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skylarsblue · 1 year

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I still have more. More Incorrect Quotes.

(Accidentally had a lot more fem!Y/N than intended but it's overall GN!) Alex: What made you think you’d be good for the military? Y/N: I worked at a Waffle House in America. Alex: Ah, alright, that makes sense.

-- (Interrogating Valeria)

Y/N: Look, Gaz, you know me. I can't- I can't do it. Gaz: Why not? Why can't you interrogate her? Y/N: Because I'm a bisexual with mommy issues, Gaz. And she's as pretty as she is scary. I'm already not that intimidating, she'll laugh at me when I start stuttering and then I'll just be horny. It can't be me. Gaz: ....okay, I'll ask Alejandro-

-- Y/N: I just realized something...I had a bad childhood. Gaz: Yeah we know. Y/N: What do you mean you know? Soap: Look at how you stand! People who had good childhoods don't stand like that. Y/N: How do I stand?! Gaz: Like Ghost. Ghost: ...I don't appreciate the call out but fair-

-- Price: Where are you going?! Y/N: To either get ice cream or commit a felony, I'll decide in the car!

-- Ghost after watching Fem!Y/N do an incredibly risky move: I just...Is she blind?? Suffering some form of brain damage?

-- (Tw; Hollywood Undead unalive song)

Y/N: My legs are dangling off the edge, the bottom of the bottle is my only friend, I think I'll sli- Price: EXCUSE ME?! WHAT ARE YOU ON ABOUT?? Y/N: Wh- No Captain, it's just a so- Price: GHOST GET THE BASE PSYCH ON THE PHONE Y/N: CAPTAIN IT'S A SONG I'M FINE- Well I'm not bUT NO WAIT HANG ON-

-- Valeria: *screaming in spanish* Y/N: ... Gaz: Don't. Y/N, blushing: I'm trying-

-- (During movie night; watching Venom)

Y/N: *pauses on that scene where Venoms sticks his tongue out at the guy in the street* ....Hear me out- Gaz: NO! NO. Y/N: NO NO LISTEN, LISTEN- Soap: Let them speak. Gaz: Don't encourage this! Y/N, pointing at the screen: LOOK AT IT! LOOK! Objectively you have to understand- Gaz: NOOO, it eats people! Soap: THAT TONGUE IS THREE FEET LONG AT LEAST! Gaz: No, I will not be hearing anyone out! I- GHOST, Ghost, back me up. Tell them they shouldn't want to fuck the ALIEN. Ghost, looking at the screen: Ethically, it's wrong. Gaz: Thank you. Ghost: ...objectively- Y/N: AHA! SEE?!

-- Ghost: *bends over* Y/N: *silently flips out* Soap, quietly: Wh-what? What are you-?! Y/N: SHHH *grabs Soap's jaw and turns him to look* Soap: *slack jaw* Damn- Y/N: fuckingdamnindeed- Ghost: *turns around* Soap: So it's your turn to pick dinner, what're you thinking? Y/N: Oh I dunno, maybe something pork related, uh, or cake- Soap: Aha, yeah...cake. Ghost: ....??

Fem!Y/N: I am not the mom of 141, that's ridiculous. Someone: You make all of them lunch every day with fruit cut into shapes, IN PERSONALIZED LUNCH BOXES Fem!Y/N: They need nutrition! Someone: You color code their items- Fem!Y/N: Look, if you were there for the item mix-ups you'd understand. Someone: YOU ARE LITERALLY FOLDING AND LABELLING THEIR LAUNDRY WITH A SHARPIE ON THE TAGS. Fem!Y/N: *holding Simon's skull boxers, writing his name on the tag* That- ...oh my god I'm the mom.

-- Ghost, watching Soap run past: WHAT DO YOU HAVE?! Soap, grinning & sprinting: A FUCKIN' BOMB Ghost: NO!!!

-- Price: Y/N, this is Lieutenant Riley, you can call him Ghost. Ghost: Y/N, looking him up and down: ...you got daddy issues? Ghost: ....maybe Y/N: Cool, same. Pleasure to meet'cha, sorry life gave you shit. Ghost, shaking their hand: Ditto. Price: *concerned sigh*

-- Price, walking into the common area at 10 pm: What in the world- Gaz, Soap, and Y/N: *all in there pyjamas with face masks on, eating snacks* Y/N: *slowly keeps chewing* Gaz: ...heeeyy siiirr... Price: It was lights out an hour ago, what are you lot doing? Soap: *slowly raises another face mask* ....Self care, sir? Price: ... Ghost, walking in at midnight for water: ....what. Soap, Gaz, Price, and Y/N: *stop gossiping* Gaz: ....hey. Soap: Evenin' L.T. Y/N: Howdy. Ghost: *looks at Price with a face mask on* Ghost: ...*sighs and sits down* Pass the Goldfish. Soap: Yeaaaah, good man! Welcome to the party!

-- Shepard: Is anyone here straight?! Price: ...*hesitantly raises hand* Laswell: *pushes his hand back down*

-- Valeria: *angry ranting* Y/N, a captive: Stop being so mean to me or I swear to god I'm gonna fall in love with you!

-- Ghost: What in the hell are you doing? Y/N: Laying in the rain. Ghost: Why? Y/N: If I lay here long enough, it feels like it washes the sad away. So I'm gonna lay here until the sad is gone. Ghost: You'll get sick. Y/N: Better sick than sad, sir. Ghost: ...*looks at the sky, back down, sighs* Ghost: *lays down on the tarmac* Y/N: Got a lot of sad? Ghost: ...Yeah. Y/N: If the rain doesn't take care of it, let's trade sads. Then it'll at least be a different kind of sad. Ghost: Not sure you want my sad. Y/N: Maybe not, but I don't think you should have to handle your sad alone either. Ghost: ...alright. Y/N: Cool.

-- Price: Simon, it's three o' clock in the morning. Why on earth are you making chocolate pudding? Ghost: Because I've lost control of my life.

-- Soap, with a gunshot wound: Do I regret it? Yes. Will I do it again? Most likely.

-- Y/N after doing something so badass it would fit in a movie: ...DID EVERYONE SEE THAT?? CAUSE I WILL NOT BE DOING IT AGAIN.

-- Ghost: You kidnapped the prime minister's daughter? That's illegal! Soap: Okay, Ghost, but what's more illegal? Briefly inconveniencing the prime minister's daughter, or destroying 141? Ghost: KIDNAPPING THE PRIME MINISTER'S DAUGHTER, JOHNNY! Fem!Y/N: Do you guys have like, a water or something? Snack maybe? No?

-- Y/N: I think there's been some confusion. I'm not the one in trouble here. Enemy Soldier: ...What? Y/N: There are only four of you. You'll need more than that. Gaz, hearing it over the intercom: ...they're gonna whoop-ass but we should probably go help them.

-- Someone: Why are you doing their straps for them? Price: They don't like velcro. Someone: Just do it yourself! Y/N: I'm not touching that stuff! I'll get neurotypical cooties.

-- Y/N, high on painkillers: If yo leg get cut off, would it hurt? Soap, in a hospital bed beside them: ...DUH Y/N: How though? Soap: Cause your leg got cut off! Y/N: Where you gonna feel the pain? Soap: In your le.... Y/N: Exactly bro! How you gonna feel the pain in yo leg if- Both: If your leg is gone! Soap: Whoooaaa... Y/N: Bro I swear, we're geniuses. Ghost, on his last brain cell: Fuckin'ell.

-- Ghost, about to lose his shit: Dear lord, I know we haven't spoken in a long time but if you could give me a little patience-

-- Gaz: Do you believe in God? Y/N: ...Yes & no. Gaz: Yes & No? What do you mean? Y/N: I believe there is a higher power, I believe a God exists. But...believing in God? Now that...haven't done that in a long time.

Gaz & Y/N: *dancing* Ghost: Can you two be serious for five seconds? Gaz, bustin' a move: Dunno sir, can you have fun for five seconds? Y/N: *stops and looks at Gaz* Gaz: *stops and is filled with instant regret* ...uh, sir, I- Ghost: Tell you what. I'll give you five seconds...to start running- Gaz: *turns to run and sees Y/N already yards away* YOU LEFT ME?! Y/N: I WANNA LIVE!!!!

-- Ghost: What are they doing? Price: Arguing in morse code. Soap: - .... .- - .----. ... / .-- .... -.-- / -.-- --- ..- .-. / ... .... --- . ... / .-. .- --. --. . -.. -.-- Gaz: -.-- .- / -- --- -- -- .- Soap: YOU FUCKIN' TAKE THAT BACK-

-- Soap: Keep your eyes closed, I have a surpriiisee!~ Ghost: You did your paperwork? Soap: I said surprise, not miracle.

-- Y/N, on tiktok: FOR ALL YOU NASTY ASSES IN MY DMS- *shows the team* THIS IS MY TEAM. STOP SENDING MY DICK PICS OR I WILL SEND THEM AFTER Y'ALL. Ghost: You've been getting dick pics? Soap: Who the hell's been harassing you online?! Y/N: SEE?? THEY'LL WHOOP YA ASS, SO LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!

-- Y/N, on tiktok again: Alright, backfired on me. For all of y'all who are now trying to be nasty by THIRSTING for my teammates, uh, no. Stop askin' for my Captain's marital status, I'm not gonna tell you. No you may not get my teammate's dicks, I will not be giving you their social media, stOP ASKING I KNOW THEY'RE HOT BUT NO-

-- (I've fallen down the rabbit hole of Karen compilations, so, that's why I thought of this)

Y/N: Goodbye sir! Male Karen: Fuck you bitch! Go suck off your captain you fuckin' whore!! Y/N: Sure, I'll do that, goodbye! Male Karen: Suck my dick, whore! Y/N: Can't! It's too full of military dick, you'll need to make an appointment, GOODBYE!! Soap: *wheeze* Gaz: Jesus. Christ. Ghost: I told you all America is shit.

(Bonus Note cause I can't put in anywhere else; on the topic of Venom + C.o.D. I know we have Soap in place of Eddie & Ghost in place of Venom, but hear me out. Y/N! being Ghost's host and Johnny being a third part. P o l y ! A u !)

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molllsprple · 7 months

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Strictly business

Part 1

Well howdy.

This is my first ever written piece of fan fiction so I welcome constructive criticism, but please be kind 🥹 I tried by best.

I am simply a thirsty girl indulging in her mihawk fantasies.

Pairing: Female reader x Mihawk

Description: Sometimes the line between business and pleasure can get a little blurry.

Rating/warnings: Explicit 15+ (Swearing, injury detail, may get smutty in later chapters) Mihawk is a bit of an ass, who doesn’t love a good enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut in later chapters, stubborn mihawk, stubborn reader, no use of y/n.

The life of an assassin can be rough, and somewhat lonely sometimes. Although, you didn’t mind the solitude so much.

You had been roaming the streets from a very young age since becoming an orphan, and you were grateful for the skills and tricks that you had picked up along the way.

You had learnt to be invisible, silent, and deadly if it came down to it. You could handle yourself, and rarely had to rely upon others.

You liked it that way.

Berry was hard to come by as a child, but as you grew older you found ways of making a living, and being the contracted assassin for a certain warlord was one of them.

It was for this reason that you were currently scaling the side of his coffin shaped vessel to retrieve the fruits of your labour.

Silently, you slipped through the opening of one of the windows, feet meeting the ground without a sound. Inaudibly, you moved through the ship in search of its captain.

Peeking around the doorframe of his quarters, you finally caught sight of the warlord in question—back turned, wine glass in hand.

Typical. you thought with an eye roll.

He was seemingly oblivious to your presence, and so you took the opportunity to scowl into the back of his head a little longer.

“You took your time” Mihawk sighed, tone low and uninterested as he remained with his back to you.

You pouted underneath the mask that was covering your face, as you realised that you had been discovered. It pissed you off that you could never sneak up on him.

“I thought something might have happened to you, it’s been two weeks” he continued, taking another sip from his wine glass, voice lacking in concern.

“That asshole gave me the run around for five whole days before I could find him. Maybe you should get your own hands dirty if you want it done any quicker.” You retaliated, emerging from the shadow of the doorway and into the centre of the room.

With that, mihawk slowly turned his body around to face you, his golden eyes meeting your own.

If looks could kill.

The look he gave was soul piercing, and it made your hair stand on end with a mix of adrenaline and something primal pooling in the pit of your stomach. It gave you a strange thrill, antagonising someone so dangerous.

Maybe if he didn’t possess the arrogance that came with being the worlds best swordsman, you might consider him attractive.

The angular structure of his jawline, and the way his beard was so carefully groomed to complement it.

The annoyingly perfect dark curls peaking out from under his hat.

The hard contours of pure muscle that his shirt tried so poorly to disguise.

Shit. So maybe he was nice to look at.

But you weren’t here to ogle the warlord, you were here for his deep pockets.

You agreed to help him with the large bounties assigned by the marines in exchange for a generous cut. These bounties were only for the most skilled and damn right crazy pirate hunters, but they brought along a hefty pay check, more than you could ever imagine of making on your own.

Most of the missions he assigned were just track and retrieve, meaning you only had to get intel to pass back to mihawk, aiding in their capture. Only rarely would you have to engage with the bounty, which you were thankful for as these were some of the most dangerous pirates sailing the seas.

“This one is on Karai Bari island. It looks like he works alone so it should be an easy catch.” You said, as you ignored the daggers he was sending your way, sliding the bounty poster onto the desk in front of him.

Beneath the hard expression his face was sporting, you noticed that his eyes were dull and lacked their usual vigor. There were slight bags beginning to form underneath them—Had he not been sleeping?

Mihawk’s back straightened, as his eagle eyes flicked down to the piece of paper.

Without a word he reached below the desk and flung a bag of berry onto the table with his usual flare of sass.

“Good” was all he uttered in response, shifting his imposing form to face away from you once again, continuing whatever it was he was so occupied with before you interrupted.

You picked up the bag, and started towards the door assuming that was the end of your incredibly enthralling conversation.

“Be safe on your travels”

Mihawk’s words stopped you in your tracks, taken aback by the sudden and unusual expression of concern.

Just as you were about to turn your head, he continued.

“It would be an awful inconvenience for me to have to come after you if you got into any trouble”

There it was. The true intent of his words.

“Prick” you muttered under your breath before disappearing into the night.

Mihawk downed the rest of his wine glass to stop the corners of his mouth from curling up into a grin.

————————————————————————-

Well shit.

This was bad… Really bad.

You were in the process of trailing your current bounty, lacking the knowledge that he had already clocked onto your presence.

As you turned down the next alleyway you were met with the static silhouette of your target facing back at you.

As your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness they widened in horror, realising that he was wielding a pistol initially obscured from sight by the dimness of the back passage.

By then it was too late.

You heard the gun fire before you even had chance to reach for your knife.

Unbelieving, you dropped your head to affirm your worst fears.

He had shot you in the leg.

Your mask did nothing to muffle the shrill scream of agony that was ripped from your lungs, as your hand instinctively moved to shield your wound.

The man simply let out a huff of laughter before bolting off in the opposite direction. He clearly didn’t see you as enough of a threat to waste time finishing you off.

You tore off a piece of material from your shirt to use as a bandage, and patched yourself up as best as you could with shaky hands.

Stumbling, you set off back in the direction of the harbour.

Thankfully, there was no one around this time of night, as everyone was either asleep or down the local bar spending their life savings on getting royally inebriated.

Finally, the bobbing flagships in the harbour came into view, as you just about threw yourself onto the dock.

You were almost there. You could see the ship, you just had to move—why.. weren’t you moving?

By now blood was streaming from the lesion on your leg, and your sight was beginning to blur.

If I just…one foot..in front of..the other.

Finally, you began to move forward again, only it wasn’t your legs that were in motion, it was your body falling like a sandbag onto the wooden planks of the dock.

Then everything faded into darkness.

————-

You slipped in and out of consciousness briefly over the next hour, each time catching snippets of words spoken by a low, honey toned voice, each fragment sounding more desperate than the last.

“Careless girl, look what you’ve gone and done”…

“You’re lucky I was docked on the same island”

“I told you to be careful….why d-“….

“Can you hear me?….. hey, you need to stay awake”…..

“you can’t die on me now, I haven’t—“….

You looked around through the narrow slit of your eyes to try and make out who the voice belonged to.

Your brain was foggy and you felt as if you were drunk, room spinning at a hundred miles an hour.

Dark hair, broad shoulders.

Your eye lashes fluttered as you continued to observe the figure looming over you. Pale skin, soft yellow eyes….mmm…Hot?

Regrettably, you were not aware that you vocalised that last thought.

Far off somewhere in your mind, you formed the vague notion that it was amusing how you were thirsting over this alluring stranger in your dying moments.

That was until the familiar scent of wine and musk surrounded you as your body was consumed by sleep once more.

Part 2

#dracule mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk x you #mihawk x reader #mihawk smut #enimies to lovers #kinda #smut #opla #opla mihawk #opla smut #opla fanfiction

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flowerpotmage · 9 months

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Tight Grip, Broken Dam (10)

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You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: for series: slow burn, ambiguous relationship, found family dynamics, reader is in their late 20s. for chapter: blood, gore, semi-graphic descriptions of injury

Word Count: 5.3k

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

The sound of city traffic washes over you like a chorus of songbirds, like the rattle of rough pebbles gently dragged against each other by retreating waves. Up here, high on the old domed rooftop, the sounds of the city feel as much a part of the natural world as the post-twilight darkness that blankets the sky. It’s only the beginning of the night, so your suit is still clean and your skin still dry, unsalted from sweat.

You never go out on weekends, at least not as anyone other than Spider: it’s too busy of a night to neglect your responsibilities. Too many people clashing in the night, like so many bumper cars at the fair. Everyone wants something on late, free weekend nights. And it’s your job to play referee.

You snort as the thought crosses your mind. You’ve been spending too much time around the serious Spiders if this is what your internal monologue has become. Bumper cars? Referee? You’re a mutated human in a custom made suit swinging on material that comes out of your own damn body in the dark of night to thwart petty criminals. Hardly something to be poetic about.

At least you’re not the only one. Even putting the others in the Spider Society aside, it’s a relief to know that there’s other heroes here in your own dimension putting in the work. The X-Men, Tony Stark, even the historic legend of Captain America. You. And, over the last year, the masked man of Hell’s Kitchen. Having someone else local leaves one less neighborhood for you to worry about.

There, in the distance: Frantic flashes of red and blue catch your focus. You pull your mask down, the barrier pushing away the soft caress of cool night air on your skin, and swing off into the city towards them.

Upon arrival you see a ring of police cars radiating around a nightclub entrance, blockades on either end of the street. They’re surrounding a venue you’ve never heard of before, much less actually been to.

“Howdy, officers,” you say, dropping down near a cluster of uniforms talking nervously amongst themselves. “What seems to be the problem?”

The one with his back turns towards you, and you recognize something familiar in the blue of his eyes, his blond hair. Your eyes dart down to his uniform—Ah. This must be the new captain.

“Captain,” you greet, with a little salute.

“Spider,” he says, glancing from you to the club building. “It’s been a while.”

You know what he’s referring to: your abrupt and sudden withdrawal from cooperating with the police force.

“Family matters,” is all you say. Not a lie.

This new Captain looks like he wants to say something, but then with another glance at the building and a shake of his head he thinks better of it. “We have a hostage situation,” he says.

“Any demands?”

“Not as of yet,” he says, and the two of you begin walking closer to the building, closer to the edge of the perimeter. “Our guess is at least five men.”

You don’t miss the way he seems reluctant to even be telling you this, the uncomfortable sideways glances and the tension in his shoulders that you just know isn’t only from the turn his work has taken for the night.

You perch your hands on your hips, surveying the building. It’s at least four stories high, no windows except at the top floor. You point up at them, looking at the Captain.

“I can get in and at least give you a better picture of what’s inside.”

He purses his lips. “I don’t kn–”

But you’re already pulling yourself up into the air on your web, landing on the brick between two windows. The lights are off inside, and the reflecting red and blue of the lights off the glass doesn’t give you an easy look inside. Neither do the drawn curtains.

“Spider’s going in?” you hear someone say down below, the faint voice bumping against your focus.

You don’t catch the captain’s returning comment, but you do hear the gruffness of his voice.

You push your thoughts aside, crawling on the wall over to the next window—Aha! A gap in the curtains lets you peer through and scan the room as best you can. It seems to be a managerial office for the club. There’s a desk and a couch, art on the walls, a freestanding wardrobe to one side. The door across from the window is cracked, letting a sliver of light shine through, the characteristic pre-green era yellow cutting across the carpet.

Carefully, you slide the window open.

No alarm. Cocky.

You glance back at the officers on the street below. You wave, point a thumb in through the window, salute, and vault in—but not before catching the way the captain throws a disbelieving hand in the air.

You slide the window closed, staying crouched to the ground and strain to listen.

This floor is silent. No, wait—

The creak of a floorboard in the hall outside the room you’re in.

Still crouched, you half-crawl your way to the cracked doorway. If you stay low they’re less likely to see you peek through out of the corner of their eyes—People never expect you to come from below.

In the hall is one man, shifting from foot to foot under the weight of his tactical gear. Everything about his stance screams casual, confident, relaxed.

Good.

When he turns his head away to cough into his elbow, even with his ski mask covering his mouth (aw, he cares!) you pull the door open and make your move. He’s webbed against the wall in the blink of an eye, his ski mask stuffed in his mouth.

He yells at you through it, voice muffled, when you pat his cheek and slip down the hall.

That’s a promising start, you think to yourself.

The third floor is empty, the space containing a large dressing room with sprawling messy vanities covered in makeup and spare bits of clothes. At least, you think it is until you hear a voice whisper–shout your moniker.

“Spider!”

You whip your head around, looking for the source of the hiss, when a clothing rack in the corner rustles and a face peers out from between two sparkling slinky dresses. You glance back over your shoulder, rushing over in a slight crouch.

“Are you alright?”

She’s pretty, you briefly think. Full round lips, dark glossy brown hair in 1920s style fingerwaves–

She nods. “Thank god you’re here, I don’t know what–”

“It’s okay,” you reassure, reaching out to calm her with a hand on her forearm. “The police are outside. How many are there?”

She shakes her head frantically, body trembling.

“What happened?” you press.

“A bunch of men came in, all geared up like some kind of action movie SWAT team,” she whispers. “I was working the top balcony, bussing tables. I was near the stairs when they came in.”

“How many?”

She shakes her head again. “And then there was this bright orange light, not the club lights going up, and–” she somehow manages to look you right in the eye through the lenses of your mask. “This big, huge monster came rocketing through and then it— it— it started eating–”

You freeze. An anomaly? Again?

“I’ll take care of it,” you reassure, squeezing her arm. “But, just to make sure, when you say eating-”

“It bit one of the guys’ heads off. Literally.”

Your stomach lurches. “Got it.” You start to go, pause and turn to look back at her. “Stay here.”

She nods, retreating back behind her shield of sequins and silk. You turn to go, and then realize—

“Hey, where are the stairs?”

One of her hands pokes back out and points you in the right direction.

“Got it. Thanks.”

It turns out the first two floors of the club are one big open space, a wraparound balcony lined with booths and tables taking up what would be the second story. The music is still playing; a song with a lively beat for dancing and a crooning man’s voice, one you think is trying too hard to sound sexy.

People are cowering and crying in their designer clothes, and it doesn’t take you long to figure out why they’re in such a state despite the absence of the armed men that had originally brought the swarm of officers to the door.

You’d never thought you’d describe crunching as wet, but that’s the only thing that comes to mind when the sounds reach your ears through the somewhat dulled music. Wet crunching, and slurps, and—and pleased growls.

“Tasty. Different.”

You know that voice.

Nobody sees you on the ceiling, crawling on your fingertips. There’s a splatter of blood and shredded black fabric on the balcony, where you guess one of the original perps had stood.

Your stomach squeezes, twisting and rocking in unease. Much like the sound of him eating, the smell of blood now carries through the smells of designer perfumes and colognes and spilled drinks, finding your nose under your mask. There’s a sickening rip and slurp, the sound of something wet hitting the floor, and then you’re far enough into the room to see him down below.

Venom.

He’s not your dimension’s Venom, no—this one looks, for lack of a better adjective, wetter. The club lights bounce off his form, shining and shimmering and enhancing every inch of hulking alien flesh. In his hands is–

You have to cover your mouth. This is not your Venom.

You worry that you might be out of your depth with this one. But he’s almost out of armed men to eat, if the… If the unrecognizable thing in his hands is enough to go off, or the unconscious man six feet away with a missing lower leg, face down and shaking on the tile.

You decide to start with him, while this Venom is still eating.

Silently, you begin lowering yourself down on a web to the dance floor, gesturing at various patrons to be quiet, to not give you away. You drop the last few feet to land beside the man on the ground, forcing down your roiling stomach at the sight of his knee. He’s barely conscious, and for that you’re glad. It means he’s silent when you cover his bleeding stump with your web to stem the flow of blood and remains so when you lift him into your arms. He’s bigger, but you’re strong, and you swing him up to the balcony to tuck into a booth with crying and cowering patrons.

“I need you to do me a favor,” you whisper to them. “See that door over there? That goes to the next floor. I need you to all start, as quietly as possible, start getting out of here. And I need you to bring this guy with you. Can you do that?”

Wide, wet eyes stare back at you.

“Can you do that?” You ask again, voice firm. They nod.

You have to trust them, and you start sneaking people out of the top balcony out to the next floor.

They’re almost all gone when Venom finishes his meal and turns to find that his next course has disappeared.

He roars.

“Okay, no more sneaking, go, gogogo–”

The last stragglers run for it, and you web the door shut behind them, vaulting over the railing to keep Venom’s attention off the lower floor guests and on you.

Venom launches at you with big angry teeth and claws, chasing you up to the balcony when you swing out of his reach.

Step one: Get Venom away from people. Check.

“FRONT DOOR!” You shout over the railing, dodging Venom’s outstretched talons with a spin that would have left you dizzy before the spider bite.

You don’t bother looking to see if the crowd below listens, all your attention on dodging Venom and keeping him up here, away from the civilians. You leap from floor, to ceiling, dropping and leaping back from a swipe of claws, landing on your back on the booth table—

Cornered.

Venom’s on you in seconds, claws ripping through the leg of your suit, shredding across your ribs as you scramble backwards, the table splintered into pieces where you had been moments before. Muscle memory and instincts take over, and you flip up onto the ceiling again, shooting off and away over his head.

He’s big, strong and hungry.

But you’re fast. And clever.

You get him to follow you, your back to the balcony—a quick look over your shoulder confirms that the club doors are open, the last people scrambling for the exit. Venom’s tackle crashes you both through the metal railing, a quick web to his face preventing him from swallowing your arm whole before you crash to the floor.

Another glance, the last person is out the door.

Step two: Get the first floor clear. Check.

You kick him off, his hands still clawing at the webs on his face. Two more webs stick them there, another rooting his feet to the floor.

A quick flick of your wrist sends a containment generator out of your watch and skittering across the floor, the polyhedral containment field springing out around his massive raging form. And none too soon, as his hands rip free of the webs less than a second later.

“Fuck,” you sigh, head thumping back onto the floor where you still lie from the tackle through the balcony railing.

Your heart pounds, and as adrenaline recedes, the sharp sting of your injuries comes to the forefront. You touch your hand to your ribs and it comes away soaked. “Great. Now I have to make a new suit again.”

You push through to lift the watering can above your head to water the pothos nearest your kitchen, medical tape pulling uncomfortably at your skin. The unpleasant feeling almost distracts from the way the cuts, if you can call them that, prickle with warmth—you lower the watering can, touching the bandage through your shirt. It hasn't bled through but you can still feel the wetness of your own blood on your skin, the prickle of it beading through the cracks between stitches and scabs, the strange tickle when a droplet runs down under the bandage, and worst of all the sticky not-quite-squelch of the bandage drinking the blood off your skin when you press on it.

You hate having to take the night off. On a Saturday, no less.

Deciding to leave the rest unwatered for now, you leave the watering can on the counter and lower yourself down onto the couch, propping your injured leg up on the coffee table for a long night of television, rest, and guilt over staying home—or what would have been a long night if you hadn't fallen asleep twenty minutes after turning on the TV.

It's the warm gentle weight of a hand on your knee and the soft whisper of your name that wakes you. If you were more conscious you would probably be embarrassed by the grumble-groan that leaves your throat as you stir.

The hand squeezes your knee, a gentle twitch in the palm as it returns to rest.

You open your eyes.

Miguel is crouched on the floor in front of you—not a Spider-Man crouch, no, just a casual crouch to bring himself down to your level.

He says your name when your bleary eyes find his own, his tone as firm as his voice is quiet. As if he doesn't want to wake you. As if you're in trouble, hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar.

“Why do I smell blood?”

You blink once, eyes widening as you sit up, and then you wince.

The bandage on your ribs actually does squelch this time, without so much as a prod or poke from your hands. It seems your rather unfortunate injury had partially split back open by your inconvenient sleeping spot and the contorted position you’d eventually slumped into. You look down, lifting up the edge of your shirt to check the bandage on your ribs—it hasn't bled through or started to leak, thank goodness, but your bandages do need changing.

Miguel’s hand is still on your knee, and when you lift the hem of your shirt his hand tightens, the muscles and tendons tensing.

“What happened?”

You drop the fabric back down, quickly. “Venom anomaly last night.”

You can see the way his jaw clenches even though you're not looking directly at him, and the silence grows hot and coppery. Something in your mouth tastes like a hot, clean spoon pressed into your tongue.

“Where is your first aid kit?” He asks, voice still low.

The unsettling heat vanishes, leaving you with a burnt tongue.

“Hall closet,” you murmur. “By the washing machine.”

His hand slides from your knee, he sighs almost imperceptibly, and then he stands and leaves to get your medical supplies.

You start to wake further, nervousness practicing its tiptoes in your gut.

Miguel returns, setting the first aid kit on your coffee table and opening it—

“Wait,” you blurt. “I don't want to stain the couch.”

Miguel gives you the dryest Are you shocking shitting me right now expression you’ve seen, perhaps ever.

“Bathroom,” you say. “Easier to clean.”

Miguel grunts, closing the first aid kit. “Alright.”

You don't need the help, but he gives it anyway, carefully pulling you up from the couch so you don’t pull the injury further. You reassure him you can walk fine, but he still shadows you down the hall, lurking in the space barely three feet from you as you sit on the edge of the tub.

“Happy?” You ask, glancing up at him and away again as you adjust to get more comfortable. It comes out defensive; you hadn't realized how self conscious you had become, on top of your nervousness.

“Hardly.” He nods his head towards the toilet. “Just sit on the lid. It’ll be more comfortable.”

He’s right, so you do.

“Okay, happy now?”

He just grunts, turning and leaving to get the first aid kit from your coffee table.

You sigh, staring at the tile and the mat under your feet, the soft green piling hypnotic in your tired, mildly pained state. You consider taking your shirt off before he gets back, the idea of removing it in front of him making heat rise up your chest and neck and—

He’s back, setting the kit on the floor and kneeling in front of you after washing his hands.

“Shirt,” is all he says after a long, silent pause.

You nod, and with only the slightest struggle, you get it off. You avoid looking at him, and he avoids looking anywhere but your bandage.

You realize this is the second time he's seen you shirtless, the first having been when you were crying in a ball on your floor, propped against your dresser. You’re sure you had snot on your face then, and now–

“Can you turn?” He asks, his voice a low murmur, though not quite soft.

You nod, turning slightly so that your injury is facing him head on.

“I’m going to remove the bandage now,” he says.

You just nod, feeling his eyes flick to your own. He nods in response to your silent permission, and then you're holding your breath as his fingers—so warm on your skin—start to peel back the medical tape and the enormous non-stick gauze pad covering half of your left ribcage.

His short huff of disapproval at the sight of your bloody, gashed torso seems to echo in the silence of your bathroom, magnified by cold hard tile.

“You said an anomaly did this?”

You look at him, all creased brows and clenched teeth staring at the mess of red on your skin.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Yeah.”

He turns and reaches for a bottle of saline solution from your kit, switching the lid out for the angled applicator nozzle. You turn your head away, lifting your arm slightly to give him room.

The saline isn't cold, but after the brief touch of his hands it might as well be. Saltwater slides over your skin, blood turning it shades of red and pink as it runs down and soaks into the hem of your sweatpants. Miguel takes a few passes, until the bottle is nearly empty, and then sets it aside.

“There's dried parts still,” he says, and you peer down under your arm.

Your skin is shiny, slick and wet as if just out of the shower. Sheer red lingers in the water by your hip, and the dark fabric soaks it up, turning dark and heavy. Your eye slides up, landing on the three gashes across your ribs. The middle one is the largest, cracked scabs struggling to meet in the center where you had stretched it open in your sleep. The bleeding has slowed, thickened blood doing its best to stay where it belongs, but still you think if you take too large a breath that the movement will break the surface tension and it will begin running down your skin once more. The two on either side are slightly smaller, small beads of blood welling between cracked scabs but not yet threatening to ruin Miguel’s efforts at cleaning you up.

Between them all you see what he means; dried flakes and smudges of blood between and around the torn skin that the gentle saline rinse hadn't dislodged. Just enough to be uncomfortable if he leaves it there.

Miguel turns and retrieves sterilizing pads from the kit, tearing the first open. “Sorry about this.”

“‘S fine,” you say, tearing your eyes away from his hand as it reaches for your skin, the other resting on your knee to steady his reach.

Miguel continues to work quietly and as gently as possible, wiping away the dried blood with the sterilizing alcohol pad. He goes through two of the large ones before opening a third, dabbing at the wounds themselves.

You grit your teeth at the sting.

“Did you at least get this looked at?” Miguel’s voice is wry.

You nod, looking at him sideways. “First thing I did after bringing the anomaly in. Spider-Doctor said it looked worse than it is.”

“Doctor Parker,” he corrects. “How much worse? Because it looks pretty bad.” Miguel meets your eyes for the first time since you took your shirt off, lips pursed and eyebrow raised in skepticism.

Your breath catches, and he looks down.

You realize his hand had frozen on your ribs only when he pulls the sterilizing pad away, crumpling it and tossing it in the nearby bathroom garbage with the rest.

“Surface damage,” you whisper, swallowing and tearing your gaze off of him. “Just difficult to heal because of where it is.”

Miguel grunts, taking out a new, fresh gauze pad and shifting closer on his knees to you. You lift your arm again for him, and he leans in, placing the gauze over your ribs now that the skin has dried.

When the flat of his palms spread the pad smoothly over the curve of your torso, following the bend of your ribs, your breath catches (again) for an entirely different reason than the contact on your injury. Even through the gauze you can feel the radiating warmth of his palms, the gentle pressure sending pleasant static through your nerves.

“Sorry,” he apologizes again. “I’m almost done.”

“You’re handling this better than last time,” you blurt, and immediately grimace when he pauses to stare at you. “When I scraped my hands.”

He doesn't say anything for a long moment, turning his focus to the medical tape in his hands and smoothing it down across your skin. You try not to shiver.

“Done,” he says, and turns away, closing the first aid kit. “I’ll let you change.”

The bathroom door clicks shut behind him when he leaves.

You sigh, wincing at the stretch of your ribs and the pull of the medical tape on your skin, before burying your face in your hands. You don't allow yourself to linger long, finally lifting your head with a sharp inhale and rising from the toilet lid. You shed your clothes, kicking the blood and saline soaked sweats and underwear into the empty, dry bathtub. At least the shallower wounds on your leg are fine. No need to get Miguel even more tense about the state of your body than he already is.

You use the hand towel to dry the lingering dampness on your side and hip, tossing it into the tub with the rest.

Deep breath. Well, as deep as you can safely manage.

With a full towel now wrapped around your naked body you leave the bathroom, walking down the hallway to the light of the living room and the door of your bedroom.

Miguel is standing, back to you, and looking closely at one of your hanging plants near the kitchen. He doesn't turn around, so you wordlessly slip into your room and pull on new underwear, new pajamas. Loose, comfortable sweatpants to let the bandage on your leg sit comfortably, loose shirt to leave your ribs space to breathe.

Again, you pause to take a deep breath. Not from pain, but in an attempt to relieve the buildup of tension in your shoulders.

You slip back down the hall to retrieve your pile of clothes in the tub and throw them in the wash, a hefty pour of hydrogen peroxide onto the fabric foams and sizzles into the color of yellowed seafoam and rust.

You close the lid and start the wash.

Back in the living room, you find Miguel filling your watering can.

“What are you doing?”

He looks over at you, glances over your clean clothes before meeting your eyes again. He turns back to the sink, shutting off the faucet. “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure.” You cross your arms, trying not to smile even as you frown in confusion.

He gestures at your living room, at the numerous plants filling the space, at the hanging pothos you had watered earlier—the one he had been examining. “You stretched too high.”

You blink. “I was fine when I sat down.”

“And then you fell asleep on the couch, which made it worse.”

You wrinkle your nose, looking away. “Not on purpose.”

Silence, for a long moment, and then you see him walk around the kitchen counter in your periphery. “I know.” Another long pause. “Which plants still need watering?”

You look at him, at the watering can that looks like a teapot in his hands.

“Um.” You straighten, pointing at a standing plant—a dracaena almost as tall as you that had once belonged to your aunt. “That one.”

“Tell me when,” he says, tilting the spout over the dirt.

The two of you continue like that, you pointing out which plants need water and Miguel watering them for you until you give the word. By the end you find that your shoulders aren’t so tense, and you’re even smiling—until Miguel sets the watering can down.

He lingers at the counter, leaning on his hands, his back to you.

You grimace, looking away and crossing your arms. You feel exposed, self-conscious in your pajamas.

“Why didn’t you call for backup?”

“I had it under control.”

He turns around, still leaning back against the counter. “You had it–” he cuts himself off, squeezing his eyes shut and taking a breath. “You should have called.”

The silence stretches, once again growing hot and coppery.

“I’m not an idiot,” you say, voice clear as it is quiet. “I know you’ve been keeping me off missions and backup calls.”

You can feel the way the silence changes.

“I–”

The fight drains out of you all at once. “Can we just… can we not, right now?” You swallow the lump in your throat. “I just… I’m still tired, and I don’t really want to be lectured by my boss in my own home about how I’m not…”

When he speaks again his voice is quiet, hesitant. Almost hurt. “Not what?”

You shrug, still unable to look at him. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to have this fight again.”

Miguel straightens from where he had been leaning, reaches a hand towards you with a soft murmur of your name. When you don’t pull away, he lets his hand rest on your own where it holds your opposite arm.

You look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, brows furrowed, though this time the lines spell regret, instead of frustration. “That’s not why I…” he sighs, letting his hand slide away, off of yours and back to his side.

You nod, relaxing the tension in your crossed arms. “Just…” your brow creases as you continue to frown off to the side.

You don't want this. You want to be in bed, melting into the softness of your blanket and the cushion of your pillows. You want Miguel there with you, the weight of him beside you keeping you safe and warm in your sleep, wordlessly reassuring you with his presence that everything will be alright, that despite your injuries (because yes, you're fine and you know you will heal, but right now you still feel like a failure because you can't fulfill your responsibilities to your own damn dimension and okay, yes, you're feeling a little vulnerable too which is normal when someone is hurt) you’ll be okay.

“I just…” you continue. “I hate feeling like you still don't think I can take care of myself, or that I can’t do this. I don’t know—” you cut yourself off. You want to say ‘I don't know what this is and I can't bear to have things feel this way when I'm already hurt and I need you. Please trust me. Please be here for me,’ but all that comes out is: “It’s part of the job. It’s what I signed on for, when I put on the mask. We all did.”

When you finally look at Miguel his brows are angled up towards the center of his forehead some pained mix of understanding and regret and… Something else you can’t immediately name.

“I know you’re capable,” he says. “I don’t…” it's his turn to frown, to turn his head away and grimace at the thoughts and emotions bubbling inside. He sighs, starting over. “I know you know what you…” he sighs again, his shoulders slumping forward. “It was unfair of me.”

You nod, the both of you standing in silence, looking away from one another.

“I’m tired,” you finally say, quietly. “Are you staying over?”

Miguel looks at you, eyebrows raised in equal measures of surprise and confusion. “I didn’t think…”

You swallow, looking down, toeing the air as if it was a pebble under your feet. “I could… I could use the company, I think.” You try to shrug it off, the admission that you could in any way want him there. The implication that you need him in any way.

Miguel softens. “Then of course.”

You nod, glancing at him and then turning towards your room. Miguel turns the lights off, close behind. He overtakes you in the bedroom easily, long legs carrying him to your bed before you’re halfway across the room to pull the sheets back for you. He helps you to climb in with a soft murmur to be careful, before he leaves to change into the pajamas you keep for him. You’re glad when he returns quickly, sliding into his side of the bed—facing you.

It doesn’t take long for the tide of sleep to reclaim you and drag him under as well, his arm carefully wrapped over your side.

<< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >>

#x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv miguel x reader #atsv x reader #gender neutral reader #miguel o'hara x gn!reader

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earthlyruins · 4 months

Text

"sanji goat imagery sanji shark imagery" you fools. you absolute fools. sanji paired with snake imagery. a cook who is quick enough to be a viper but strangles slow and hides within his own skin. sheds it when he sees fit: flitting between masks and his true self easily. he who's fit to hide underneath the crowd of swordsman captain and devil, but no less dangerous than any of them. boy howdy.

#.txt #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #op #one piece #DO YOU SEE THE VISION #not saying that goat or shark imagery is wrong btw i welcome that with open arms:)#+ though this sounds serious i also am picturing sanji as like. those tiny boa constrictors with the drawn eyebrows + arms. him #sanji op #op sanji

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crackedoutwalnut · 2 years

Note

Howdy! I was wondering if I could request a part 2 to Debris? It’ll be a year after the incident and WandaNat finally made a move on R. The three are dating and it’s still in the honeymoon stage. Overall just very fluffy, but the Avengers need Carol for a mission. Carol being back makes R a little jumpy because R doesn’t fully trust Carol alone with them unless there’s somebody else in the room.

Unless you already had an idea or weren’t gonna write a part 2 you can totally disregard lol. Have a great day/night :)

P.S. you write so beautifully! I hope to see more of your fics whenever you release them!! :))

Debris Part 2: Reconstruction

First part: Debris Part 1

WRITING REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

Word count: 4k

A/N: I'm baccckkkkkk... sorry for the unofficial hiatus. I missed y'all a lot and decided requests were the best way to revive my blog. Also thank you to @theprinceofmarvel for the lovely request and the very kind compliments. Any appeals to my ego are always appreciated lol. Anyways, I hope you enjoy part 2 of debris! :)

After "The Incident," as you have come to call it, what happened afterward came in phases. First, you spent the majority of your days' training or sulking on Natasha and Wanda's couch. This lasted a couple of weeks before Natasha forced you out of your slump and back into the real world. She forced you to take a full-length shower because, according to her, you smelled like "rot and sadness." The comment would have hurt had you not caught a whiff of yourself as she said it. Next, she and Wanda took you out to eat something other than spicy chips and shredded cheese.

The next phase happened subtly throughout those first couple of weeks and onward. Without ever formally discussing it, all three of you started to move your stuff into their condo. At first, it was small stuff like toothbrushes and pajama pants. Then, it progressed into blankets, most of your wardrobe, and miscellaneous decor. That was when they offered you their spare room permanently. All three of you knew that the idea of staying in your old condo, Carol's old condo, sent your gut churning with dread.

The entire floor still smelled of her, still held little traces of her here and there. Everything from her favorite beer still lying in the fridge to her bottles of cologne made your chest twist up with a concoction of fear and aching want. They were like monuments to what the two of you never quite had in the first place: contentment. You realized that more and more when you observed Wanda and Natasha. From date nights to stolen kisses and inside jokes, you felt resentment overtake your previous sense of longing. Carol had never provided you with any of those things. When falling in love with Captain Marvel, there was no security or sense of domesticity. There was only a vague feeling of being dragged along and repeatedly put on a shelf. There were half-hearted promises and unfulfilling quickies when she was there and radio silence when she was not. Which was all too often.

That realization made way for the final phase, almost a year after The Incident. You had just returned home from a short-term mission to find your roommates waiting for you. If you had not known better, you would have sworn they were almost nervous. Wanda was fiddling with her hands, her dexterous fingers flexing and bending with unconscious habit. Natasha would have been the perfect mask of stoicism were it not for her subtle pattern of growing anxious whenever her partner was agitated.

Wanda had shot to her feet, her smile warm and eager at the sight of you. "Y/n! Welcome back; how was the trip home?"

You offered them both a grin of your own and settled down on the couch beside Natasha, "Exhausting, the turbulence prevented me from getting a nap in on the way back," you confessed. "Plus, my arms are killing me from having to scale that building."

The assassin let out a sympathetic hum and rubbed your shoulder, "Well, you are home safe now, and that is all that matters to me." She glanced over at her partner, arching her brow in silent question. Wanda nodded as if knowing exactly what the woman was requesting.

The witch turned back to face you, "Y/n, we were thinking of celebrating your safe return with a night out."

Nat quickly added, "After you rest, of course, wouldn't want you collapsing on us, would we?" She teased, lightly nudging you with an elbow.

"That sounds amazing."

You remember that night as a whirl of noise, color, and bliss. The three of you danced, drank, and talked the night away, fully enraptured by the feeling of being beside each other. The look the two of them gave you whenever you spoke dripped with pure adoration and joy. You found yourself returning the expression tenfold.

At the night's end, they took you down to an isolated boardwalk just outside of the city. The three of you sat, legs dangling over the dock in content silence. The water glistened in with the light of millions behind you as the city remained awake as if it, too, were waiting for what would happen next.

Wanda spoke first, "Tonight was perfect," she turned to face the both of you, "you two were perfect."

You grinned and reached over to grasp her hand, "I can't thank you two enough for this. I've never been happier."

Nat smiled, her face growing more uncertain than you had ever seen it, "Speaking of happier, Wan and I were thinking that maybe we could take you out like this in a more romantic setting."

Your heart began to staccato in its cage. "What do you mean?"

Wanda cleared her throat, "Over the past few months, I fear we have fallen a tiny bit in love with you, honey."

You furrowed your brows in confusion, "But, what about the two of you?"

Natasha gave you an amused look. "We would still be together, sunshine. We would just be adding a new member, so to speak."

"But after Carol, you can't honestly want to-"

Wanda placed a hand on your cheek, effectively silencing you. "This has nothing to do with her. What the three of us share has never had anything to do with what she did to you, Y/n. You are not a charity project for us to repair; you never have been. You are someone we love and respect enough to want to spend every waking moment with you."

Nat spoke up, "And don't try and deny that you don't feel the same, darling. What we have shared over these past few months has been far from a casual friendship."

You were choking on tears, your face cracking into a shaky grin. You nodded eagerly, "I love you two more than I ever thought I was capable of loving anyone. Your home, our home, has become my sanctuary, and I cannot wait to have you two as long as you will have me."

Natasha stood and helped you to your feet, Wanda not close behind. Placing a firm kiss on your cheek, which the other woman mirrored, she chuckled, "Get comfy, sunshine; we'll be having you for a long time."

To say you were happy would be a gross understatement. Every day you woke up beside your partners was a day spent in pure bliss. The three of you spent most of your days attached at the hip. If Natasha wanted to train in the downstairs gym, you and Wanda would not be far behind. If Wanda went to bed, the other two would follow. Currently, you were lying across your girlfriends' laps. Your head rested in Wanda's lap while your lower half lounged across Nat's. The witch watched the movie playing while gently massaging your head. Well-groomed nails scratched your scalp, allowing a content groan to fall from your lips.

Wanda smirked down at you, "I am that good, huh?"

"You have no idea," you muttered in reply, eyes slipping shut.

"You are absolutely precious, sunshine," the witch murmured, moving to trace the apple of your cheek.

You grumbled in protest, however, made no effort to reply as you turned to bury your face in her shirt. The shirt in question was a well-worn SHIELD shirt you had stolen from Nat before Wanda inevitably snatched it from you.

"Y/n, don't you dare fall asleep in the middle of movie night. You promised you wouldn't do that again," said Nat, shaking your calf slightly. She was met with the sound of your breathing evening out. She huffed, "I swear, I'm not carrying her to bed this time. She can wake up and walk herself."

Wanda gave her partner a bullshit look and glanced down at their girlfriend. "You and I both know you are lying, Nat. Look at her. How could you possibly leave a face this cute to sleep on the lonely couch?"

Nat pursed her lips and sighed, "I can't," she confessed. Standing, she tucked her arm under the crook of your knees and along your back. She carried you across the room and down the hall as if you weighed nothing more than a gallon of milk. Mumbling sounds fell from your lips as you drew closer to the familiar warmth guiding you. Inhaling the comforting scent of maple and balsam, you buried your nose in the shoulder of Natasha's sweatshirt.

The assassin tenderly set you onto the mattress and pressed a kiss to your temple.

The next morning, your peaceful slumber was interrupted by an urgent voice above you.

"Y/n, wake up; Fury called for an emergency meeting."

You groaned and heaved yourself up, "Can't it wait until later?"

Nat clucked her tongue, "No, that's why it is called an emergency meeting, sunshine."

"Fine, let me get dressed," you dragged yourself out of bed and into the bathroom.

In the meeting room, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, an extremely hungover Tony Stark, and Wanda sat around a long table. Nick Fury stood at the head, nodding slightly as the two of you entered and sat beside Maximoff.

"Thank you for coming. I just received word from a field agent that an old alien terrorist group has reformed and started attacking cities along the East Coast. They were subdued by Captain Marvel in 2015; however, it seems they have come back with more forces and better technology," he explained. "That is why all of you, along with Captain Marvel, will be spending all of your efforts as of now to take them out for good."

You felt the blood in your veins ice over at the mention of Carol. You cleared your throat, "Um, I thought Car- Captain Marvel wasn't joining us on missions anymore?"

Nick leveled you with a neutral expression, "Regardless of your history with Captain Marvel, I expect you two to work professionally. The better you two collaborate, the faster you can part ways."

Nat sat in her chair, an outraged expression etched on her face, "I hardly think that is fair, Fury. After what happened, I don't think Marvel deserves-"

Nick raised a hand and spoke over her, "This meeting is over; I don't want to hear any more complaints about the details of this mission, am I clear?"

The assassin grit her teeth, "Crystal," she shot up in her chair and strode from the room. Wanda, sporting a similarly furious expression, followed close behind. You shot an apologetic look to Fury and scurried after your companions.

"He should have let you know sooner."

"I don't think there was any way of him knowing sooner."

"That bitch won't be let anywhere near you," Wanda hissed; crimson light wreathed her clenched fists.

"If this threat really is as serious as it seems, I don't think we have much of a choice in the matter," you muttered, teeth worrying at your lower lip. "I appreciate it, though," you reached to grab her glowing hand, allowing the fingers to unfold and the tendrils to dissipate from her palms.

"We have your back, sunshine," Natasha assured, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Try as they might, the Avengers tower was only so big, and you could not stay with them forever. You were heading down to the communal kitchen the first time you ran into Carol. The three of you had your own kitchen in the condo; however, the public one was where Tony kept all his expensive snack food. Instead of foreign chips and gourmet chocolates, you were met with your ex-girlfriend sitting on a marble countertop drinking coffee. She wore an Airforce muscle tank top that would have made your panties drop only a year before. Now, the very sight of her made your body tense painfully. She hadn't changed; her biceps were still perfectly toned, her short hair slightly ruffled over her face as it often was in the mornings. Her body still radiated a terrifying power that nearly had you running back toward the elevator.

"It's nice to see you again." The sudden comment rang out in the empty room like a gunshot. You nearly leaped from your skin, eyes locked onto her ever-intense gaze. You swallowed and nodded before pivoting on your heel to leave. "Wait!" You flinched at her tone and looked over your shoulder towards her. "How have you been? You look... healthy," you could hear the caution in her voice as if the wrong word would send you fleeing.

"We don't have to do this, Carol," you muttered, eyes never leaving hers, watching for any sudden movements like one would an apex predator.

"I want to," she replied quickly, "I would like to catch up with you."

"Well, I have been busy with work; other than that, nothing special," you lied. You did not owe Carol the knowledge of your relationship status.

She forced a chuckle, "Yeah, same..." It was silent for a moment before Danvers started to move closer to you. Panic grasped at you as you subtly moved back towards the door. "Y/n, I wanted to talk to you about-"

"Move any closer to her, and you will lose your head, Danvers," Wanda barked from the other entrance across the room.

Carol's face tightened with frustration; however, she quickly masked it as the witch made her way over to you. Your girlfriend wrapped her arms around your waist before pulling you in for a slightly possessive kiss. You smiled at her as she pulled away, her hand remaining on the small of your back.

"Captain, I think you would find it in your best efforts to stay away from Y/n while back on Earth," Wanda advised, her tone frigid and stiff.

"I was just saying hello, Maximoff," she replied, hands raised in surrender.

Wanda angled her body in front of you as if to act as a wall between you and your ex. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, "Well, you have said hello. You may go now."

"I will see you later, okay, Y/n?" Carol craned her neck over Wanda's shoulder to look at you. Your gaze remained glued to the floor as your girlfriend's hand grasped your own. Carol sighed and stormed towards the door. The moment the blonde was gone, Wanda whirled around, her hands cupping your cheeks. "Are you alright, baby girl? What did she say to you?"

You offered your girlfriend a shaky grin and leaned forward to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, "I am fine, Wan. She really was just trying to say hello."

Wanda narrowed her eyes, "Well, she better keep herself away from you from now on."

You giggled, "You're such a mother hen."

"I think I am perfectly reasonable; now, let's go back upstairs."

Wanda filled Natasha in on the events of that morning, causing the assassin to fuss over you just as your other partner had. "Sunshine, are you okay?"

You snickered and glanced between the two women, "You are both ridiculous. I am fine."

"I know you can take care of yourself, but can you blame us?" Nat replied, pulling you into an embrace.

"I am a grown adult who can deal with an ex-girlfriend without having a freakout." It wasn't a total lie, not technically. Even if you can't breathe when you come face to face with Carol, you can still navigate an almost civil conversation with her without sprinting from the room.

"Still, if anything ever goes south with her, make sure to reach out to me in your mind. I will always hear you."

"Thank you, Wanda. I love both of you so much, and I promise I will be fine with Carol around."

You were not fine with Carol around. Not even close. Every time the two of you would run into each other, the blonde would attempt to corner you into a conversation. You would panic and make a quick excuse to flee the scene. All you saw when you looked at her was the look in her eyes that night she nearly shot a hole through your chest with her photon blasters.

You became rather good at avoiding her until you decided to work out in the training room. It was late in the afternoon, and most of the Avengers were having a game night upstairs. Not really in the gaming mood, you wandered down to the workout facility, clad in a sports bra and tight bike shorts. Grabbing a towel from a rack near the front entrance, you wandered into the main room. Ready to head over to the treadmills, you were stopped in your tracks at the familiar sound of a photon blast exploding from a hand.

It felt like a bucket of cold water dumped over you as the sight of Carol practicing her photon attacks came into vision. You froze. Your limbs locked up as visions of that night filled your vision. Her words, awful and hostile on her tongue, the feeling of debris covering your arms and hair.

"..ey, Y/n? Y/n, are you okay?" You snapped out of your frozen state as Carol waved a hand in front of your face. You flinched and backed away from the woman.

"Wh-what?" You stammered.

"I was asking if you were okay? You kind of froze," Carol replied, attempting to reach for your shoulder in comfort. She quickly remembered herself, however, and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her sweatpants. You glanced down at her hands, and over to the blast-resistant dummy she was practicing on. Realization seemed to dawn on Carol's face as she turned to look at the practice mannequin. "Fuck, right. About that night, Y/n. I wasn't myself, and I am so sorry. I never would have done that had we-"

"I need to leave," you cut her off, stumbling away. You weren't ready to have this conversation. You never would be. Not with her. Not ever.

"Y/n, please, we need to have this conversation. I have been trying to have this talk with you for days now. Your...Wanda and Natasha keep preventing it from happening."

"We don't need to have this talk. You want to have this talk. Now I need to go; Wanda and Nat probably want to know where I am."

"Speaking of those two, why the hell are they so touchy-feely with you?"

"A lot can change in a year, Captain," you muttered.

"You cannot seriously be with both of them? What about us?"

"There is no us, Carol," your voice shook as you worked to move away from her.

"There should be, though. We were meant to be together, Y/n. I promise that night will never happen again. I will stay this time, for good. I will let you see that one friend. The one from that night."

"I don't need you to 'let' me do anything," you snapped, anger replacing your fear.

"Of course, that is not what I meant. You know that."

"No, I don't think I do know that, Carol."

"Can we just talk this out, please?" Carol stepped towards you, grasping your wrist.

Panic coursed through your veins as you attempted to wrench yourself out of her grip. The might of Captain Marvel easily overpowered your efforts. "Let go, Carol. I don't want to talk anymore."

"We need to talk about this. Please, we'll both feel better once we talk."

"No! Let go of me!" You gasped, chest collapsing in on itself as you trembled in her grasp. You continued to stammer pleas before Carol dove in and erased the gap between you. Her lips were rough and overwhelming. Her heat was now foreign and hostile as you attempted to push her off of you. Air caught in your lungs, refusing to circulate to the rest of your body. You wheezed into the kiss and jerked your body in her grasp like a fish.

Wanda, please. Training room, please help.

It was moments before you heard the rumbling of two sets of feet stomping down the stairs into the training facility. Faster than either of you could react, Carol was sent flying across the room, her back colliding with the wall-to-wall mirror. Crimson light radiated from Wanda as she hovered above the floor, her eyes glowing with primal fury.

Natasha raced over to you, pulling you into her grasp and forming a physical barrier between you and Carol Danvers. You burrowed yourself further into her hold and watched as dumbells, medicine balls, and treadmills floated from the ground and circled around Wanda's gravitational pull of power. She moved closer to Carol, who was desperately flailing in the woman's grasp.

"I told you what would happen if you ever laid a hand on her again, Danvers," she roared. "I warned you that I would gut you if you ever came near her again."

"Let me go, Maximoff. It was a mistake."

"You might think you are tough shit. But, I assure you I could kill you in seconds without breaking a sweat."

You whimpered, burying your face into Nat's sweater. The assassin shushed you softly and rested a hand on the base of your head, tucking you closer to her chest. "Wanda," she rasped, rocking the both of you from side to side as gently as possible. "Wanda, babe."

The woman turned to face the two of you, her eyes still lit with an unnatural red glow. The tendrils of magic were wrapped firmly around Carol's neck and arms, causing her face to grow pale and sweaty as air escaped her lungs.

"As much as I would love to assist in grinding her ass into dust, I don't think this is the best time." You let out a shaky sob; Natasha cooed softly and swayed you faster.

Wanda's face softened, and the gym equipment around her crashed to the floor with a thunderous crash. The glow disappeared from her eyes, and Carol collapsed onto the floor. You felt your other girlfriend race to your side.

Natasha let you go, allowing you to fall into Wanda's embrace. The woman muttered sweet nothings against your temple and laid kisses along the crown of your head. "Are you alright, darling?"

You sniffled and nodded, "Can we get out of here?"

"Of course, I am so sorry."

Natasha pulled away from the two of you, "Go to the condo and rest, both of you."

Wanda nodded and led you out of the room and into the elevator. Once you were out of earshot, the assassin turned to face an incredibly disheveled Carol. "Let me make a few things clear, Danvers. You will tell Fury that you wish to stay in a hotel for the rest of your stay on Earth. When you are forced to be around us, you will not look or breathe in the direction of either of my girlfriends. Are we understood?"

Carol nodded, her gaze locked on the floor below her.

Natasha marched over to her and grabbed the woman's shirt collar. "She doesn't need or want you anymore, Danvers. We gave her everything you were unwilling to provide. She has moved on from your sorry ass, so I think it is in your best interest to do the same."

The blonde nodded, "You're right."

"I know. Stay away from my family, Captain."

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featheriest · 7 months

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【 𝙒 𝙀 𝙇 𝘾 𝙊 𝙈 𝙀 】 ˜”°•. 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺.

🕊️ Featherie/Birdie | 24 | they/them | AuDHD | bi lesbian

Howdy, I am Birdie!

I'd like to say I am silly full-time as well as a part-time mischief maker! I am fictionkin as well as otherkin (both spiritual)!

🕊️ My interests:

Birds

Animals, bugs, and creatures of all kinds

Y2k aesthetic, glitter graphics, blinkies, old web aesthetic, 2000s scenecore

Splatoon, Zelda, Pokémon, Terraria, Minecraft, Animal Crossing, Undertale, Deltarune, Mother series, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Pony.town [I mainly only post about some of these on my kin blogs!]

🕊️ Blog tags:

# Featherie squawks - text posts # Featherie displays - images # Bird tag - posts with photographs or artwork of birds

Kinlist, kin blog links, and BYF under the 'Keep reading' cut!

【 𝙆 𝙄 𝙉 𝙇 𝙄 𝙎 𝙏 】

🕊️ Therian + Otherkin:

Bird / Avian

Cockatiel Dove / pigeon Microraptor

Ghost / Poltergeist

Monster

🕊️ Fictionkin:

[Most notable ones, but not all!]

Chara - Undertale [❤️ Kin blog link ❤️]

Flowey - Undertale [🌻 Kin blog link 🌻]

Supreme Calamitas - Terraria [Calamity mod] [💀 Kin blog link 🔥] !BLOG CONTENT WARNING: horror, blood and gore artwork!

Agent 3 / Captain 3 - Splatoon 1,2,3 [🦑 Kin blog link 🦑]

Giratina - Pokémon Platinum, Legends: Arceus

Link - Zelda: OoT, MM, TP (Hero's Shade) [🎼 Kin blog link 🛡]

Skull Kid - Majora's Mask

Spinel - Steven Universe [💔 Kin blog link 💔]

The Collector - The Owl House

【 𝘽𝙀𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙁𝙊𝙇𝙇𝙊𝙒 / 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙍𝘼𝘾𝙏 】

I am an adult, and even if I don't post nsfw, I don't feel comfortable with minors following me, sending me asks, messaging me, or commenting on my posts. Also, while I fully support ageless blogs, I will automatically count you as a minor and soft-block if you follow. I will fully block if you interact in any of the other ways. If you're looking for friends, it's better for you to talk to people your own age! [For adults who are uncomfortable with putting their exact age online, I also don't mind 'adult' or age-ranges!]

I heavily use the queuing system and will often mass-queue either directly from tags or if I happen to find an artist with an art style I really enjoy. I don't really expect people to pay perfect attention to who they're liking or reblogging from, because I don't monitor it very well either! Let me know if someone I have reblogged from is someone who I wouldn't want to interact with by mistake.

I tag certain content warnings, (e.g. #cw bugs, #tw blood, #cw flashing), and I am willing to tag more as long as either they are common enough triggers, common enough disturbances, or if we are mutuals. Just ask!

Terfs, swerfs, transmeds, lgbt exclusionists, radqueers/transIDs, proshippers, DDLG + other variants of sexualized age regression [sfw, non-kink age regression is fine!], MAPS/NOMAPS DNI!

#blog intro

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houndslayr · 2 years

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Save a horse, ride a cowboy Pt.1

Gender: M! Reader

Pairing(s): Kaeya x Reader

Warning: Cowboy au / rdr2 inspired type thing, Kaeya might be ooc since I dunno much about him

Summary: When a lone rider stumbles upon a beaten-up-looking Kaeya, deciding to take pity on him he helps the rough-looking man.

Words: 933

Recently started getting into rdr2 again (replaying the story for like the 5th time lol) and was like I want to make a cowboy reader fic with genshin so who other to pair a cowboy with than a Cavalry Captain? Also, I can't stop listening to mary on a cross from ghost :') Dunno how I feel about this fic

Fem aligned dni

[Not edited or checked]

The sun was beating down on the poor dark-skinned guy as he lays up against a large oak tree, bloody and beaten after a group of thieves ambushed him. While trying to fight them off his horse got spooked in the commotion bucking him off the saddle and sending him flying onto the ground, the thieves took advantage of that beating him to a pulp and stealing all his shit.

The sound of someone approaching where he lies was heard in the distance, with what little energy he has Kaeya looks over to see a massive cloud of sand and dust kicking getting closer to him. 'Must be a damn big horse if it's making all that big of an impact on the ground.' The battered man was indeed correct as a huge Percheron horse came from the smoke, its black coat shining in the sun as the muscles shifted with the power of its canter.

Kaeya could not see too much of the rider but all he knows is that with the horse and the outfit the cowpoke wears it looks like the grim reaper is coming for him. He closes his eyes hoping that the rider will just pass and not try to rob him as he has nothing left, his stupid Arabian horse ran off like the pussy it is. Much to his dismay, the cowboy stops right in front of him, how can he tell? The clunking of the colossal horse's feet is so loud that he can feel the dust blowing into his face and into his nose almost making him go into a coughing fit.

"Hey mister, you don't look so good..." A gentle but rough voice calls out to him as he opens one eye, the other covered by an eye patch. A deep county accent carries with the man in front of him, the cowboy's (s/c) skin gleams as the sun is right behind him making him look like an angel. Kaeya looks up and down the rider, a black mask donning his face along with a rugged hat. The rest of his outfit consists of red, black, and white, an pistol sits on top of a wonderfully made vest that looks mighty pricely.

A gloved hand snaps its fingers in front of his face, as he registered that the cowpoke jumped down and is now waving a hand in front of the dark-skinned man's face. "Howdy! Did you hear me, sir? Are you alright??" The ringing in his ears now dimming down a bit, as he shakes his head a meager 'no' as a response. Kaeya thinks that if he talked his voice would come out as barely a whisper.

A worried look flashes on the cowboy's face pacing before him, the (s/c) hand wiping sweat off his eyebrow. "I- I can't just leave a man here-" the man in dark clothes quickly spins back around to face Kaeya. "Do you have a horse? What happened? Are you dying?" He begins to nervously ramble off questions that beat his brain, blue eyes just staring at him. If Kaeya could laugh without hurting his bruised ribs then he would be dying on the floor seeing as such an intimidating man can be acting like such a softie.

"OH, I SHOULD PROBABLY GET YOU SOMETHING TO DRINK!" The man grabs a flask from his belt and holds it up to Kaeya's face, helping him drink down the last of the water. After waiting for a little, the dark-skinned man finally seems to get ahold of his voice. "Got robbed.. by a few scums and my stupid horse ran for the hills somewhere." (Y/n) nods, as he looks over to the direction where Kaeya shakily points his finger talking about the path his mount went. "Ah, I can go get 'em for ya' what does your horse look like?" (Y/n) ask, his eyes shifting back to the gruesome-looking guy in front of him. "He is an um-" A cough rattles the man, quickly moving his right arm to wrap around his ribs trying to rub the pain quickly away. "Sorry, he's a black roan arabian, he scares easily so it might be a hassle catching him though."

An overconfident smile makes its way onto the rider, as he let's out a rough chuckle. "Well, you ain't nev'a seen me and my boy in action. I can catch just 'bout anything." He walks forward and hoists his arms carefully around Kaeya holding him in a bridal position, making sure not to hurt him as he walks closer to his draft stallion. "Wait- wait what are you doing?" Kaeya speaks up quickly, his arms finding themselves around the other's neck tightly. "Well, I ain't gonna leave ya here am I?" He boosts Kaeya up onto his mount, soon hoisting himself up behind him. His arms reach around Kaeya's waist grabbing his horse's reins, his chin resting lightly over Kaeyas shoulder and arms barely laying upon the other's hips. "Alrighty bud, go!" He whips the reins, faintly tapping the edge of his boots against his percherons side, yanking his horse's head to the way Kaeya pointed to. "By the way sir, I'm (y/n) and this is my bud Gale" (Y/n) speaks up, not wanting to be riding with someone who doesn't even know his name. "Kaeya, my name is Kaeya.." A little sly smile makes its way onto Kaeya's face as he leans back onto the chest of the other, his pecks feel like plush feeling better than most pillows Kaeya ever has had.

Request are open! Also, I will continue this when I have some time and get some inspiration. Constructive criticism is welcomed :)

#kaeya alberich #kaeya x male reader #genshin #genshin x male reader #male reader #male insert #genshin imagines #genshin kaeya #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact x male reader #genshin scenarios #x male reader #male reader insert #male reader fluff #male reader fanfic

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iheartwaffless · 3 months

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Finally finished my Captain Howdie mask!

(´• ω •`)

(Might want to turn brightness up lol)

#ranfren #randals friends #captain howdie #captain howdie mask #wanted to share this on Tik Tok but I don’t really like it there

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nuagederose · 10 months

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As the Seasons Grey | Chapter Thirty-Two: Velvet Goldmine

ao3 link

That first morning of a brand new term at school proved to be a snowy one as Christine climbed out of bed and stretched her arms over her head. Through the slits in the blinds, she could see the snowflakes flooding down from the gray overcast skies. She had food in the kitchen, but nothing that she craved, however. It was a brand new school term, on top of a brand new year, and she was looking at the final hours of her twenties to boot.

Time to live a little and do something that she had been too afraid of doing whilst in the early part of the decade.

She ran a brush through her long hair, still slightly damp from her shower the night before, and then, once she tied it back up into that long luxurious ponytail at the back of her head, she got dressed in a little white sweatshirt and snug black jeans, followed by her trademark long green coat. As she tied up her boots, she thought about Alex and where the classroom was going to be in comparison to Mr. Hansen’s class: if Captain Howdy was going to participate that quarter, then she would have to think ahead. She needn’t have to work her way around her in the school corridors alone, but she knew that she would have to work things around meeting up with Alex and Eric at lunchtime and their breaks over the course of the day.

Christine stood up and smoothed down the front of her coat with both hands. She wore that same white sweatshirt underneath that Alex loved, given it fit her body like a glove. She walked on over to the mirror in her bathroom for a look into the mirror’s reflection, albeit without turning on the light.

At the same time, there was something so dangerously titillating about the whole situation. Overnight, she had become a ghost, the mystery woman in the shadows cast by the rafters of the highest most Gothic church in the heart of downtown. She lurked in the darkness with her eye on the prize, on Captain Howdy’s blood. The demon who had possessed Alex had nothing on her. Indeed, when she turned her head to the side, a dark shadow crossed her face to where it looked as though she had two faces, a blackened one with a well-lit one, as if she wore a mask.

The phantom.

She picked up the hem of her jacket and waved it about as if it was a cloak instead. She knew she was going to have to swoop in to save her own Christine at some point, especially when she couldn’t save her first Christine.

She raised her gaze over to the clock on the desk in her bedroom, and she realized she only had five minutes to head to the bus stop at eight o’clock sharp. She ducked out of there with her book bag and her keys, out to the hallway and then into the fluffy white snow banks. The last thing she wanted was to be late on her first day of school.

A cold morning warranted a warm breakfast, and she hoped that Nelly had something delicious for her in the cafeteria.

She scurried up to the bus stop right as the bus lumbered up the block for her. She got there by the skin of her teeth.

The inside of the bus was warm and smelled like lemons, as if they had just cleaned it the day before. Christine huddled down in the front seat on the left side, right behind the driver.

Though she had never really been much of an artist in her life, she had no worries about partaking in art classes for the winter. Snowy days warranted spending time with something as cozy as curling up with a pad of either drawing paper or watercolor paper.

As they crossed the bridge into the Lower East Side, she peered out the window to the cold black waters of the East River. Something in the very back of her mind told her she was crossing the River Styx, and yet she had no coins for the ferryman. At least not anymore.

She gave up her coins after Chris was killed and she had buried their memories out there on Long Island.

Within time, the bus reached the brim of the campus, where she recognized Nelly’s feathery blonde hair and Eric’s long black hair, both of which twirled in the wind there at the bus stop. Christine stepped off the bus with her hood pulled over the crown of her head.

“I was wondering where you were,” she told Eric as part of her greeting.

“Nells here called me last night,” he explained as he rested a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a long story.”

“I needed his opinion on the scrambled eggs,” Nelly filled in as they began along the shoveled sidewalk towards the school. “We started bringing in eggs for the rounds of breakfast because… you know, it’s wintertime and everyone is going to want to eat something warm and healthy and give them some good energy. I called him because it’s been a long time since I’ve made batches of eggs for people, like about ten years. Plus, nobody in the kitchen gave me that good of an opinion, either. I needed someone from the outside.”

“And how are they?” Christine asked.

“Not bad,” Eric replied with a shrug of his shoulders. “They needed salt, but I scarfed up my plate full of them.”

“Eggs and bacon, I presume?” Christine teased him.

“Nah, just eggs,” he assured her. “Eggs and a piece of toast.”

“I kind of want a Denver omelette,” Christine confessed as they reached the front lawn of the school, which had been blanketed in a thick layer of pristine pearly white snow: the front doors to the cafeteria were lined with crusty white ice crystals. Something about that made her think of herself as a snow queen with magic powers. She had never tried a Denver omelette before, but she knew it was the first step to all good things.

“Haven’t made a Denver omelette in years, longer than straight up eggs, and I have no clue if we have any bell peppers laying around, either, but I’ll try my best,” Nelly vowed with a wink flashed at her. “If nothing else, swing by my place after school and I’ll try it there for you.”

“We both get breakfast on the house,” Eric remarked as they carefully walked up the steps. Though they had been shoveled and sprinkled with the snow melt and pieces of brick, there was still that odd chance of snow on the concrete. Luckily for the three of them, they reached the front door without any trouble whatsoever, and Eric held the door for Christine and Nelly. The latter headed on over to the side door to the kitchen to prepare Christine’s omelette, while the two of them headed to the other side of the room, the usual spot where Christine congregated with Alex. She hoped that he could find the time to join them as she knew that, aside from the art classes, they had a full, hectic schedule over the next few months.

Eric smoothed his hair at the top of his head once they had taken their seats. Christine had a feeling that there was something he hid from her as well, that there was another reason as to why he had showed up at school so early. He turned his attention to her with his eyes hooded.

“I feel bad,” he confessed.

“How come?” she asked him, concerned.

“I feel like I haven’t been the best friend to you,” he said, to which she shook her head.

“Nah, you’re just not used to it is all,” she assured him. “You know, Chris went through something similar when I first met him. He was a shy boy, but once I started talking to him, he opened up to me no problem. It helps if you relax and just sort of… let go a bit. I can see you’re nervous around me, and I can assure you there’s no reason for it. I mean, you flat out confessed that you want to kiss me.”

He sighed through his nose and leaned back in his chair with his hands rested upon the heavy wooden surface.

“We did go camping upstate together,” he pointed out.

“And we’re going to California this summer, too,” she added.

“We’re going to California, yeah! I already have plenty of money tucked away, just gotta find a hotel next.”

“Are we going to have separate beds or one bed?” she asked him.

“Well, hopefully, we’ll have a room with two,” he assured her, and his voice trailed off. She noticed a slight twinkle in his eye, as if he was about to tell her a dirty little secret. She parted her lips to say something to him when Nelly emerged from the kitchen with an off-white plate in one hand and small streams of wispy steam off the top.

“Oh my,” Christine gasped as Nelly placed the plate down before her. The fluffy light yellow omelette was folded over to a perfect rectangle with little cubes of red bell peppers and pieces of chives sprinkled on top: she noticed the small cubes of ham embedded within as well and she knew that she had made a good call with the omelette.

“Holy crap, that smells divine,” Eric declared.

“Hot and fresh off the griddle,” she told Christine. “You’re lucky, too, Chris, there was only one bell pepper left in the fridge and it was just right.”

“Wow, thank you, Nelly!” Christine said as Nelly handed her a fork.

Indeed, she took her time in eating the omelette, regardless of how much time she had left before she and Eric had to go to their first classes. The eggs were light and delicate while Nelly had cooked the ham and peppers to perfection: she almost didn’t even taste the onions, which gave it a gentle crunch.

“You have Mr. Hansen first thing, right?” she asked him in between bites.

“Yup, first thing and then I have lunch and then you and I have Alex at the end of the day,” he replied. “I guess Mr. Hansen’s schedule is staggered this year, too, like his classes are longer.”

“That should be fun,” she assured him. “Is there a break in there somewhere, too?” To which he shook his head.

“Just a lunch break. I have my other two classes with him tomorrow—you know, that smells so good, like I can’t believe how good that smells.”

“Want a bite?” she offered him, and she sloughed off a piece of eggs with some bell pepper and ham mixed in. She handed him the fork, and he brought it to his mouth for a good hearty bite of it. He closed his eyes as he took the tines out.

“Oh, man,” he noted with his mouth full.

“Delicious?”

“Very much so.” He nodded his head at that, and then he rubbed his hands together. “And with that, I gotta bounce.” He climbed out of his chair and scooped up his bag from the wooden surface. “Alex’s class?”

“Alex’s class,” Christine vowed with a raise of her fork to him. Eric padded over to the front doors, and yet, Christine knew she was going to relish her time alone. She had a batch of brand new classes with new people to meet and new adventures to undertake on her own.

One thing that stood out to her with her drawing class was her teacher, Miss Guy, telling everyone that she didn’t want a class full of Picassos.

“You each have your own fingerprint, your own trademark, your own style,” the gray-haired Asian woman told them. “It’s so easy to fall into a trap, and I don’t want any of you to do that. My job is to ensure that you merely sign your work with pride and that you took the techniques I’ll teach you into account each and every time.”

“Of course,” Christine whispered to herself.

She heard the same thing next door in her watercolor class, where she learned that she had to, not only buy colored pencils for drawing but some kind of paint set on top of that.

Then came French literature at the end of the day, the classroom nestled right next door to Mr. Hansen’s class. When she strolled into the room, Alex himself was making a joke to Eric about something there at the front of the classroom.

“At least you only have to walk a few feet,” Alex scoffed. “I gotta make a mad dash from here to the parking lot every day because you know how traffic is this time of day.” He lifted his gaze and his face lit up at the sight of Christine. “Hey! There’s our girl!”

Eric turned his head for a look back at her.

“Sluggo here has something to tell you,” Alex added with a run of his fingers through his hair: the gray streak flashed out like a bolt of lightning to her.

“Oh, do you now?” Christine stood over him with her hands pressed to her hips. Eric swallowed and bowed his head in her wake. Alex straightened out the lapels of his jacket, and it was that moment, Christine wished she wore her bloodied nurse costume under her coat instead of the white sweatshirt for him.

It was one of those things she merely felt in her bones with each second.

“I just kind of… want to…” Eric sputtered, and he cleared his throat a few times.

“Yes?”

Eric lifted his head for a look at her: those deep brown eyes seemed to swallow her whole. “…kiss you down low,” he sputtered to her.

“En Français, Sluggo,” Alex chimed in right then.

Eric swallowed. Nothing could deny the twinkle in Alex’s eyes right then, either.

“Je veux t'embrasser sous la ceinture, Christine,” Eric repeated, albeit in a rather choppy accent. Christine glanced over at Alex, who then showed her his tongue.

“I don’t get it,” she admitted.

“I told him that everything sounds more erotic in French,” he explained. “And I taught him that little phrase there. I mean, to say ‘I want to kiss you’ sounds kinda dry and overly simple. But… je veux t’embrasser.” His accent sent a chill up her spine. “Doesn’t that sound sensual?”

“It does,” she remarked with a chuckle, and he stripped off his jacket and leaned into her face for a kiss hello.

“You smell like ham and eggs,” he remarked.

“Nelly made me a Denver omelette,” she replied as he walked on over to the desk and draped his jacket over the back of his chair and took his seat. “On the house, too.”

“Holy shit, really?” He raised his eyebrows and leaned forward in his chair at that.

“Yeah. It was delicious, too. Wasn’t it, Eric?”

“Yeah, it was!” he declared.

“Guess I’m going to have to hit her up with a request,” Alex said as he folded his hands over his little belly. “Also, I guess tomorrow is the last night Trans-Siberian Orchestra is performing, and… you guessed it, the two of you and dear Nelly are all invited. I told her about it over my lunch break and she just about knocked me over with a bear hug.”

“Beautiful,” Christine quipped with a chuckle and a glance about the room. “Sit anywhere again?”

“You know how we do it, my dear Strawberry Girl,” he assured her with a wink.

She took her seat next to Eric and right in front of Alex himself, and they both grinned at her.

“Baby, it’s cold outside,” Alex sang in a low voice.

“It really is,” she added, also in a low voice.

She knew that she would have to buy a book from the bookstore once class was dismissed, but luckily for her, he let the class out after ten minutes.

“Just because I know some of us—” He glanced down to Christine and Eric before him. “—have buses to catch and what have you, and the bookstore is—you know.”

“Clear across campus,” a boy behind Christine declared.

“Exactly! Plus, we got all this snow on the ground. It’d be unreasonable on my part.”

While the class behind her chattered amongst themselves, Alex leaned over her desk to her.

“I hate to do this to you,” he said in a low voice. “But… she’s actually here right now, right next door here, and she’ll be out of class like any minute now, and she’s going to momentarily poke her head in here, so if I seem to act rather… I want to say ‘cold’ towards you and Eric all term, you’ll know why. I just… don’t really want her to know about the two of you, especially you. I’m really only going to act like this towards you just to protect you.” He nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Christine assured him with a nod.

“Plus, I really hate to have you walk all the way over to the bookstore just to buy a heavy as hell textbook that you’re only going to use once. Let me go over there with you and him and help you out with it.”

“I’d love that,” she said with a smile.

How she wished the Sundaes were there right at that moment. Something told her that they would know what to do about her in the room next door.

She heard the door out there swing open and everyone filed out of that room. Alex flashed her a wink and backed away from her.

Christine bowed her head as if she was looking over the syllabus rather than looking at anything else, even though she glazed over the words on the page. The footsteps out there, with one that walked as though ready to take her out to the shadows. She couldn’t help but picture her, with her handbag slung over her shoulder and her frilly dress and her posture and gait ever so perfect. It was those moments in which Christine couldn’t help but think back to the days in which she couldn’t bear to eat, when she thought she was taking up far too much space with her small figure and the sight of someone whom she knew in her heart was far better-looking than her; she swallowed at the realization that she knew Alex found Captain Howdy far more attractive than her and for as long as he did as well.

She closed her eyes and pictured him next to her instead. If only she could find a way to stop that wedding.

If only.

#as the seasons grey #as the seasons grey fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #chapter 31 #fanfic with art #traditional art #colored pencil #oc art #alex skolnick #eric peterson #trans-siberian orchestra #testament #testament band #artists on tumblr #badgalnirvhannahart #Spotify

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churchyardgrim · 2 years

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THE ENEMY WITHIN by Christie Golden

oh god it’s been so long BUT WE’RE BACK FOLKS

u know who is also back? Christie Golden! and she follows me on twitter oh god run

so this one's not the most fun book of the bunch, a bit serious and plodding, but Golden's writing has improved much since her last two Ravenloft books, and it kept me interested til the end

so we open with government. Most Noble Goodboy Sir Tristan Hiregaard is handed a royal brat of a teenager to supervise, on account of the king having died of plot disease. his own son, Ivaar, is one of those rich kid revolutionaries who care just so much about the plight of the downtrodden, and who haven't quite figured out that a purging of the bourgeoisie would take their own heads off too. his best friend is captain of the guard, and he is by all accounts a tirelessly fair statesman.

the book actually makes me like the guy, which. that's not fair, Ms. Golden. i've seen the cover art, you and i both know what's coming!

anyway what's coming is through a series of realistically stupid events, our boy Triscuit gets Vistani Cursed for something that wasn't his fault, and, totally coincidentally, some strange horrible murders start happening!

we've got a bit of Jack the Ripper here, a killer targeting sex workers and lower class women in gory ways and leaving badly-spelled messages on walls, that sort of thing

Tristan, being the protagonist, shows his Goodboy nature by being horrified and vowing to Find The Killer At All Costs

meanwhile, his kid has an unexpected visitor at this week's meeting of the Nova Vaasan Young Gentleman's Revolutionary Club, which goes something like this:

"hello young sirs, have you heard the good word of our lord and savior Generic Cat God?"

"why no, mysterious masked stranger, we have not."

"you have now! here have some kittens"

cats are a running theme, apparently; our mysterious masked stranger is Malken, supernaturally charismatic and promising to help better the downtrodden of the country through temple-sponsored orphanages and soup kitchens and a free cat to every new convert, and boy howdy is Ivaar wrapped around this guy's finger

but Tristan doesn't have time to talk to his son, or to worry about the new scientologists in town; he's got a MURDER to SOLVE

he does some boring detective work, investigates a Horse Racket, blah blahhhhh blah can we move on now

i'm just saying, Sam Vimes would have had this shit wrapped up within 72 sleepless hours, and he would have been funny about it

anyway Malken, shockingly, is not as benevolent as his silver tongue might suggest to impressionable young noblemen, and the cat god temple is literally the biggest front for organized crime the world's ever seen. dude's been alive for like a month at this point and he's already tied himself up in every single business in Nova Vaasa. he's like if Two Face was an actual italian mobster, it's kinda impressive. Tristan is rapidly running out of allies as his sexy other half steals all his friends with his sexy sexy crimes and murders.

at about the two-thirds mark, Triscuit finally cottons on to the same thing the reader knew from the cover art; which is, Tristan me boy look in a goddamn mirror

yes, that fun Vistani curse got u possessed! sort of. it's not quite a Jeckyl n Hyde situation, Malken isn't literally Tristan's secret inner desires manifesting themselves. he's literally a different person who occasionally gains occupancy over Tristan's body, physically changing it in the process

which is inconvenient! how are u supposed to fight a guy who shares ur own body?

Tristan, being also a wizard of some minor skill, does the dumbass protagonist thing of isolating himself further and not telling anyone ever about this revelation or what he plans to do about it. i can foresee no repercussions for this whatsoever.

i will say that it's a testament to Golden's writing skill that even in the home stretch here the book still manages to give you hope that this might have a happy ending

but god, nope, it is 100% a tragedy. the good kind, where you can see the way the bad decisions snowball from a mile off and it still hurts like fuck when Consequences happen. it's cathartic.

Tristan does some graverobbing for spell components, as one does, and when his best friend guard captain guy tries to stage an intervention like "hey dude you've been working a lot of late nights, and the murders keep piling up, and i've kinda noticed that the killer's handwriting kinda looks exactly like yours just with worse spelling and written with the left hand, are u good?" Tristan does the totally sane thing of accusing him of working with Malken and cracking his skull like an egg

which ow, god, i liked that guy actually

our climax is a tasty tasty mirrorverse boss fight! with Tristan having lost or sacrificed pretty much everything for a chance to end Malken's reign of terror, and Malken taunting him from reflections with philosophical inevitabilities

like goddamn, "I am all that keeps you good" what a line huh

in the end, they settle into equilibrium; batman and joker in one. Malken insists that they need each other, that without the necessary evil personified in another discrete entity, Tristan himself will slide into depravity. there's something to be said here about how heroes necessitate villains; a villain without a hero is successful, but a hero without a villain is merely useless

so they balance each other, though the real loser here is Nova Vaasa itself, being now entirely under the thumb of a sadistic crime lord. in other books (and game modules) it's a wasteland of grassy plains, haunted by beast-men, so perhaps that is the place's ultimate future within the mists. there are some continuity errors regarding Tristan's backstory between this book and the other materials though, so it might be worth treating as just a standalone story.

it's worth a read if you're after a supernatural mystery thriller! the writing is very good, if a bit plodding at times, and if you let yourself feel for the characters it does hurt so good when the genre-required bad things happen to them. i'm almost sad we won't see more of Golden's work in this series, but apparently she's done a metric fuckton of warcraft and star wars novels, so if you're so inclined there's plenty more where these came from

#church's ravenloft reviews #good lord its been a while huh #I GOT DISTRACTED AGAIN and Tapestry of Dark Souls was so depressing and joyless that i had to stop for a while hghdf #not gonna review that one bc it just wouldn't be funny #but next up is a fun one!#ur gonna like it :)

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