lawyer; said lawyer forced him to pretend to be insane, which even if it got him free ruined his reputation and caused his beloved fiancee to kill herself; he ended up being stuck pretending to be a lunatic for years to keep suspicion off of himself even though, again, he was innocent; and then he ends up being used as a pawn in a convoluted revenge scheme. His only real crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time on that fateful day.

All of this really helps make Yogi the most pitiable villain out there. He is just a sad old man forced to live as something he’s not, and who lost literally everything. And after all that, the sole victory he managed to achieve was rendered completely hollow by the fact he ended up caught, being exposed in court, and then having the truth of DL-6 brought into the light, something that would have acted as his complete vindication had he not decided to kill. In the end, all he did was ensure his parrot was going to have to be taken in by someone else and perhaps even get himself the death penalty.

Yogi gets a 9/10 from me. A lot of this really comes from the movie more than anything, not because it’s better than the game version but because it expands upon and shows what the game already told us to great effect. He’s a fantastic sympathetic killer and one of the best tragic villains of the series, and the one all others should be measured against.

#Psycho Analysis #Yanni Yogi #Ace Attorney #Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney

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rotworld · 7 months

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29: A Thousand Papercuts

(previous)

anchor is under siege. you fight for your life.

->contains gore, torture, non-consensual touching, gun violence, mentions of child abuse.

There is a part of you that revels in this mayhem. Clean, pretty, perfect Anchor falling to the chaos of the Drift and the laws it tried to usurp—there’s poetry there, something that soothes the emotional wounds you suffered the first time you came here. You wish it hadn’t come to this. You wish this could’ve been your home. But as you run through the ruined corridors of the laboratory, surrounded by blood and bodies and terrified screams, there is an undeniable quiver of sadistic glee in your heart.

This place took things from you that you didn’t even know you had. You hope it rots.

“Stop running, courier. You’re just making this worse for yourself.”

John Doe’s voice is a haunting echo, a chill down the back of your neck. It doesn’t seem to matter how fast you run or how far you go, weaving through the maze of hallways, dodging rampaging Verlindans and stray bullets from an utterly overwhelmed private security force—he’s always there. Close enough that you can still hear him calling out to you with barely-restrained anger, his tentacles sliding wetly across the walls to propel him forward even faster. You don’t look back. You don’t want to know how close he is, how little distance you’ve managed to put between the two of you.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will break you if I have to. If that’s what it takes for you to understand.”

You nearly stumble into a firefight, the thunderous crack of gunfire filling a room on your right. Anchor’s security isn’t accustomed to an adversary it can’t just threaten into submission, much less one as frighteningly devoted as everything that’s followed you here. A few bullets might kill a Verlindan, but not until they’ve rampaged through a makeshift barricade, ripping throats open and spilling human entrails across the floor. It’s here in the thick of the violence that you think you finally lose him, ducking into bloodbaths and skirting around the bodies of the dead and dying.

The jagged limb of a querrow slices across the hall, wrenching a woman’s head from her shoulders. A small group from Nelton has fought their way to the lab with weapons and body armor scavenged from the fallen. You’ve never held a gun before but they insist on giving you one, a small, slate gray chunk of metal that feels unwieldy and uncomfortable in your hands.

With the lockdown lifted and the shutters rolled back, you can see the blizzard raging outside. You find yourself flanked by windows as you sprint down a long, narrow hallway, the sky dark and blanketed in a gray, snowy haze. He’s out there in the howling wind and sheets of ice, as still as a statue. Patient. Waiting. Your hands tremble. Nearly all the feeling is gone from your fingers. It’s a battle with your own uncooperative body to aim and pull the trigger, puncturing the glass with several shots. The wind grows from a muffled howl to a scream as snow and frigid air pile against the windows, pressing against the glass like a hateful, living thing hungry to taste you.

“Come and get me,” you tell him. You hear the walls groan and the glass creak and shatter behind you, the full force of winter crashing into the laboratory while you run.

Anchor’s labs are a sprawling complex of connected buildings, but the endless corridors still feel impossible, an aberration of reality. You’ll slip through what looks like a familiar doorway and end up somewhere new, or run for what feels like miles in one direction and find yourself back to the place you just left. After one disorienting loop, you stumble into a lab room just in time to see Iridesce plant her foot in the middle of a man’s back and rip his arm out of the socket, flesh tearing, bone giving out with a sickening crack, oozing blood already hardening into crystal.

You stumble as the building trembles all around you. In the split second it takes you to blink, you see dazzling light, strange colors, spirals and fractals and shuddering darkness. You swear you can hear something about to break; the strain before the crack, a brittle wheeze. It couldn’t have been a shift—not this close, not without ripping a hole through reality. But it smelled like new air and it felt like vertigo, like something stumbled into you, through you, and kept moving.

You hear a gunshot. A bullet strikes the wall right beside your head. Someone rushes at you out of the shadows, striking you hard across the face. Your head knocks back against the wall and you crumple.

For a split second, your eyes fluttering, consciousness wavering, you see the abyss. Marine snow. The glitter of life. The thing in the dark whispers that you can’t falter now and dozens of hands are pushing you, guiding you swiftly back up to break through the surface of sleep.

“What the fuck are you doing?” someone hisses. “Are you trying to get us killed? He wants it alive—”

“You taking orders from Gallager or from that thing?”

“Gallagher isn’t even here, he locked himself in the fucking bunker. That thing is probably right down the hall and I don’t wanna be on his shit list.”

You’re lying on your side, your cheek squished against soft carpet. You see the thick black soles and laces of boots all around you. Black fatigues. Angry, frantic hand gestures. There are five—six of them? Your vision is still blurry. You’re cornered and outnumbered but they don’t know what to do with you.

“Get the fuck out of my way. I’m putting it down before it kills us.”

“And let you get the rest of us killed for insubordination? You have no idea what he’ll fucking do to us. You remember that guy on guard duty? He’s missing half his fucking face because he gave them a hard time at the gate once!”

“You hit it so hard you gave it a goddamn concussion! We’re fucked either way!”

Through the pounding your heart in your ears, you hear the skittering scrape of something under the floor for only a moment before the floor erupts. Enormous spider legs surge up as the carpet gives way like a pile of leaves over a pitfall trap. The security team has enough time to fire once, twice, a panicked third shot that hits the ceiling, before fear turns to agony. Flesh rips and squelches apart, blood spattering the walls and floor. Something crunches unpleasantly. The querrow turns its attention to you only once the last body has been silenced, a corpse writhing against the wall and gurgling its own blood finally falling into merciful stillness.

“Ahhhhh, yes. I have you. Once again.”

You know this querrow. You couldn’t see him properly before, but here is illuminated in dim, red light. Two large eyes and numerous smaller ones, bulging from his cheeks and brow, dagger-like chelicerae framing a maw of carnivore teeth. A long, lithe torso and three sets of arms, the fingers progressively longer and sharper the further down the body they go. One is missing, a lump of scar tissue halfway down the waist. The arm on the other side is injured but still intact, the hand a single hooked claw rather than human fingers.

“Do not tremble. It is not you I hunt.” You’re gathered up with unbelievable gentleness, hands carefully cradling the back of your head, your shoulders, your legs, positioning you in his arms as he begins moving quickly through the hall. You notice his front legs are kept splayed, knocking lightly against the walls as though feeling for his way around. “I know now. The beasts have shown me. You are not the destroyer. But your scent…you must be kin. When I smelled you above the ruins of my warren, all my beloved ones I had just finished burying, I could not think beyond my grief and anger. My yearning for my young.”

You relax in his hold. The querrow strokes your back soothingly. “I’m so sorry,” you tell him. “He’s taken a lot from all of us.”

A low, melodic purr rumbles throughout his body, the curving hooks of his mandibles quivering around his mouth. It sounds mournful. “He will take no more.”

The querrow is swift and nimble, clutching you protectively against his chest as he maneuvers easily through piles of rubble and corpses. He kills everything in his path with brutal efficiency, skewering through protective armor with the decisive stab of his sharpened legs and carving a bloody path forward. The limb with a claw must be how he delivers venom. You see him stab the pointed end into the soft, unprotected throat of a man fleeing for cover and he stumbles, convulsing, foaming at the mouth.

Your surroundings gradually quiet, the chaos fading into the distance. You’re deep in the labs now where the fighting hasn’t reached, the carpet unbloodied and the wallpaper intact. The querrow navigates around a corner and into a room that more closely resembles the harshness of the laboratory’s lobby, metal walls and floor, harsh white light glowing from enormous monitors on the walls. You hear the hum of electronics and the whirr of fans, a tangled web of wires crisscrossing the floor. Someone is standing in the middle of the room, up to their ankles in cords and computer parts, fingers clacking rapidly across a keyboard.

“Your precious one,” the querrow purrs, a hint of mischief in his voice. The figure silhouetted against one of the screens turns suddenly and your heart clenches.

“Courier!” Jamie sobs. They rush to help you down, their arms around you before the querrow has finished letting you go. For a moment, you forget everything but how warm it is in their arms. You feel them trembling, unable to find the right words. They kiss you and let out a long, relieved sigh. “It’s too early to celebrate, huh?” they say, laughing tiredly. “Come on. We’re not done yet.”

The querrow taps your shoulder with one hand and holds out the pistol with the other. You take it—and immediately drop it on the floor. Your fingers are stiff. They can’t curl or grasp. The frostbite is halfway through your hands now, completely engulfing your fingers. You inhale shakily. The querrow strokes your side with the small, hooked legs at the top of his abdomen, likely a gesture of comfort. He picks up the weapon and hands it to Jamie instead, who takes it wordlessly.

“I was able to stop the second wave of detonations,” Jamie tells you, guiding you over to the monitor they were standing at before. “It’s a two-step process. They prime the anchorware remotely, sending it into overdrive. Someone has to manually set it off. John Doe can’t be the only tech they had doing it, but it doesn’t matter now. Nobody else is going through this.” You don’t fully understand the maps or symbols scrolling across the screen but Jamie seems to know what they’re doing, navigating menus and complex data. “All this advanced tech,” they murmur. “All these resources. And this is what they do with it.”

You take Jamie’s hand and they squeeze your fingers. You can barely feel it. The querrow’s heavy, clattering steps echo restlessly in the room behind you, reminding you he’s still there. “Tell me what to break,” he says wryly.

“I want most of this intact,” Jamie admits. “Someone with scruples could make good use of it. But you see these?” They hold up a thick, white cable with a blue stripe running along its side. “These need to go. Find as many as you can and rip them apart.”

The querrow bows his head in acknowledgement. He gives you both an expression you struggle to identify—not quite a smile, but not a frown. Pride, you think. Maybe hope. He has to duck and squeeze his legs together to fit back through the doorway.

“What do these cables go to?” you ask.

“The local anchorware,” Jamie says nonchalantly. “I’ve been trying to disable it remotely but there’s five levels of failsafes in place, of course.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to mess with that?”

“I’m shutting it off, not forcing a malfunction. We might be in trouble if a shift hits, but not as much as you might think.” Jamie glances around the room. “This place is strangely stable. A lot of the lab records mention it. They run artificial shift experiments here all the time without much problem, just like we do at the University but with a fraction of the precautions. Something’s dampening the intensity of superposition events and making them less destructive.”

“Did you feel that earlier? I thought a shift might’ve happened.”

“It did. It came from under us.” Jamie flicks their fingers across the keyboard, bringing up what looks like a map of the facility. Layers merge and intersect in confusing ways. Somehow, you’ve been going up and down floors without noticing a change in elevation. “We’ve been chewing through lab staff for a while now but nobody’s seen Gallagher or the rest of the top brass. They’re probably hiding out somewhere. Looks like there’s a basement level.”

As if on cue, another shift sizzles in the air around you. Jamie’s right—you feel it like a shockwave traveling up through your feet. The room spins. You see double for just a moment. Glimpses of other places dart past the corner of your vision; indigo mist. Rocky highlands and plains of tinkling glass. Forests with flesh for bark and fields that crawl upon their tangled roots.

“What are they doing?” Jamie mutters, more to themselves than to you. “Why force shifts like that? Are they trying to make a break for it? They have no idea where they’ll end up.”

You can’t imagine what they could possibly be doing, but it worries you. They must be desperate, willing to try everything. If Anchor is too stable for a series of forced shifts to blow the building apart with everyone still in it, then they’re planning something else. “We have to find the basement,” you say.

Jamie nods, studying the map for another moment. They look just as uneasy with the gun as you felt, but they clutch it carefully with both hands, nodding for you to follow them into the hall. “It should be this way. Once we know where it is, we’ll wait. A few of the querrow are around here and I wouldn’t mind an extra set of arms and legs.” They glance back over your shoulder, frowning. “How was our old buddy, by the way? Did he apologize?”

“More or less. He thought I was John Doe.”

“Why?”

It happens too quickly for either of you to react. The wall bursts, wood, metal and plaster splintering around a roiling shape. You’re knocked aside by slithering tendrils as John Doe surges forward. Jamie fires twice before you hear a strangled gurgle, a body slammed against the wall.

His shielding is on the brink of failure. What you see now blinks and flickers, man then creature, flesh then slippery, scaled hide. You see him hold Jamie against the wall with a thick tentacle wrapped around their middle. Another, smaller tendril plucks the gun off the floor. You don’t think before you throw yourself at him, screaming as he keeps you out of reach with a tentacle around each of your wrists.

“I told you not to run from me,” he says calmly, passing the gun from his tendril to his hand. Jamie fights and scratches but the tentacle squeezes and you swear you hear their ribs crack. “You don’t understand what I’m trying to protect you from, courier. You think I’m cruel and unreasonable, but I could be much, much worse. You’re pushing me to do things I don’t want to do. Do you understand? This is happening because you’ve made it happen. There are consequences for your selfish actions.”

“Don’t—”

The word isn’t all the way out of your mouth when he shoots Jamie in the thigh. The sound they make is like a stake through your heart, a shriek that dies into a pained, helpless wail. He doesn’t even look at them, turning to watch tears spill from your eyes with a disappointed frown. “You’ll learn to do what you’re told,” he says condescendingly, as though scolding a disobedient child. “I don’t like to do this, courier, but I will. I’ll teach you when it’s right and appropriate to question orders, and when you simply need to obey.”

“Let them go,” you beg him. “You want me, right? I’m right here. You can do whatever you want, I don’t care, just—”

Your voice rises to a hysterical pitch when he raises his aim. You scream and you struggle, you fight as hard as you can, but he holds you back like it’s nothing. Just as you rip away from one tentacle, another takes its place to restrain you. He makes you watch as he lines up another shot, a bullet tearing through Jamie’s shoulder. Blood splatters on the wall behind them and drips steadily into the carpet. They sag miserably in his hold, trying not to look at you.

“You’re the same as me!” you scream. His gaze travels back to you. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. “You’re the same,” you insist. “This is your home, isn’t it? You—you have dreams about the ocean, about the abyss, don’t you?”

He doesn’t answer. His face is expressionless but his tentacles give him away. They’re squirming in place, restless. Anxious. The one around Jamie loosens very slightly and they suck in a shaky, wheezing breath.

“You were a…a candidate, weren’t you? They found you and brought you here. They raised you. They told you that all of this is normal, it’s justified somehow.”

“The Drift is hostile to mankind, and so mankind has the right to return that hostility.” The words are stiff and practiced, like something he’s heard a thousand times. “Yes, I was raised here. I’m living evidence of Anchor’s mercy. Your perspective is limited, but I know the good of this place. I understand the necessity of change—”

“They didn’t raise you, they tortured you. Didn’t they? That’s what you think you’re ‘protecting’ me from, right? Because you know what they’ll do to me.” You aren’t certain until you spot that small twitch in his eye. Annoyance, but more than that, denial. You don’t need to know everything about Anchor to know how this goes. Compass Hill, the University, Nelton—you’ve seen and heard this story a dozen times.

“They wouldn’t lay a finger on you,” he says vehemently. He turns towards you, away from Jamie. The tentacle slips away and Jamie sinks to the floor, clutching their oozing shoulder. You take a step back, trying to draw him closer to you. “You were promised to me. My father gave his word. When we found the right candidate, you would be mine to teach. To train, and punish, and correct, and make into a god. The god I couldn’t be.”

“Why?” you press. Another step back, small, barely noticeable. Another, and his tendrils are reaching out to you. “Tell me why you couldn’t become a god.”

“Because it’s…it’s difficult. There’s a very particular process, certain milestones that have to be reached in the correct order. I came very, very close and I’m useful, too useful to simply cast aside, and—”

“That’s wrong,” you tell him, looking him in the eye. You wipe the tears clinging to your chin. Despite everything, you’re crying for him, too. “What happened to you was wrong. What they did to us, all of us, was wrong.” He moves closer and you take another step back. “Do you know about Compass Hill? How it became the way it is now?”

“Negligence,” he says. “All factory weavers had their silk harvested immediately upon production to prevent them from forming cocoons. Someone wasn’t doing their job properly one day.”

You shake your head, smiling a little. “It was just a couple of kids,” you tell him. “Teenagers, just barely. One of them was Dewitt’s prized grudgesilk weaver, and the other was a courier. They’d planned it for months. The courier was going to sneak the weaver out during the night shift change. They climbed out a fourth story window—the weaver had started stashing little bits of his silk, just enough to make a rope. Then they ran. They didn’t get very far before the weaver felt sick and sluggish, and they had to stop.”

He looks like he doesn’t believe you. It doesn’t matter. You know the truth better than anyone.

“So they stopped. They were in a mulberry grove behind the factory. The weaver was starving, so the courier picked a bunch of leaves for him to eat. He started making silk and suddenly he was rolling it up, sticking it on all the trees. He had no idea what he was doing. It’s like his hands knew something his brain didn’t. He kept eating and weaving and eating and weaving, and eventually, he’d spun himself into a giant cocoon. The courier didn’t want to leave without him, so they laid in the grass and stayed there all night.”

You see Jamie struggle to sit upright against the wall. They’re watching you, listening intently. They’re crying.

“In the morning, the factory staff figured out what happened. They went out and they found the courier and the big cocoon. They beat the courier bruised and bloody and started dragging them back to the factory, but they didn’t get very far. Because that’s when the cocoon ripped open, and the thing that came out wasn’t a weaver anymore. It was a giant, beautiful silk moth, bigger and stronger than all of them. And it was angry.”

You take a deep breath. John Doe studies you with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw. He doesn’t say anything. The tentacle closest to you snakes slowly closer, hovering at eye-level. You reach out, letting it press against your palm.

“You were alone here, weren’t you? Whenever someone like you came, they didn’t last long. You felt weak and afraid and isolated. You didn’t feel like you could fight back.” The tentacle curls around your fingers. You squeeze the best you can with your numb, dying hand. “But you’re not a child anymore. You can say no,” you tell him. “When they tell you what to do or be, you can say no.”

The tentacle around your hand tugs lightly, pulling you into his chest. John Doe wraps his arms around you. The embrace is tight and desperate, his face buried against your neck. He breathes deeply. You can smell the sea on his skin.

“It would be wonderful if the world worked that way,” he whispers. His grip around you tightens. A tendril slips around your neck and constricts, cutting off your air. You pull against it uselessly as he trails his lips across your cheek, kissing the corner of your mouth. You bite him and he makes a soft, startled sound. Blood dribbles from his torn lip when he pulls away. He licks it with heat in his eyes. “I’m sorry, courier. Anchor isn’t Compass Hill. You have no idea what would happen to you if you tried something like that here. You’re my responsibility now. I won’t fail you. I will be useful, but you’ll be vital. That’s how things like us get to be happy.”

Your vision blurs and darkens. You kick your legs and lash out with your arms, scraping against John Doe’s chest. He lets you, cooing softly. He tells you to close your eyes and let yourself slip under so he can take you somewhere you won’t get into trouble. You see Jamie, weeping as they try to push themselves onto shaky knees, collapsing again when their bleeding leg gives out under them.

You feel cold. Frigid wind kisses the back of your neck and a snowflake lands in your lashes. John Doe stiffens suddenly and you’re being moved, passed from his arms to his tentacles, reluctantly deposited on the floor behind him. You touch your bruised neck, breathing deeply. You never thought you’d be happy to see the Ripper. He’s brought the storm with him. Snow and razor winds fill the corridor all around him. Fresh blood drips from the end of the iron iron clutches in his gloved hand. John Doe’s tentacles flare aggressively, filling the hallway as though to hide you from the threat.

“I’ll take care of this. Don’t run, courier,” he begs you. “Don’t make me do something that will make you hate me.”

You’re moving before he’s even finished talking, kneeling to drape Jamie’s arm over your shoulder and help them to their feet. They can barely walk. Every step makes them whimper and lean heavily against you, their shoulder gushing blood. “I’m okay,” they insist weakly. “I’m fine. We’re…dealing with it. Should be able to—to stop the bleeding. If I can sit down.”

You duck into the nearest room. It’s another computer lab like the last, black and gray and luminescent. You help Jamie settle in the corner against the wall. You scavenge through your backpack for something to use as a tourniquet, settling on a spare shirt and a pen. Your breathing goes ragged with frustration. You can’t tie it. Your fingers are slick with blood and they won’t bend right. Jamie gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and takes over, wrapping the shirt around their leg.

“Can you lock this room from the inside?” you ask.

Jamie nods, gesturing to a table beneath a wall of screens. There’s a pile of odds and ends scattered across it, but you notice some kind of PDA screen prompting for login credentials. You bring it to Jamie and they thank you somewhat breathlessly. You use another shirt to soak some of the blood from their shoulder, but the flow is already slowing. The fluke, you assume. Something squirms beneath the skin around the wound, clear, pus-like fluid leaking out.

“Don’t lock it yet,” you tell them. “Wait until I leave.”

Jamie’s face falls. “Courier.”

“If i don’t see these people die, I’ll never sleep again. I’ll always wonder if they’re still out there somewhere.”

Jamie lets out a shuddering breath. They know they can’t go with you. They shake their head, reaching out to stroke your cheek with one shaking, blood-covered hand. “I’m so sick of your bullshit,” they say, managing a hoarse chuckle. “All these stupid fucking…life-threatening situations. You’re some kind of lightning rod for horrible things.”

You hold their hand against your face, nuzzling against it. “I dunno. You showed up, didn’t you? Can’t be all bad.”

They let out a sad, weepy laugh. “You’re going to come back. And we’re going to get our…our little courier bed and breakfast. We’re going to build it right fucking here, on top of all this awful shit. Make them roll over in their graves with how happy we are.” They kiss you like it might be the last time. You shrug off your jacket, draping it over their body. They pull the fabric up to their face and breathe your scent, fresh tears beading in their eyes. They tell you where the basement should be, their voice choked.

You watch each other for a moment in silence—Jamie, trembling with silent sobs, you in the hallway trying to keep it together—and then the door shuts between you.

You feel like you’re sleepwalking. Sound and sensation are all distant, far beyond the pounding of your heart. The hallways all start to blur together. You’re tired. You want to sit down and rest but you have to keep moving. Your journey isn’t over yet.

You find it at a dead end. A sharp turn, a long walk, and there it is at the very end—an open doorway. A dark maw, waiting for you. You see a descending staircase and thick shadows, blinking red lights lining the passage down. Another shift comes and goes in the space of a heartbeat, a disorienting lurch of the world all around you. You glimpse yellow skies; strange creatures; waves frozen solid. A warm feeling suddenly blooms in your chest and travels slowly outward, trickling into your limbs.

Your hands prickle with sensation. You look down and the frostbite is fading, gnarled necrosis smoothing away like it was never there. The feeling is bittersweet; relief, and emptiness. You’re alone again, nothing connecting you to anyone. You know it won’t be long before John Doe finds you again.

So you steel yourself. You take the first step, and then the next. You go into that darkness like a Verlindan, your need for vengeance stronger than anything else.

(next)

#rotpeach writes #goretober #the drift

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hargrove-mayfields · 1 year

Text

It’s Thanksgiving. Hawkins is still split in half, but hey, gotta stop and celebrate the little things, right?

Argyle isn’t feeling it. He misses his tia’s cooking. Joyce is a nice lady and all, but her turkey-

Wait, he’s supposed to be mad at her. He is mad at her, at all of them. He’s pissed actually.

But really, he’s devastated.

Even if the turkey wasn’t dry as a bone, he wouldn’t be eating it. He doesn’t have the stomach for it. The grief inside him takes up too much room.

Mrs. Byers catches on, after the first round of everyone else’s food is all cleared out and there’s some of little Byers’ little friends pawing for more. She asks him, “Argyle, honey. What’s wrong?”

Argyle isn’t the type to start shit, but if she’s going to ask, he wouldn’t mind airing it out.

“Talked to little red this morning.. Why didn’t nobody tell me my best friend was dead?”

They look confused. Mrs. Byers puts one of her always warm hands on top of his, and tries to force on a smile, “Argyle, nothing like that happened. We’re all still-“

He’s got to cut her off or he might feel something for her motherly concern. Not now. Not after what he’s been through for these people, “Nope. I went to the cemetery with red. Had to.. had to carry her on her wheels up to him. ‘Cause the path is too covered in grass. I sat at his grave for hours, man. Don’t tell me that didn’t happen.”

Still just faces of confusion. Funny how they treat him like he makes no sense. Someone dies for these people and they can’t even think of his name?

“Maybe you just need to relax..” He’s especially hurt when Jonathan tries to shut him down like that. That’s what broke him really. Makes him get a little louder, and a lot closer to spilling tears like salt water.

“Nah, I haven’t smoked for days, man. That’s what me and him used to do. I can’t just- I can’t..!”

Argyle has to stop there. He’s shaking so bad all the empty plates and glasses on the extra-long table are rattling. A bowl of mashed potatoes threatens to spill all over the leaf-patterned tablecloth. It all sounds like a chorus of souls as anguished as his. Reminding him of the root of his rage.

“Look, if I ever see that Neil Hargrove again, man, I will totally break my vow of peace. That.. shithead ruined everything.” A few faces of realization hit. Yeah. That’s what he’s talking about. And he needs them all to know how serious it was, “Billy had a car. He had big money saved up. We found his madre. Shit was gonna be okay… And then they left. 2,000 long miles away to their deaths.”

Little Jane reaches across the table to him, but Argyle can’t accept her hand. It’s not her fault and he doesn’t want her comfort. It’s not anybody's fault. How could they know he knew Billy?

But.. how could they leave him out too? When they told all their stories about what happened.. they never mentioned his name. He was just someone’s brother. And then he saw Max for the first time in her wheelchair, and he just knew it was bad news.

“My best friend is a goner and I never even got a chance to tell him that I love him. Life is majorly fucked.”

The wall decorations, the napkins, even Joyce’s sweater all say ‘Be Thankful.’ Argyle loses it. There’s big, heavy tears on his face now. He’s got nothing to be thankful for. He’s got nobody without Billy.

He looks around, at the dozen or so people in the room, and he feels by himself.

A sob wracks his chest, “I’m all alone, you know. Even here, I’m just all alone.”

~~~

Nobody had said another word to him when he got up and left the Byers rental. They all knew where he was going: the cemetery gate was left open for holiday mourners.

Climbing the hill is easier now that Max told him the way. Easier because he doesn’t have to keep his cool either this time. It’s just him and the rock in the place of his childhood best friend turned soulmate.

“Hey, hey mister blue sky.”

The ground is wet with freshly fallen and then melted snow, but Argyle doesn’t think twice before he’s sitting criss-cross-applesauce right in front of that grave. He reaches out and brushes off a stray wet leaf from Billy’s stone, and he sighs.

“I have had one hell of a day, man. You wouldn’t believe this shit.”

“Wish I could tell you about it for real.” Billy always listened to him so deeply. That kid would’ve sat there and listened to a fucking Shakespeare recited solely by Argyle. All he ever wanted was a friend. Argyle too. They were a match made in the closest thing to heaven the California shores had to offer, the boardwalk.

“I wish you could tell me everything that happened to you too. Never got to hear it straight from you.”

The wind rustles the leaves. It’s a sound Argyle will probably never get used to. Nothing like the Cali waves. For a minute he thinks about that being Billy communicating with him, but the Billy he knew would never leave his spirit in a place like this. He’s gotta be somewhere far, far from here. Argyle prays for that to be true everyday.

“Maybe you like the quiet. Maybe you wouldn’t want to tell me, I don’t know.”

It’s pretty damn freezing out. Joyce told him about some weird Midwestern wives tale, that if you sat out in the snow too long, you’d catch a cold and live forever. He just wants to be wherever all the noise isn’t.

“Sounds peaceful.”

Hours could pass just like this. Maybe he’d freeze and they’d find him here. What would they say?

They don’t know about Billy and Argyle. About holding hands under the water after dark.

They don’t know about the ice cream on their noses, and the cherry between Billy’s smiling pink lips on their first date.

They don’t know about the shy kisses. The gentle touches. The fear of falling in love.

But they were just kids. How could he know that’s would be all he ever had to hold on to, for the rest of his time?

“You know what I’m thinkin’?- I got it all figured out now, blue sky- I think you’re happy.”

He’d like to hope so. The sky is pretty blue today, despite the weather.

“You don’t gotta answer to anybody. You’re just on your own. Like me. Only that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Shit, he’s crying again. Billy would be so mad to see him beat down like this. He was supposed to be the bright one, to dry up the tears with rainbow colored sleeves. Nothing could’ve broken him as bad as this.

“You just weren’t free up here.”

Surviving almost feels worthless now. Argyle needs Billy like the tide needs the moon. Bound together, never changing. Never moving on. Working in perfect synchronization.

Always loving.

“Hey. Wherever you are.. I’m thankful that you’re surfing your own wave now.”

The sun’s going down now. Instead of warm blues and pinks and yellows, it’s all gray. How quickly things change. All dreary. Argyle’s kidding himself if he thinks that’s something to be thankful for.

Whatever makes him feel better, because it’s going to be a long, long time before he has Billy in his arms again.

“I love you, blue sky. Thanks for being my guy… I’ll catch you later.”

#argilly #billy x argyle #billy hargrove #well.#tw character death #sorry this is just angst #ej writer #my writing

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queenimmadolla · 1 month

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Hellguard spicy headcanons?🌶

Oh man, imma give you spicy and somewhat sweet.

Hate sex.

Except it’s hate sex in that they’re super into each other, like crazy in love and they hate that so they fuck it out on the regular. Pretend it doesn’t mean anything even after they’re sweaty, sated and plastered to one another on his shitty mattress and his fingers are stroking over her skin, nose nudging her sweat soaked bangs out of the way so he can press his lips to her forehead or when he’s kissing her wet shoulder after they’ve just gone at it in the locked showers at the pool, helping her get back into her swimsuit since she can barely stand on her shaky legs. Anytime they have a snarky interaction in public—guaranteed to be fucking afterwards. True enemies to lovers.

Eddie also goes to the pool during its open season to rile her up with both antagonistic comments, and his lack of a shirt. Knows how much of a sucker she is for his tatties, can still feel her tongue tracing over them—even when she’s posted on the lifeguard chair. And god—does her swimsuit fuck with him. He tries to stop by to mess with her (and mess around with her) a couple of miles a week, but he can only see her in that red swimsuit so many times and not fuck her in public. He is only a man.

And billy—oh Billy’s a fucking problem. Eddie has never wanted someone dead that badly before because he knows Hargrove has no real interest in Heather, she’s pleasant to him (as she is to anyone who isn’t Eddie) but he doesn’t really talk to her. Unless Eddie’s around. Eddie knows he’s trying to provoke him, trying to get Eddie to punch his fucking face right into his skull for looking at his girl, who’s not his girl. That’s when Eddie has to whisk her away for a quickie that’s so rough, Heather will still feel him inside of her the following day. She’s always a little off of her game afterwards, still dazed and cum dumb, so Curtis might be under the water for a sec when he gets that cramp after over exhorting himself from dunking people into the pool since Heather had been too busy thinking about the way Eddie pressed her into the outside wall of the community pool building—on the side hidden by trees and rarely ever passed by if the overgrown grass was any sign—and held up as Eddie fucked into her with hard thrusts that sent her sunglasses flying off her head, ruined her high side pony, and had her crying out in pleasure while salivating against Eddie’s palm to keep them from being discovered. When she snaps out of her daze, she’s jumping in to save Curtis (he’s always fine, gets yelled at by Heather for dunking people’s heads in the first place and sometimes he pretends to drown just so he can get her attention).

Heather hates and loves it when he makes an appearance at the pool. Loves that he gets to see her showing some skin—she’s grown out of being insecure, something about wearing the lifeguard bathing suit and the fact that she’s an authoritative figure at the pool fills her with confidence, Heather also knows Eddie likes what he sees whenever he looks at her, and it makes him mad because she’s got such a smart ass mouth on her, and she loves how that makes her feel─hates that she has to watch the few girls brave enough to approach him in public, hates seeing him flirt with them because he knows she’s watching from behind her sunglasses. He’s trying to make her jealous and she HATES that it works.

My gorls hit me with some good headcanons too, Heather teaching a water aerobics class for the elderly and Eddie signing up because he’s the devil in her life (he wants to be around her). Eddie intentionally tries to annoy her, keep that back-and-forth banter they’ve been doing their entire high school careers going to ensure she knows summer break is for a break in school and not a break with him. It works, Heather’s annoyed but the elderly can see things neither wants to acknowledge. It took a while for some of the older ladies to get used to him, always making comments about his metal like appearance—but when he’s a sweetheart to them, helping them out of the pool, he’s got all the golden girls ready to go up to bat for him—or rather, ready to help him get the girl (the gorls have also decided our golden girls try to hit on Wayne through Eddie and some even try to flirt with Eddie themselves lol). But now whenever Heather is going around to make sure they’re all doing good forms, they’re chatting her up about how sweet Eddie is, how much of a catch he’d be and Heather, dear, you wouldn’t happen to be seeing anyone would you?

I see Heather as trying her hardest to be taken seriously, to keep that feeling she got a taste of during her first summer as a lifeguard, so she pursues class politics and campaigns for class dances and their attached monarchy (she will be prom queen one day, mark her words) and we all have an inkling to what Eddie does in response to everything she does. He’s the fire to her water. They shouldn’t get along and that’s ingrained in them, so they don’t know how to handle it when all of their moments together prove that while they may be opposites, they compliment each other in ways they cold never have imagined.

(Eddie always votes for her in anything and everything she does, has the Hellfire club do it too, This shit bites but if we gotta do it, might as well get Holloway up there so she can publicly choke during her speech—would pay BIG bucks to see her run off that stage, he lingers in the back of the crowds, small smirk on his face when she effortlessly makes her way through public speaking—because she’s good at it even if he knows she’s shaking in her shoes and rehearsed a billion times before. He’s proud.)

I can literally go on and on. You know what Hellguard does to me!

#this was so nice to rant about lol #hellguard #headdie #Eddie munson #Eddie munson headcanons #giving eddie head(canons)#Heather Holloway #Heather Holloway headcanons #Eddie munson x Heather Holloway #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things 3 #stranger things headcanons

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trashheappro · 2 months

Text

The Anomaly - Ch. 13

Ch: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

They dragged Miguel’s unconscious form through the portal. Miles huffed, frustrated that the man was so heavy to him despite now having super strength. It didn’t help that it was impossible to have a good hold on the limp body. Still, the two of them managed.

“Get him on the table,” Mr. Ohnn said. He ripped open the drawers for the medkit. Miles hefted Miguel over to the metal work table. He had to contort his body to shove and slide the mountain of a man off his shoulders and onto the smooth surface.

Mr. Ohnn ran around washing his hands and gathered clean water into a metal basin. “Take his shirt off.”

Miles scowled but obeyed. Why did he have to do all this for fucking Miguel O’ Hara? He activated his gauntlet to slice through the thin fabric.

“Don’t give me that look,” Mr. Ohnn said. “You wanted to keep him, not me.”

“I get it,” he snapped back. Revulsion turned in his gut. The thought of saving the life of the man who ruined his was abhorrent, had his jaw clenched tight and fighting off the desire to just kill the man right here and now. He avoided looking at the beaten and bleeding man on the table and tried not to think of his hands wrapping around his throat. He couldn’t continue Miguel’s misery if he was dead. Focus on the job.

The wound was still bleeding sluggishly. Miguel was fully unconscious and had no reaction to the two of them flitting around him.

“Wash your hands and put on some gloves.” Mr Ohnn said, taking out the packaged needle and gauze to set them aside. “And grab a clean towel.”

Miles hurried around the room doing just that. “You didn’t need all this last time,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, well, ‘last time’ the wound was already closing and all I had to worry about was a little infection. This–” Mr. Ohnn snapped some gloves on. “This doesn’t look so good.”

“He said he was weaker.” Miles gestured to Miguel. “Said he needs his serum that his powers were tied to genetic stability or something.”

“Serum?”

“The green goo.”

“Oh,” Mr. Ohnn opened a portal to gather the vials and injector. “Must be why his healing factor is kind of shit right now.”

Anger flared anew. “He was weakened the whole time,” Miles snarled. The whole time he believed he bested the Miguel O’ Hara, Spiderman of the future, leader of the Spider Society, the man that took everything from him. But he didn’t. He thought he finally did something right, but it was a hollow victory. He was still that weak little kid trapped in the stupid orange box. And who knew how long it had been since his last serum dose. Everything he and Mr. Ohnn had been working on, training for, he still couldn’t beat Miguel on even ground.

“I would love to reassure you or give you some words of encouragement, Miles, but we’re kind of busy here.”

After drying his hands off, Miles joined Mr. Ohnn at the table. “I didn’t win.”

Mr. Ohnn snapped to him. “Of course you did.” He grabbed an x-ray scanner from the otherside of the table and positioned it over Miguel’s wound. He double checked to see if the scan was running before turning to grab Miles’ shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “Listen, we are not gladiators in the colosseum. It doesn’t need to be an honorable 1 v 1. You had an opportunity and took it. Recognizing those moments of opportunity and capitalizing is what separates the winners from the losers. You hear me?” He jostled Miles with a little shake.

Of all the people that should have been there for him, supported him, the Spot should have been at the bottom of the list. And yet, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Mr. Ohnn was the only one who was there for him, the only one who could understand him.

Truthfully, Miles didn’t know what he did to have Mr. Ohnn choose to help him, let alone stay with him. He would never be able to express how grateful he was to the man for picking him above all else.

“I hear you,” Miles said.

“Good,” Mr. Ohnn squeezed his shoulders before letting go. “Because I’m kind of panicking right now, so if we could save your crisis for later, would love.”

Miles snorted. “Sure.”

Mr. Ohnn looked over the scanner results and let out a sigh of relief. “No internal organ damage, thank whatever for that, because I may have a doctorate, but not that kind of doctor. I do know, however, I gotta replace these,” He pulled the gloves off and put on some clean ones. He picked up the injector and turned it over in his hand. “Clean the wound for me, would you?”

Miles wiped the blood from the surrounding skin, making it easier for Mr. Ohnn to work later. He dunked the bloodied rag into the once pristine water, casting a reddish cloud to the basin. Soon he revealed three distinct slashes. He dabbed away at the wounds, careful not to accidentally undo the work of any clotted blood. He tried not to focus on who was on the receiving end of his diligent care.

Mr. Ohnn had all he needed laid out on the table nearby. “I’m going to seal the opening, then give him the goo and some antibiotics.” he said. “It’s not exactly sterile, but once his healing factor is back to top form, it’ll take care of any infection for us. You with me?”

Miles snorted. “And you say you’re not a doctor.”

“I just watched a lot of medical dramas when I was in undergrad.” But despite his words, his deft fingers worked quickly on the sutures. Perhaps it was his previous lab work that trained his steady hand; that and all the practice he had on Miles and now Miguel.

Miles watched as Mr. Ohnn completed stitch after stitch. Miguel had not stirred once, but he was still breathing, which was… a sign. But Miles’ anxiety was ratcheting. If Miguel died here on this table, what was next for them? This was… everything. This was what he worked towards for years. And if he didn’t have this…

“Hey, Miles, wanna help?” Mr. Ohnn asked.

“What?” A spike of nervous energy pulled his spine straight.

“If you could help put some stitches in that top laceration, you’d save us a lot of time,” he said. Eyes solely focused on closing up the middle tear which was the longest and deepest cut by far.

“But I don’t know how–”

“Pull up a video. It’s not that hard.”

“He’s dying,” Miles stressed.

“You learn best under pressure.” Mr. Ohnn pulled up a projection of a youtube video showing how to make a simple interrupted suture. “Besides, he’s in no condition to complain about bad stitches.”

His palms started to sweat. “I don’t know–”

Mr. Ohnn handed him a needle and thread. “Experience is the best teacher.”

Miles took it and sighed. Mr. Ohnn wasn’t going to back down from this. Fine. He threaded the needle and watched the video once. When he turned back to look at Miguel, another pair of forceps were in front of him. Well, now or never.

He grabbed a piece of skin with the forceps and pried the wound open a little to get a better view. He slowly pierced the flesh with the needle in his other hand, brows knitting in concentration to keep his hand steady.

“You’re holding it too tight,” Mr. Ohnn said. “You’re making yourself tremble.”

“Well, sorry for being nervous,” Miles hissed as he fully pulled the needle out to the otherside.

“Don’t be. You don’t care about this guy. Who cares if he has a shitty stitch?”

He was right. Why was Miles trying so hard for this asshole? He wanted to get it right, sure, but the best person to fuck up on was Miguel O’ Hara. The surgeon’s knot seemed easy enough. He wrapped the thread around the forceps three times just like the video and pulled the leftover thread through and tugged.

“Pull it tighter,” Mr. Ohnn corrected.

So he did. And did the knot two more times before standing straight and looking up for confirmation.

“Not bad, kid. Now do it again.”

Miles preened under the praise and got to work. The next one he finished faster and the one after that. Before he realized it, he finished seven stitches and sealed up the top laceration.

Mr. Ohnn patted him on the shoulder, gloves off and having already finished sealing the other two wounds. “Good job.”

Seeing Mr. Ohnn’s straight and neat stitches next to his more crooked ones, did nothing to deter the smile off his face. Practice was practice. “Thanks.”

“Almost done, just the goo and the antibiotics.” Mr. Ohnn inserted the serum cartridge into the injector and shot it right into the meat of Miguel’s shoulder.

The rest of it should have been easy. Miguel was unconscious and hadn’t even so much as twitched as they worked on him. So they weren’t expecting it when his eyes snapped open and began thrashing.

“Oh, that’s not good.” Mr. Ohnn said unhelpfully. His attention focused on the wound. “Hold him down. We don’t want his stitches to tear.” He held Miguel’s legs down or at least tried to.

Miles went into his gauntlet to lock down Miguel’s wrist, but that didn’t stop him from trying to twist out of them, which was causing blood to seep from the freshly closed wounds. He tried to push down on Miguel’s chest to stop his torso from writhing, but he was still pulling at his stitches. “Miguel, stop!”

“We’re trying to help you, buddy!”

Miles didn’t even bother to correct Mr. Ohnn. “You’re making this worse for yourself, man!”

“I worked really hard on those sutures!”

Miguel continued to try and buck them off.

“Maybe shut up, Mr. Ohnn. I think your voice is setting him off.”

“Oh, like yours doesn’t?”

Was this part of ‘genetic maintenance’? If so, Miguel really needed to elaborate more on what that entailed because this was not what he had in mind. His eyes darted around wildly, confused, and fearful.

And while Miles wasn’t opposed to that expression on Miguel’s face, it ticked him off that it wasn’t him causing it. He climbed onto the table and straddled the man’s chest. He gripped Miguel’s face between his hands and made him focus. “Hey!”

Miguel’s eyes still tried to look around. “Where am I?”

“So he speaks!”

“Miles? Wh- what happened?”

“You got your ass beat by that Scorpion. Remember that?”

A twitch in Miguel’s brow. “I did not lose to the Scorpion,” he snarled. “I lost to you kicking me into a building.”

“Seems coherent enough,” he said over his shoulder to Mr. Ohnn. “Promise not to move around and tear your stitches?”

“Wha– yeah, just get off.”

Miles hopped off and undid the locks. Miguel immediately tried to sit up.

“Ah,” Mr. Ohnn said, pushing him back down. “Don’t ruin my hard work.”

Miguel rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

“When you said genetic maintenance I didn’t think you meant it made you go ballistic!”

“No. No, I didn’t– I just– The fluorescent lights–” He bit his lip. “I thought I was somewhere else.”

Miles raised an unimpressed brow. “So you don’t normally get that violent?” he asked for clarification.

“No, I don’t.”

“Good, because if that was a regular thing, you definitely weren't going to be getting your weekly steroids.”

“There not–” Miguel did a double take the best he could laying flat on his back. “You’re going to give me my serum doses?”

“You’d die without it, wouldn’t you? And I can’t have that, can I?”

Miguel scowled. This was exactly where he belonged; at Miles’ mercy. Mr. Ohnn was right in a sense, it didn’t matter that they got here with less than fair means. Still it didn’t sit right with him, but now he would amend that. Miguel would never taste freedom again, not even in death.

Miles snickered, finally disposing of the bloodied gloves. “Didn’t think it was that easy to get away from me, did you?” He patted Miguel’s cheek condescendingly.

#Spiderverse #platonic!spottedflowerfang #Miles Morales & Miguel O'Hara & The Spot #Miles Morales #Miguel O'Hara #The Spot #The Anomaly #trashtexts

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cooliofango · 2 years

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Hello! im a huge fan of your writing and I get so exited when you post I was wondering if I could request a Gabriel or Boss Boseman i just cant write for life and my boys need some love. have a good day/night, if you're too busy than dont worry about it.

One In The Same

Boss Boseman x GN! Reader

—————

WAIT WAIT WAIT- ME??? I HAVE A HUGE FAN????

I’m actually crying please- ;-;

I’ve recently finished a Gabriel one so I will write for Mr. Boss Boseman for this one. I have a little idea in mind for this- that I’ll use since the type of request wasn’t specified- that was inspired by a couple of one shots I've read a while back (If I find it then I will put the link here)!

That’s enough from Admin Ollie, ONTO THE STORY! :D

—————

The dead leaves and branches cracked under each step that was made across the grass. In his hand was a small bouquet of flowers that swung a tad loosely in his grip as he walked with it at his side. The man looked exhausted, anyone could see this from a mile away. His hair was a greasy mess and he was a bit thin. A clear sign of struggling to cope with loss. And yet here he was, yet again, attempting to find a way to cope. Today, he had decided to visit the graves of his beloved children. It has been a few months since he was told of their deaths after Henry had given the police the evidence. If Boss hadn’t been torn up before, he sure was now. Knowing that his children were dead and not missing was a much harder pill to swallow. Not being able to have a proper funeral due to not knowing the location of the bodies made acceptance even harder.

The steps came to a stop before a short but long grave stone. The names and dates of birth and death was carved into the flat surface. From left to right, it went from oldest to youngest: Gabriel Boseman, Cassidy Boseman, and Jeremy Boseman. The children he adores so much had also been stuffed into robots and then buried elsewhere. A shaky sigh left the tired man, his figure hunching over to set the white flowers against the stone under his daughter’s name. The withered ones were brushed to the side and out of the way of the dead ones, allowing them to decompose out of sight and out of mind. He didn’t want anything else that was dead to ruin their resting place, after all.

The sound of the gate’s hinges squeaking filled the air. It was the same sound that filled the air when he had entered the graveyard earlier. It wasn’t anything rare for someone to show up to mourn their loved ones just as he was doing now. However, he easily recognized the face of the one who walked in the moment he looked up. He doesn’t know them personally, nor has he ever spoke to them before. But they would show up almost every time he would be there. Sometimes it would be around the same time he arrived, a little later, or a little before he leaves. They would go to the same tomb stone with the same small bouquet of flowers in hand. Daisies, to be specific. Though it wasn’t any of his business, he was curious as to why this person showed up so much. Well- less of why they are here (its obvious that they’re seeing a loved one that has passed away) and more of who they are always seeing.

He wasn’t sure why he decided to walk over to you. It wasn’t something he planned on doing, simply because it could be seen as disrespectful to bother someone while visiting. And yet here he was, quietly walking past the gravestones a few rows in front of him to stand at this person’s side. “Is it a relative..? If you don’t mind me asking.” Boss internally cringed at the sound of his voice. It was a bit raspy and slow from how tired he has been these past few weeks. A slight look of surprise stared back at him, not expecting his presence. It didn’t take long for them to relax. Their answer was hesitant, looking from the gravestone they were in front of and back to the man who approached them. “My daughter.” They held the daisies loosely in their hands in front of them, the petals hanging downwards by their waist.

Boss cleared his throat, looking down at the gravestone as well before back at the person before him. They were kind of the same. Both of them lost their children. “It was my two sons and my daughter.” A flash of recognition washed over their face. A hand rose out to Boss. “Ahh.. It’s (Y/N). Nice to meet you.” A soft and kind smile tugged to their lips. It was certainly a nice sight to see after all of these past events. He held his hand out to (Y/N) in return, giving it a gentle shake. “Bosely- but most just call me Boss. It’s nice to meet you as well.” They let their hand drop back to gently hold the daisies. Boss looked over towards the gate they both entered the graveyard from. An idea appeared in his mind. It was one he thought to be a bit silly, especially with all that’s been happen as of late with loosing his kids and then his now ex-wife. But even so- he caved into this idea and spoke it out loud. “Can I.. take you to get some coffee?”

They look a little taken back by the question they were asked. It was expected, of course. “Sorry-.. i-if that’s a little forward.” Boss released an anxious chuckle, a hand raising to rub the back of his head. They shook their head and rose a hand. “No- No, its fine. I’d love to.” They raised the bouquet for a moment before turning to bend down and place the bouquet at the tombstone below their daughter’s name. As they stood back up, they fixed their coat and took a few seconds to look at the gravestone they had originally came to visit before looking to Boss. “Lead the way.” For what felt like the first time in a while, Boss felt himself crack a smile in return for theirs. It was almost contagious. “Let’s go then.”

The walk to the coffee shop wasn’t long, nor was it boring. It was a bit silent at first, but it wasn’t awkward. Then again, it wasn’t all too comfortable either. Like the both of them wanted to say something and yet they couldn’t find the right words to say. So they just walked side by side until they finally arrived. Boss, being the gentleman he is, opened the door for you. A chuckled ‘thank you’ slipped from (Y/N)’s lips as they entered with Boss to follow close behind. Thankfully, the line wasn’t long, so the both of them were able to get the beverages they wanted before taking a seat by the window. The silence only continued to linger for a short moment before the curious question of ‘what happened?’ hung in the air. (Y/N) started first, mainly due to the fact that it wasn’t anything too eventful or tragic that caused this loss.

(Y/N) took a deep breath and slowly let it out before speaking. Their words were a bit slow as to not stutter or waver. They wanted to speak clearly to the kind man before them. “I was taking my daughter to school that morning about four months ago. I was crossing a four-way stop after the light had changed for my lane to go when a car crashed into us. My daughter and I were both hit pretty hard and had to be rushed to the hospital. My daughter had passed away on the way to the hospital. Since then, I would go to the grave yard once a week on my off day from work to place the flowers at my little girl’s grave and mourn before going on with my day.” Boss wasn’t too sure if (Y/N) had taken notice or not, but he could tell that letting that off of their chest had relieved a little bit of tension. He must’ve been the first they’ve told this story to since it had happened.

Boss was hesitant, just as you were before, about telling his own story. He decided to keep it simpler than how it could actually be, especially with the evidence that was brought in by Henry a few months ago. Evidence that went into gruesome detail about how William did these experiments on these poor children. Boss tried to use a similar tone to (Y/N) as to come out clear as well. He didn’t care to stumble over his words anyways, and now was no exception. “My kids, along with two other children that weren’t mine, were killed by a former employee I had hired when I owned this family diner a while back. They had been previously been dubbed as missing until recently when the police had found notes made by the murderer in his home about the incident. The only problem is that they do not know where this employee is, though they are looking for him.” Admittedly, Boss wasn’t really supposed to say much on the incident due to it still being under investigation, but getting it off of his chest made him feel a bit better too. Things felt a bit lighter on his mind and body.

“I’m.. sorry. I bet that was hard to talk about.” (Y/N) gave an apologetic smile to go with their words. Despite that, Boss gave a kind smile. “No, its fine.. Honestly, talking about it with you made me feel a bit better.” The steaming to-go cup of coffee was brought up to his lips and he took a slow sip as (Y/N) spoke again. “Then I’m glad I was able to help.” They were also about to take a sip of their coffee before their phone began to go off. The cup was left to rest on the table top as they fished their pockets for their phone. It was their boss asking them to come into work for an extra shift. A soft, irritated huff escaped (Y/N)’s lips.

“Something important?” Boss’s tone was laced with amusement, his own coffee cup resting loosely in his hand and against the table. “Yeah.. my manager wants me to come into work for an extra shift.” (Y/N) slid out of the booth to stand, pocketing their phone. Boss gently took hold of your wrist as you reached for your cup and prepared to say your goodbyes. “Actually- can I get your number? I’d love to get to know you.” If it wasn’t expected in some strange way, (Y/N) would’ve expressed surprise once again. Instead, they smiled with a short laugh to follow. “Sure, why not?” Their shoulders jumped in a small shrug before you searched their bag for a pen. It took a short minute, since it was at the bottom, but they pulled one out and clicked it open before scribbling the series of numbers on a napkin. “There. Text me first so I’ll know it’s you.” Boss nodded along with his words, as if he needed both a verbal and a visual way of agreeing with your short terms. “Of, course. Good luck at work!” He called out as you began to walk out the coffee shop, waving over to him with that beautiful smile to remain on your features.

—————

Aaand done! I apologize for how long this took to get out! I had tried to regain motivation to write and I hadn’t been feeling well for a while so I took a short break before finishing this so I hope you like it!

#requests open #reader insert #requests #oneshots #blueycapsules x reader #one shots #blueycapsules #request #blueycapsules oneshot #blueycapsules oneshots #blueycapsules boseman #boss boseman #boss boseman x reader #boseman x reader #bosely boseman x reader #bosely boseman

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tciddaemina · 2 years

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red dead redemption is ruining my brain, so have some recs (yes okay it’s all mostly charthur)

🐾 Blind Fortunes by Gingersnap741 [M, Fix-It, 264K, WIP]

“Hello there! Ah, I see you’re new around these parts. I’m old around these parts. Blind Man Cassidy is my name. If you’d like your fortune told, I just ask for a bit of gold.” He holds out a tin coffee can smothered in rust, full of empty, whistling desert air. Heat broils up around them and makes the horizon waver. - Arthur knows now, so many miles later, he never should have stopped. He never should have stopped along the trail, and he certainly never should have given that man any money. Damn this moment of charity, of weakness, and all the change it brought about.

🐾 Out of the Dark by sky_daybreak [M, Time Travel Fix-It, 144K, Complete]

Arthur knows he's dying, can feel the unstoppable pull of it, feels the spirit appear behind him to take him along. And yet, he finds he does not want to die. There is so much that went wrong, so much he regrets and he wishes, with all his being, he could change it. Could at least ensure those that managed to get away really make it out alive.

A second chance, he asks, begs, really. Just give me the chance to save them.

The being behind him pauses and Arthur can't look away from the moment he's frozen in, staring at the dark mountainside, aching to see the sun rise just one more time.

One chance, the spirit seems to whisper, voice satin soft. Make the most of it.

🐾 Waves Wash Over by ClockworkCourier [E, Time Loop Fix It, 15K, WIP]

And if you had a choice? asks the stag. Would you choose this? Rest, alleviation from your suffering, and the ability to watch over those who you have aided?

“You’re makin’ it sound like there’s an alternative.”

Arthur Morgan gets another chance. And another. And another.

🐾 like thieves in the night by shades [Series, E, 115K, WIP]

There are many things Arthur tortures himself over, unduly, but the way he so quickly and easily goes to pieces in Charles’ arms doesn’t seem to be one of them.

tciddaemina - series centered largely about the gang giving more of a damn about arthur, to very moving and satisfying effect

🐾 mine is clouds by ssstrychnine [T, Fix-It, 24K, WIP]

Tonight Dutch is leaning on the mantelpiece, smoking a pipe, and Hosea is in their single overstuffed armchair, nursing a cup of the boiled straw he calls tea. There's another man with them too. A stranger. Presumably the owner of the spotted mare. Tall and broad and impassive, in cross-stitched blue and tan. He has a black and gold feather braided into his hair, the match to the one in his horses bridle, and his skin holds all the warmth of the fire.

arthur and charles across a country, before and after

🐾 observance by rojohbi [Series, E, 48K, WIP]

Charles doesn’t particularly like Arthur, but thinks that maybe that’s not quite accurate. He doesn’t trust Arthur, but wants to like him enough that it’s making Charles somewhat wary. Hesitant to look too long, to look at all.

🐾 More Ghosts Than People by KBstories [Series, E, 14K, WIP]

"It's familiar and yet different, Charles muses, those little details that are new the same ones that have shifted his life just so: the soft humming in his back, a second set of hoof prints beside Taima's, leading all the way back to a camp that, somewhere down the line, became something like home in his mind."

A collection of calm moments before all hell broke loose.

🐾 Valuables by surveycorpsjean [E, John Marston/Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, 27K, Complete]

John always wants what he can’t have.

tciddaemina - honestly a one of a kind fic with absolutely amazing characterization. even if you think it isn’t your thing, read it.

🐾 Helping Hand by Magisey [E, Basically PWP, 3K, Complete]

It doesn’t matter that his throat hurts. It doesn’t matter that he can hardly swallow. It doesn’t matter that a handful of hours ago he’d been slowly dying with a rope tight across his trachea.

What matters is the image of Charles, with the sun burning on his shoulders like a devil, face cast in shadows. What matters is the look of indignant rage that pinches Charles brow, the casual, meticulous speed in which he dispatches Arthur’s captor. What matters is the sweet, dizzying air filling his lungs, and the delirious thought that passed in his head -

I don’t know this man.

🐾 Mercy a Thing for Gentler Climes by TheWaffleBat [E, Werewolf AU, 107K, Complete]

Arthur let himself soften, turned to keep his eyes on the fire that glowed warm against the biting cold of the morning. “I know,” He said. “Things ain’t good for us right now, but… it ain’t safe. You know what the O’Driscolls are like, for folk like me.”

“I’ve watched you kill, Arthur,” Said Pearson, and there was a flicker of that old fear deep in his eyes, never quite gone away. The smartest part of him still that blustering navy man taking command of the cooking to hide how terrified he was of them. Fear that was faint, but still sour, on the still air. “I’ve seen what you do to idiots who pick fights with us. You werewolves aren’t that fragile.”

“We ain’t that strong, neither,” Arthur told him.

The Pinkertons have been lost in the snow, and the law has bigger game on its mind. The O'Driscolls aren't as easy to lose.

🐾 American Spirits by werewolfsquad [M, Shapeshifter AU, 30K, Complete]

There was a rumor that Dutch van der Linde sold his soul at a crossroad in exchange for the shapechanging beasts that followed at his beck and call. Frankly, Arthur didn’t buy it. He followed Dutch and Hosea because they fed him. Some deal with a devil had nothing to do with it.

🐾 rimward bound by shades [T, Star Wars AU, 3K, Complete]

A means to an end, Dutch had said. So many folks were willing to write Hutts off as venal, selfish slavers - tin pot kings greedily ruling over whatever outer rim dust bowls they landed on. Dutch, though. Dutch was supposed to be different.

And finally a special mention for a fic that isn’t charthur but is so goddamn well written that I can’t rec RDR and not add it to the list.

🐾 Goddamn Cougars by Mecceisme [E, OC-Insert Time Travel, 39K, Complete]

Waking up in a field terminator style is not her idea of a good time but it beats dying, she supposes. If there's no way back (or forward?) she'll just have to do what she does best and survive in this wild western hill billy hell. And if that goddamn deathless cougar would quit stalking her, that'd be just swell.

She's got enough problems without being stalked by random wildlife and she's pretty sure that poor guy with the stalker stag is in the same boat. Maybe there's a support group they can join because this is getting ridiculous.

#fic recs #red dead redemption 2 #fanfiction #charles/arthur #also just some misc red dead fics as well really #arthur morgan #charles smith #sort of sorted by time travel and fix its #then misc slice of life #then more smutty ones #then aus #then finally an honorable RDR2 mention #as always feel free to add recs of your own #or even just message me and offer suggestions for me to add #i'm open to all

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daily-rayless · 2 years

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Horizon AU Part 1

Horizon AU Part 3

Guy Delver

Hailing from the Claim, Guy always had an itch to see the world.

Surrounded by delvers bringing in their hauls from ruins all over the northwest, he became fascinated by the Old Ones. Especially their machines. Where so many Oseram wanted to render them down into useful scrap, Guy wanted to understand the machines – rebuild them – and get a taste of the life the Old Ones enjoyed.

His older sister Mary was strong-willed, often more strong-willed than Oseram women are supposed to be. Following the murder of their parents – after which the five-year-old Guy was traumatized by coming into contact with his mother's corpse – it fell to Mary to raise him. Because of the murder, Guy's developed a phobia about being physically close to women. He doesn't like it, but his efforts to try to push through it with sheer willpower have been unsuccessful. He's able to be friends with women, but only at arm's length. The only exception to this is Mary herself, but she didn't raise her brother to expect hugs or pats on the head.

Even when he was young, Mary tried to toughen him up, encouraging him to take on more responsibilities, hoping to make him an ealdorman who could finally make some changes in the Claim. But Guy never had such ambitions; he would have liked to please his sister, but his mind was always far away from the Claim, in distant lands, if not in the ancient past.

When Mary disregarded his aversion to marriage and attempted to broker a useful match with an ealdorman's daughter, Guy knew he had to stop spinning things out passively and take a stand. Even then, he couldn't bring himself to argue with his sister. He left her a note explaining everything and ran off in the night – something he's still ashamed of. But since then, he's traveled south, following every rumor of every ruin he finds.

It's when he's down near Daytower that he finds a half-dead Nora kid under the claws of a Sawtooth. Guy dispatches the machine, hoists the stranger onto his back, and attempts to return him to the Sacred Lands. The Nora guards at the entrance deny him passage, refusing to claim the self-made exile as their own. Having no choice, Guy makes camp on the border and nurses him back to health. His name is Luke.

Guy listens to Luke's story with a raised eyebrow, but he can't fault the kid his desire for freedom. Luke's mission is somewhere west in Meridian, but that's miles away and it'll be a long while before his wounds are fully healed. Worried the kid won't be able to defend himself alone, Guy says he's headed north to Pitchcliff and Luke's welcome to come with and heal up before he heads on to the capital.

The kid can be annoying, but it doesn't sit well with Guy to just leave him to die. As for Luke, he'd never expected to find any sort of ally. And he's smart enough to realize that he's too hurt to make it far on his own.

He takes the offer.

Having Guy be Oseram was an easy pick. Just switch out fontech for ancient ruins and death machines. To say nothing of machine cows. Though, again, it was a bit of challenge figuring out his look. Guy's original design is very sleek and dashing, whereas the Oseram aesthetic is all beefy and layered. I kept seeing him with goggles, probably because of his alternate mechanic outfit in Abyss. I also found myself wondering just how big of a belt buckle he could get away with.

Guy is one of the names that doesn't translate well over into Horizon culture. People joke about Guy just being named guy, but the history of the name is actually the other way around, name first, noun second. Historically, Guy originates in Old German as Wido, gets turned into Guido in Latin, and eventually, among other forms, becomes Guy in French. (It's actually the same name as Wyatt.) It only became a casual word for a man after the Guy Fawkes incident in the 1500s, and then it was presumably pejorative. All this to say, is that I don't know if the Oseram, lacking that linguistic history, would just name someone after the noun, guy. Unless it's a nickname? Maybe his real name is Guylund? Guyvahl?

#guy cecil #tales #tales of the abyss #horizon zero dawn #horizon au #2022

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colinrobinsonn · 3 years

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ahhh I never write fics but here’s nandor x guillermo after this week’s ep 🥺

- x -

Guillermo sat on the front steps of the house after driving back from dropping off the Baron, the Sire, and the hellhound at their new home in New Jersey. It had been a long, long night and he should really be heading to bed but he just needed a few moments of quiet.

The night air was sharp and the dark sky had only a few clouds overhead. Today had been successful, yes, but also very scary. He wasn’t thinking about facing the Sire, or the Baron again (although it had terrified him). No, he could not let go of the horrible feeling he’d been having all day that he may lose his entire family.

He heard the front door open quietly and he turned round to see Nandor coming out the door and walk towards him.

“Ah, Guillermo, there you are. What are you doing out here? It’s fucking freezing.”

“Just taking a minute.”

Nandor came and sat next to Guillermo on the same top step, looking out onto the street and then up at the sky as Guillermo was. It was quiet for a few moments between them, then Guillermo turned to Nandor, “Was there something you wanted, Master? You were looking for me?”

Nandor didn’t turn to look at him as he said, “Oh, nothing…”

“Okay…” Guillermo let the silence linger on.

“It’s just-“ Nandor began before he noticed Guillermo shiver. He was only wearing his shirt and waistcoat and the sun was, obviously and fortunately for Nandor, yet to come up. “You’re cold.”

Guillermo put his arms around himself, “Yeah, I guess it’s a little chilly.”

“Why don’t you go back inside?”

Guillermo shrugs, not being able to explain why he wants to be outside right now. Maybe he’s enjoying sitting here peacefully with Nandor under the night sky too much. Maybe he needs to clear his head. “But your fragile human body is going to freeze to ice. You don’t want to be made into an ice chip do you, Guillermo?”

“What? I’m not going to-“ he shakes his head, huffing quietly from Nandor’s ridiculousness, “I’m fine.”

Nandor stares at him, fangs bared, like he doesn’t believe him, like he really will turn into an ice chip in a few moments. “Eesh, fine. Here,” he says as he unclasps his black cape and drapes it delicately over Guillermo’s shoulders, and then quickly turns back to look at the sky.

Guillermo froze - not into an ice chip - but out of surprise, slight nervousness, and an uncertainty about how to react to Nandor’s… kindness. “Thank you, Nandor,” he went with, looking up at his strong profile.

“You are welcome, you will not freeze now and I will not have to defrost you and ruin my precious Persian rugs,” he replied matter-of-factly, nodding his head and putting his hands straight out on his knees.

Guillermo grabbed the cape and brought it round his body to wrap up in. The material was very warm and as he brought it up towards his chin he became very aware of being surrounded by Nandor’s very distinct and familiar scent: of oils and incense and musk, of history and comfort and home.

Nandor looked at his bodyguard and felt his dead heart constrict. The sight of Guillermo snuggled into his cape with a content smile on his face challenged Nandor. It challenged him to give in. To give in to feelings of softness towards Guillermo which he mostly did not allow himself to give into, and was always weary of whenever he was around him. Or saw him. Or thought about him. For Nandor, it was Him, for he had become everything. Everything he believed in, everything he fought for, and everything he smiled for. It is suffice to say, he did not win the challenge, but it felt good to lose.

“Guillermo-“, he took a quick breath in and held it, “I came to say that I am sorry for what happened today.”

“Huh? But we did it, we-“

“Just-“ Nandor put his hand up to tell Guillermo to let him finish.

“I am sorry for how you were treated today and if that hurt your feelings. I mean, it should hurt your feelings but I don’t know if you always let it.”

“Mas- Nandor, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Guillermo said. Nandor could literally be talking of about twenty different points today where his feelings could have been “hurt”.

“You know what I am talking about,” Nandor growled, impatient. He shot up off the steps and paced in front of Guillermo. Did he want to make him feel even more ashamed? He guessed he deserved it. He calmed his voice, “I am talking about the time when I allowed for you to be used as bait for the Sire.”

“Oh.” Guillermo breathed out, looking up at Nandor who had stopped his pacing now and was looking at Guillermo. There was a small silence, and then Guillermo also stood up and walked down the steps towards Nandor, cape still round him and falling far below onto the floor.

As he stood in front of Nandor, Nandor could not stand how adorable he looked wearing his cape, oversized on him. It made him feel… protective and proud.

Nandor was too caught up in his thoughts so Guillermo spoke first, “That’s my job, right? To protect you?”

“Yes, I suppose it is…” Nandor said quietly, unsure as Guillermo approached him further.

“But I would have done it anyway. I always would have.” It’s true, he went the extra mile whilst he was his familiar and even before he didn’t know of his bloodline.

Nandor did not know what to say to that. So instead he focused on how the cape was falling off of one of Guillermo’s shoulders. Without thinking, he raised his arm and pulled the material back up and around his shoulder.

He did this with such care and without agenda that it made Guillermo choke up slightly. He felt tingly all in his chest and willed himself to hold on. To not fall too far tonight, as he did so many nights, especially since Meg’s comments at Massive Fitness. As much as he was committed to Nandor, he could never let himself believe that Nandor felt the same.

The small act felt unnaturally natural for Nandor. When he fully comprehended what he was doing, he did not have the instinct to jump back and push Guillermo away, to tell him to get out of his way. Instead, the act made his next words come much easier.

“Guillermo… it should be my job to protect you. You came into my life, and it is a dangerous one. I have… taken too much from you, and you should not be willing for me to take your life.”

The double meaning was there. Yes, he was talking about what happened today, but Guillermo could not help but apply Nandor’s words to his own vampiric dream.

“No.” Guillermo could not, would not, keep going on like this. “It’s not that you have taken too much from me, Nandor,” he said with conviction, “it’s that you haven’t given me enough.”

“Guillermo…-“

“I’d die for you,” Guillermo said bluntly and laughed, “you know that? I would actually die for you. Not become undead, not become a vampire, I would die.”

Nandor looked away from him and took a step back, “Do not speak this way, Guillermo.”

“And I’m fine with that, I am,” he continued, “you’re not taking anything away from me, I’m giving it to you, because I want to. Because that’s how I feel.” Guillermo felt breathless from the outburst and he was slightly shaking, not just from nerves, but because the cape had unwound itself from his middle and only lay across his shoulders again. He shook his head slightly; tonight of all nights he was going to go there. “How do you feel, Nandor?”

“I-“ Nandor was stunned and his brain was working overtime to keep up with his little ex-familiar.

In all of his anxious tension, Nandor’s hesitance was too much. Guillermo huffed and span round to go back inside.

Nandor’s chest clenched and his heart fell, he couldn’t stand the sight of Guillermo walking away from him anymore. “Wait-“ he said as he grabbed Guillermo’s hand and gently pulled him back round to face him. The cape fell off his back.

Guillermo looked up at him, small tears in his eyes as he waited with little hope. His optimistic heart started again, however, when Nandor brought his hand up and drew his fingers through the front of Guillermo’s hair, sweeping it gently to the side and pushing small strands behind his ear. Guillermo’s heart was beating so hard he was sure Nandor could hear it, feel it even. His hand landed delicately on Guillermo’s cheek, like he was touching something precious, and he leaned in.

As their lips touched tears ran down Guillermo’s cheek which Nandor smoothly wiped away with the pads of his thumbs, as he brought his other hand to Guillermo’s other cheek. Guillermo was once again encased by Nandor, except this was the real thing and infinitely better. Guillermo’s hand found its way to Nandor’s neck, his fingertips pushing their way into his hair.

The kiss was gentle and undemanding; a shy but loving meeting with someone you have loved for years. Nandor pulled away but only slightly, so their foreheads rested against each other’s. Their eyes were both closed as they breathed unevenly with each other.

“Guillermo, I would die a thousand times over for you to have one more minute alive.”

Guillermo, teary, giggled dizzily and with relief at the vampire’s words and opened his eyes to find Nandor’s still closed.

“Hey,” Guillermo said as he leaned away and gently urged Nandor to open his eyes by putting his hand under his chin, “so… we’ll protect each other, right?”

Nandor had opened his eyes and was looking down at Guillermo who wore a bright, understanding smile on his face. His cheeks were quite pink and so Nandor leaned down to pick up the fallen cape and pull it back around the smaller man. He held on to Guillermo’s hand, brought it to his lips and kissed the top of it, where the knuckles lay. “Always.”

#im so embarrassed hahah #goodbye #nandor x Guillermo #nandermo #what we do in the shadows #nandermo fic #wwdits #mypost

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cinebration · 3 years

Text

None Like You (Geralt x Reader) [Request]

hi! can you do a geralt one shot with fem reader where she's a princess and they start falling for each other? tysm! — Request by anon

Warnings: blood

Gif Source: frodo-sam

Your mother had raised you to believe you were someone of importance, but life on the farm had said otherwise. You toiled just like everyone else, bleeding and sweating. You were soiled, not spoiled. Yet your mother insisted you were a princess and told you outrageous bedtime stories to lull you to sleep in your youth.

You should have paid better attention.

When King Henselt’s only son died, leaving only a marriage and no heirs, you woke one morning to the pounding of a mailed fist on the door. Your mother answered and then hurried into your room, fluttering about like a mad woman.

“It’s time,” she cried, shoving you into your best dress and raking her fingers through your hair.

“For what?”

“To be someone.”

Then she bundled you out the door into the arms of a military escort carrying the Kaedwan sigil on their shields and tunics: a red-horned unicorn on a yellow field.

It took you the whole day to finally coax information out of your escort regarding the whole ordeal. When they told you what you were, you nearly fell out of your saddle in disbelief.

The king must be desperate, you thought as you tried to fall asleep beside the campfire.

Then the night turned bloody.

Something crunched underfoot to your right. You huddled deeper in the hollowed tree, clutching the steel in your hands. The edges had sliced open your palms, but you didn’t care. It afforded you some protection, even if the creature had snapped the blade it came from like a twig.

Tensing, you waited for the sound to draw nearer, coiling to spring. It was just like killing chickens, you told yourself. One neat slice to the throat.

You leapt out of the hollow, slashing up and across.

The witcher caught your wrist easily, flinging the steel out of your hand. Stifling a cry, you cradled the injured hand to your chest, backed away from him. His eerie yellow eyes tracked you as you pressed yourself against the tree trunk, searching for an escape.

“What happened?” His voice rasped like feet dragged over gravel.

“Death,” you whispered, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the massacre. “Some…thing.”

“It’s dead now.”

You fixed him with a wary glance. “Truly?”

He grunted.

You nearly sank to your knees in relief. Pressing a hand to your mouth, you felt the cuts in your hand spasm. Fresh blood wept from the slashes, trickling down your arms. The witcher swept his gaze over you, eyeing the wounds. You fumbled with the hem of your dress, trying to rip the dirty fabric into strips.

“Did you fight it?” The surprise in the witcher’s voice drew your ear.

You wheezed. “I slashed it, yes, but fight? No.”

Rummaging around in the leaves on the forest floor, the witcher retrieved the broken steel, examined it. He swore.

Unease coiled within you. “What is it?”

“Come here.”

You hesitated. The witcher rolled his eyes and strode over to you, grabbing you by the wrist. His touch was firm but not tight, much to your surprise. You followed after him, feeling a little dizzy as he led you over to the road. A horse stood idly there, kind eyes inquisitive. It didn’t shy away as you drew near despite the smell of blood.

“Good horse,” you murmured, appraising it.

The witcher fumbled through a saddlebag, searching for something. At last he pulled out a vial and took your hands, tearing off the strips to get to your wounds. He poured the grey contents of the vial out before you could protest.

You nearly screamed, the pain in your hands was so excruciating. Lighting shot up your arms as the vial’s contents fizzed on your palms and in your wounds.

“To prevent the venom from killing you,” the witcher explained.

“If the pain doesn’t kill me first,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

A smirk tugged on the witcher’s lips, followed quickly by a frown. “What were you doing traveling with those soldiers?”

You hesitated again. What had you heard about witchers? That they fought for coin and hunted monsters. You had no coin, but neither did you know where you were or how to get home.

“King Henselt sent them,” you confided slowly. “They believe I am his bastard daughter.”

“A princess.”

You elected to ignore the mild groan in the man’s voice. “Can you take me home? The farm, not Aed Carraigh.”

His yellow eyes fixed on you again, white eyebrows beetling together. “You don’t want to go to the castle?”

“Is it safe? As safe as home?”

His lips pressed into a thin line.

“Then take me home,” you insisted. “I’m no princess.”

The witcher smelled. You couldn’t ignore it, not with your face pressed into his back. He wasn’t made for traveling with someone sitting behind him. You could feel it in the tension of his shoulders and back, as though he couldn’t relax beneath the touch of your arms. You did your best to relax your own tense grasp.

You had run nigh over a mile before collapsing in the hollowed tree trunk. The horse covered the distance easily, passing by the smoldering, bloody encampment you had settled down in the night before. You watched it pass, glimpsing the heaps of bodies scattered about.

It took several hours to draw near home. Joy fluttered in your chest as you approached.

You crested the ridge overlooking home and went still, horror rolling through you. The farm house was ash and rubble, still smoking. The animals had been let from their pens, taken for livestock by whatever had rolled through the farm.

“Bandits,” the witcher noted.

Fighting nausea, you wandered down to the burnt house, searching in the ruins. The ash burned your hands and legs, but you sifted through it, yanking aside a crumbling beam.

Beneath lay your mother. What was left of her.

You retched off to the side, stumbling through the ash. You stood bent at the waist for an eternity before you felt the witcher watching you. Turning to face him, you wiped the sick from your chin. “I can’t stay here.”

He frowned.

Your mother had raised a practical woman, fantastic fantasies about your lineage aside. It was all you could think to do as you stood in the ashes of your dead life. One foot in front of the other.

“I have no money,” you confessed, “but if King Henselt sent for me, he can pay you to ensure my arrival.”

The witcher considered it. At last he growled and nodded.

It would take four days to reach Aed Carraigh. The horse—named Roach, you learned—could only manage that distance in a shorter time if not burdened with two riders.

You sat close to the campfire, warming yourself in the flames, shaking not from cold but from fear as the night closed in around you. The night held terrors untold, but until the night before, you had never seen them in the flesh. Knowing they lingered out in the dark set your teeth on edge.

“I’m sorry to burden you,” you told the witcher, the silence too much to bear. You watched the horse warily for signs of attack, knowing the animal was likely to hear or sense it before you.

“Why don’t you want to be a princess?”

Taken aback by the unexpected question, you shrugged. “Why would I want to be one?”

“Riches. A comfortable life.”

“I had a comfortable life with riches untold. They just weren’t gold.”

“Gold is necessary.”

“Gold means nothing if your life is miserable.”

The words hung heavy in the air. The witcher averted his gaze, surprising you. Frowning, you rubbed at your arms, trying to make the hair on your arms stand down. His averted face gave you the opportunity to study his features. They were rough and worn, his brow creased from excessive glowering. He was all hard edges, a larger man than even the largest farmer you had seen. He appeared both comfortable and uncomfortable in his own skin, or perhaps your presence was upsetting him.

“Am I keeping you from work?”

“Are you always so concerned for witchers?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Yet there you sit.”

You bit your tongue, surprised by the sting of his barb. Something flickered across his stern features as you ducked your head. “Then tell me where to go and I will get there myself.”

“The road is dangerous.”

“Being a woman is dangerous.”

He almost smiled in surprise. You could see it dancing on his lips.

“So tell me where to go,” you insisted. “Then I can leave your remarkable hair.”

His eyebrows twitched. The silence stretched between you both for a minute, the fire crackling in the quiet. At last, he said, “I will take you.”

You almost gave away your relief with a sharp exhale.

Though the witcher was a man of few words, you found you were able to read more from his face and the set of his shoulders than from anything he said. His silences were full of information, though you couldn’t be sure of what exactly. You merely knew that he radiated safety as much as he did danger.

“Do you know many princesses?” you asked him.

He grunted.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“I know one or two,” he said. “But none like you.”

You frowned, glancing down at your soiled dress. “Yes, I suppose I’m nothing like one. The people will be overjoyed with a farmer’s daughter.” You snorted.

“I think they could use one.”

Frowning, you glanced up at him. He didn’t quite smile, but the glower on his face had shifted into something softer.

“Well, when I am princess,” you said, “I will remember at least one person believes me suited for the job. That’s all that matters.”

A faint smile touched the witcher’s lips. You matched it with a slow smile of your own.

#Geralt x Reader #Geralt #Geralt imagine #Geralt of Rivia x Reader #Geralt of Rivia #Geralt of Rivia imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #The Witcher #requests

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theepisceswriter · 3 years

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Jealous AOT men (Levi, Porco, Zeke, Eren, Erwin)

A/N: Shout out to the bestie in my inbox that requested this and I’m sorry for taking forever to finally do it, but I hope you enjoy !

Synopsis: Do y’all fr need one? Basically just AOT men getting jealous in situations and how they handle it

TW: none really apply, GN!reader, fighting (kinda) for Porco cause he’s about that life like that, violence for Levi because he’s an angry short man, and mean douchebag rich boy Eren content

LEVI

If there’s one thing Levi doesn’t tolerate when it comes to his partner it’s disrespect. He holds you on such a high pedestal and at a status that no one else can touch for loving him the way that you do, so for someone to disrespect the relationship you two have or you in general with some catcalling remark is like the greatest offense to him.

It doesn’t even have to be anything too serious. It can be something stupid like “I bet you’re hitting that fine piece of meat every night” and he’d have them on the ground in seconds with a knife pressed against their throat demanding that they apologize to you immediately.

“I recommend you apologize to them right now formally and watch what you say around me from now on or I’ll cut your tongue from your mouth with this very blade.”

Yeah, he doesn’t play when it comes to you at all. He has to set an example to let everybody know what to expect if they try either of you again because you would do the same too if the situation was reserved.

He lets the perpetrator go with no bruises besides the ones he got from Levi’s manhandling, probably per your request, and what do the two of you do afterwards? You just go on about your day like nothing even happened, like Levi wasn’t ready to cut someone’s tongue out over you in road daylight. It’s a norm for your relationship honestly because the two of you are both crazy.

PORCO

Aggressive! Aggressive! Aggressive! Porco is not afraid to get aggressive when it comes to other people trying to flirt with you and risk that possibility of fighting with them.

Especially when it comes to the creepy kind that don’t know how to respect your boundaries or get the hint that you don’t want to be messed with after turning them down numerous times. He was already on edge just seeing them come up to you and flash you that smile like they were genuinely charming or something, but once he saw them place their hands on your forearm and you brush it away with a scowl, he was lit up with anger!

There was no warning given to them to hurry up and go away before he gets mad or him coming up to you and wrapping a protective arm around your waist; he came running over and before you even knew he was making his way to where you were, he was throwing a punch dead smack in the middle of the perpetrator’s face.

“Don’t you know no means fucking no!?” “How dare you put your hands on my boyfriend/girlfriend!?” Told y’all he was really with the shits like that.

But because he doesn’t want to cause too much of a scene or get arrested or banned from wherever the two of you were at, that one punch (which is a really fucking hard punch that definitely going to have some impact on them whether it’s a bruise or some wooziness) is all he does before he’s yanking them by their collar and removing them out of the place his damn self. Did he overreact just a little? No! Because they touched you without your consent even after you expressed you didn’t want them to.

He’s a gentleman immediately after dealing with them and is by your side in an instant giving you a quick checkup with his eyes genuinely concerned for your well-being.

“Are you all right, babe?” “I hope your iight isn’t ruined but if you don’t want to be out anymore we can totally go home.” “They didn’t hurt you did they? Because I don’t mind going back out there to find them if they did.” So attentive and gentle with you. The complete opposite of what he was only minutes ago.

ZEKE

It takes a lot to make Zeke jealous in a relationship because just the fact that he’s in a relationship with you is enough to make him feel secure in his place as your significant other. People can flirt with you and steal glances all they want because he honestly doesn’t care that much. It actually makes him feel smug and proud knowing that others are thirsting over HIS significant other like that, but can’t act on any of their thoughts because you’re his.

But....let the two of you be freshly broken up, or on a “break”, and he catches you out and about in public with some other jawn then it’s a whole other story. Now he’s feeling some type of way since he no longer has that guaranteed security from your relationship anymore. He’s hurt, but he’s not going to show that too much. Instead, he’s going to be smug and cocky with the way he approaches you two.

“So this is my replacement? He’s not even the great value version of me. You could do a hell of a lot better than someone like him and you know it, y/n.” God, he’s such a menace to society that deserves to be locked up. He wouldn’t stop at after the insults you send his way calling him pathetic and embarrassing nor at your request for him to leave. Matter of fact, he’s going to pull up a chair at your table just to sit there and mess with your poor date and eventually after backhanded compliment after not so backhanded insults, they get up a storm away.

“Are you really going to date someone who can’t take a little bit of heat from someone like me out of all people? Didn’t even have any worry remarks to come back at me with like I did for him. How sad.” He still just keeps going on and on even after the poor guy leaves, comparing himself to him and talking about how he’s so much better in not so subtle ways.

So much for getting hoes when you have an ex like Zeke, but you do like the fact that he’s trying so hard to get you back even if he won’t explicitly say it out loud; his actions speak everything

EREN

Eren is such a douche bag he really is. Especially modern day rich boy Eren.

Let him catch someone trying to flirt with you while he’s in close proximity of you and watch him cause a whole scene at the country club or whatever rich place the two of you are at.

“Who the hell do you think you are flirting with my boyfriend/girlfriend? You can’t even compare to me so I don’t know what thought in your head made you think you can enough for you to try and get at what’s mine, but you better get rid of it right now. I can buy like three of you if I wanted to right now and it wouldn’t even put a dent in my bank account. You really think they’d go for somebody like you?” He’s such a meanie when it comes to you, he really is.

The poor perpetrator doesn’t even bother to fight for his name or pursue an argument with Eren because he knows it’ll get him nowhere but embarrassed even further, so he goes running off with blush on his cheeks from embarrassment because everyone within like 50 feet surely heard the scene that Eren just put on.

You’re just as embarrassed as the poor boy who was flirting with you, nagging at Eren about how he did entirely too much and how he should go apologize to him, but he just looks over at you with a smug smile and replies, “I gotta set an example for other people babe so they know not to mess with what’s mine.”

Best believe he’s going to be showing an overwhelming amount of PDA the rest of your outing and even go the extra mile to do something like rest his hand on your bottom or make out with you without warning.

ERWIN

This man is so powerful and holds so much authority in other people, even those who hardly even know him, that he doesn’t even have to do much when he catches someone trying to flirt with you while he’s on the other side of the room at some company event.

Like Zeke, it’s extremely difficult to make Erwin jealous because he knows you like the back of his hand and knows if a flirty interaction is happening with someone who isn’t him then it’s completely one sided and you’re just keeping yourself in the conversation because you’re a nice person like that. So, he’ll continue on with his conversation while you continue on with yours, but every now and then he’ll peak out of the corner of his eyes in your direction to make sure you’re okay.

It’s when he notices you getting uncomfortable and the other person getting a little too comfortable that he decides to step in; excusing himself from his conversation like the gentleman he is and coming over to you. You wouldn’t even know that he was there until you felt a broad hand on your waist pulling you into a chiseled chest that you’re aware of his presence.

“Can I help you with something?”

When I tell you his voice goes deeper than normal when he switches to an authoritative mode and it’s the most attractive thing ever that has you feeling butterflies in your stomach and the person who was trying to flirt with you shook to their core.

They don’t even answer his question or even look him directly in the eyes because the energy he excludes is just such big dick energy and from the way he came up and pressed you against him with no hesitation already let them know that you were his without either of you having to say it.

You stayed glued to his side for the rest of the night, one of his arms always wither wrapped around your waist or dangling over your torso holding you close.

#aot imagines #aot headcanons #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke jaeger headcanons #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger headcanons #porco galliard x reader #porco galliard headcanons #erwin smith headcanons #erwin smith x reader

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earnestly-endlessly · 3 years

Note

kind of an odd request — do you have fics where erik is grumpy with everyone else but a ray of sunshine with charles?

Hi anon, thank you for the ask. First and foremost, I'm so sorry for how long this took me but I've been searching for all the fics that come to mind that fit your request. Second, this is not an odd request because I love this trope so much. I mean, it's basically canon that he's grumpy with everyone except for his Charles, right? Anyway, I might add to this list later on, but I can't sit on this any longer and hope that you have found some fics that you enjoy!!

Fic Recs Where Erik is grumpy with everyone but a ray of sunshine with Charles

Twice as Blind – Darksknight

Summary: Erik is probably the biggest asshole on the face of the earth, and because of this, he'll probably die alone. Charles is a complete flirt and playboy and, probably, will never commit to anyone ever.

(The lesson here is that when you have two friends who are BOTH secretly seeing someone, well, it's probable that they're seeing each other.)

In the moonlight, on a joy ride – scarlettblush

Summary: Librarian AU. Charles is the young librarian and Erik is the college student who is completely besotted with him.

The Proper Care of Actors – Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etherei, afrocurl

Summary: Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

Rumor Mill – ikeracity

Summary: Erik is the grumpiest, most foul tempered worker at Stark industries. His grumpiness is the stuff of legends.

So it's obviously the talk of the office when Erik is being made to go to the company party and he's bringing his husband. There's rumors flying round about how much of a masochist or equally antisocial bastard Erik's husband must be to put up with him. Others think he must be a meek mouse perhaps bullied by Erik.

What they weren't expecting was the confident, charming, adorable and unbelievably nice Charles that turns up on Erik's arm. What they certainly weren't expecting was how much Erik obviously adores his husband and how happy he is to let others see this.

Work/Life Balance – pocky_slash

Summary: Alex is pretty sure his weird, anti-social boss is a robot. Right up until the guy's adorable husband shows up. His adorable husband who happens to be a famous actor. His adorable husband who happens to be the very same famous actor who was the source of many of Alex's teenage fantasies.

Terrifying Domesticity – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is the most dangerous and notorious mafia boss around for miles, and yet the strangest things terrify him.

For example: his children, and his very pregnant mate.

Of kittens and teacups and love – Ren

Summary: Modern AU in which Charles and Erik are flatmates. Charles studies psychology and likes tea and chess and keeps bringing home stray kittens, and Erik lets him because he's maybe perhaps a little bit sort of in love with him.

Fools Rush In – LoveSupreme

Summary: Erik owns a cafe on the edge of campus and accidentally starts maybe-stalking a Biology Professor there.

Growing Pains – ikeracity

Summary: Twelve-year-old Erik Lehnsherr is an angry, closed-off foster kid with trust issues and a bad temper. Ten-year-old Charles Xavier is a lonely kid in boarding school who just wants a friend.

Logan pretends he doesn't think they're both fucking adorable.

Series

Home Together (The Finding Our Way Remix) – significantowl

Summary: Erik is not the sort of person other students strike up conversations with. His expression, his posture, every part of his manner say: Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to talk to you. But none of that stops the boy ahead of him in line with the collapsible white cane, and nothing can stop Erik from falling for him, like it or not.

Melted Ice Cream and Macaroni Art – pocky_slash

Summary: Everybody likes Charles. Nobody likes Erik. And that's really the source of Erik's doubts. Also, there's ice cream and a baby. Part of ‘the Daycare’ verse.

Walling in or Walling Out – stlkrchck

Summary: Erik stifles a sigh. Of course this is Mr. C. F. Xavier. Of course.

For the prompt: Charles and Raven are throwing a holiday party. Erik is the grumpy neighbor who is annoyed by how loud they are being. So he goes to complain, and Charles makes it up to him.

(Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In – wildelybroken

Summary: After reading a fic where Erik and Charles are super sluts, meet at what is presumably Raven and Emma's engagement party, and end up sleeping together, I made the following comment and just inspired myself.

"They start casually texting each other throughout the day, maybe while they’re bored or frustrated at work, and start out meeting up and sleeping together semi-frequently. And eventually they accidentally start dating without noticing it at first, not until Raven and Emma get them alone and are like “wtf you two super sluts are actually dating??” And at first they deny, but then they’re both like “holy shit, we are!” And they meet back at one of their places and they don’t have to say anything, they just look at each other and come together immediately, kissing passionately and ~making love~. In the middle of it they realise that’s what they’ve been doing for a long time now and they confess their love to each other and they live happily ever after because they deserve all the good in the world."

For Charles – Shigai

Summary: Tired of being told he has to find his 'heart', classical piano graduate Erik Lehnsherr decides to travel to Italy and drink from the famous Italian passion for music. While searching for it, he meets Charles Xavier, a graduate in Fine Arts who is basically travelling around the world perfectioning his technique, and who will turn his world upside down.

Together they will discover that, sometimes, what you thought you didn't need is what you needed the most.

Erik Hates People – Anonymous

Summary: Erik hates people- it's his rule, a way of living.

Sugar – humanitys_cutest

Summary: Erik glances at the clock for what feels like the tenth time in less than half the minutes. It feels like he's been in some meeting or other since the day started almost 10 hours ago, and he's had just about enough of listening to these pompous old men discuss what would be the best design for his building like they know anything about it. He tries as subtly as possible to massage his temples to assuage the building migraine, but he knows it's no use.

He just wants to go home.

Everyone Likes Charles – Rosawyn

Summary: '“Everyone who's met him likes him.” Cain's grin was even stupider than before. “Once you meet him, you'll see.”

It was almost like a challenge then. And damn. Erik hated saying no to a challenge.'

Still Going Strong – JackyJango

Summary: Speaking of forty-eight, Erik hates it. Hates it even more that others are aware of it. While he’s pragmatic enough to know and accept that aging is inexorable, the increase in number gives the people around him the freedom to pounce at him with questions, opinions and advice he'd fought to keep at bay all year.

Besides, Erik believes that youth is a state of mind, not a phase in one’s life.

You have a child’s mind in a man’s body, Charles constantly tells him.

But despite his age, Erik is healthy. He works out daily. His muscles are steel and he can dead-lift four hundred pounds. He can break bones without breaking a sweat. Most importantly, he can still carry Charles to the bedroom and fuck him senseless. And as long as Erik can do that, he’s perfectly happy.

All I know is pouring rain and everything has changed – hllfire

Summary: Charles meets Erik, the man he had heard about many times from his sister and some friends, on a rainy Sunday morning. The stories about Erik paint him as a distant and intimidating man, but Charles finds out that maybe the stories had been wrong.

How to Successfully Ruin Your Life – humanveil

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Charles Xavier accepts a job at his local café, expecting nothing more than a fun, new pastime. What he gets is a mysterious customer and a schoolboy crush.

Stolen – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is a miserable, grumpy, cantankerous bastard, and he has every fucking right to be. He drew the short end of the stick when he got the Underworld as his domain, and there isn't very much fun to be had in judging and governing dead souls who would rather be anywhere else but with Erik in the depths of Hell.

So when he meets Charles, brilliant and lovely Charles who is more popularly known amongst the mortals as Persephone, and feels the promise of something wonderful that could make his eternally doomed existence infinitely more bearable... you can bet all your drachmas Erik's not going to let Charles go any fucking time soon.

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Saving the Universe By Meeting Your Soul-Mate and Falling in Love in Less than 72 Hours – magneto, pangea

Summary:Army Pilot Erik Lehnsherr is just trying to enjoy his day off when a mostly naked person crashes through the roof of his car. Even more alarming, the strange falling naked person—who goes by Charles Xavier when he's not speaking an ancient dead language—brings tidings of the apparent potential end of the world, and begs Erik to help him put a stop to it.

Well. His mother has been nagging at him to go out and meet new people.

The Theory of Partnership Dynamics – Pangea

Summary: “Detective Lehnsherr, how wonderful to see you out on the job!” The fed in the front greets him as they draw nearer. He’s shorter than the other two by a full head, and he’s beaming at Lehnsherr as if completely undeterred by Lehnsherr’s paint-peeling scowl.

“What do the feds want?” Lehnsherr asks bluntly.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” the fed answers cheerfully. Then his gaze lands on Alex, and, impossibly, his grin gets even brighter. “Did you get a new partner?"

“No,” Lehnsherr says through his teeth while at the same time Alex says, “Yes.”

#fic recs #cherik fic recs #cherik #asks #earnestly answers #I'm sure there are waaaay more fics out there #might add more later

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princessmisery666 · 3 years

Text

#PM666Reads - August - Fic Rec

Please heed all the warnings on the individual fics. I am not responsible for what you choose read.

I challenge everyone who sees this to read and Reblog one fic from the list 🤩🥳 tag me if you do

📚 Sam Wilson

The Parcae - @indyluckycharlie - People always talk about fate like it’s some great thing, but you know better. You know that fate is just a jerk who likes to mess up your perfectly happy life. In fact, you don’t even believe in her. Fate just might believe in you though.

Here We Go Again - @xbuchananbarnes - idiots in love

📚 Henry Cavill

Natural Alternatives - @the-soot-sprite - Henry helps you find a different cure for your cramps.

📚 Dean Winchester

Heard, Seen, Believed - @stusbunker - Seen: Test & Willing - Dean comes to terms with how things are changing between them. Can he make it up to her? What do either of them really want? & Believed: Brave & Complicit - She lets go, Dean catches her.

Dude, I Got A Girlfriend - @avanatural - Based on 12x11 “Regarding Dean.” Dean is progressively losing his memories. Sam calls Y/N to keep an eye on his brother. Dean has no idea who she is to him, and it turns out she doesn’t quite know, either. Or does she?

Miscommunication - @winchest09 - After moving to America, British hunter Y/N never expected her life to unfold the way it has. She never anticipated finding two brothers, who would quickly become her found family and she certainly never envisioned falling in love with one of them. Following her attempt to shield her heart, she failed to protect her body, leading her straight back to the Winchesters. So when the language barrier deepens her connection with a certain green eyed hunter, will she succumb to her deepest feelings or keep them at bay?

Last Memory (AO3) - @kittenofdoomage - Dean's transformation into a demon destroyed what was left of their marriage but you're not leaving without one last memory.

Whisky & Regret (AO3) - @kittenofdoomage - Months after the events of "Last Memory", Dean finally tracks her down.

Shirt - @impala-dreamer - dean's thoughts seeing his lover in his shirt and boxer making coffee after an eventful night😎

Some Superheroes Wear Blankets - @thegirlwhorunswithwinchesters - Dean comes home to find you heartbroken. It’s time for him to evaluate the difference between his plans and his priorities.

Closer - @little-diable - Selfish as one could be Dean keeps him and the reader locked in a house, basking in those hours he gets to spend with her alone. With a bleeding wound and the sun finally rising, will the last minutes of the night give them enough comfort to act upon their feelings?

Til Death Do Us Part - @sofreddie - The happiest day of their lives. At least, it was supposed to be.

📚 Sam Winchester

Dead Sexy - @deanwanddamons - It is Y/N’s first time joining Sam on a fact finding mission during a hunt. How will it go?

Hands Off - @writethelifeyouwant - When someone mistakes you and Dean for a couple during a hunt, Dean decides it’s his duty as a friend to find you a man. Little does he know, Sam’s already taking care of that.

Decay - @thegirlwhorunswithwinchesters - Dean said Sam could be saved. You just wanted to do right by your promise to the man you love, even if it won’t bring him back to you.

In Your Dreams - @calaofnoldor - In a world where your dreams are your soulmate’s memories, a call to Garth for backup changes Sam’s life forever. (Soulmate AU)

With These Hands (AO3) - @kittenofdoomage - She's got a suspicion Sam's up to something but it turns out she's miles off base.

Gorgeous - @justagirlinafandomworld - Sam Winchester ruined your life. And he might know it.

Laundromat - @watermelonlipstick - Gotta wash the clothes sometime, right?

Must Be Dreaming - @justagirlinafandomworld - You’d been dreaming of being with Sam Winchester forever. Life finally ponies up.

📚 Rowena MacLeod

Worth Her While - @fangirlxwritesx67 - When the Winchester brothers ask Rowena MacLeod to help them steal an amulet, she agrees – as long as she can make sure that the case is worth her while.

📚 Andy Barber

Ten Things I Hate About You - @cockslut-padalecki - When Y/N finally wins the case she’s been battling, there’s nothing left to do but celebrate, however inadvertently stumbles into her biggest rival, and prosecutor, Andy Barber, as he drowns his sorrows.

📚 Bucky Barnes

I'm Seeing Something I Like - @angrythingstarlight - Little bit of smut and whiny Bucky.

Island Breeze & Lights Down Low - @justagirlinafandomworld - You and Bucky have come a long way from when you first met. Set after tfatws.

Break The Back - @indyluckycharlie - It’s angsty and brainwashing- consistent with canon- is involved. Mentions of death and violence.

Not So Subtle - @firefly-in-darkness - The Soldier and the Spy aren’t being very subtle with their flirty ways. Will you play them at their own game or crumble at their beauty? -

Distraction On Halloween - @buckmecaptain - Bucky Barnes is stuck at a Tony Stark Halloween party, annoyed and bored. What he needs is a little distraction.

Nota Est Metallum Gustum & P1 - @wonder-cole - Y/N has been in love with her best friend, Bucky, since he left to join the military. When he has to go on the run, will she wait for him? Or will the handsome new neighbour Frank Castle steal her away?

📚 Steve Rogers

Safehouse - @evansrogerskitten - While on the run you make a nearly fatal mistake, prompting a confrontation with the person you want to appease the most.

All Yours - @firefly-in-darkness - Steve’s a bad habit that you can’t break.

Unexpected Showers - @labella420 - Steve fucks you in his office and you should learn to expect the unexpected.

#Fic recs #PM666Reads #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Andy Barber #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #Sam Wilson #Henry Cavill #rowena mcleod

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