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mlmxreader · 1 month

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For I Have Sinned | Dean Winchester x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Hi can I request “Nothing, just… you look really good right now” with dean please ❞

: ̗̀➛ You get a little bit hot under the collar seeing Dean in a particular outfit.

: ̗̀➛ heavy sexual referencing & innuendo, swearing

↳ MINORS DNI

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Admittedly, it was very rare for you and the Winchesters to ever really cross paths accidentally; whenever you worked a job together it was done so on purpose, and often arranged in advance so that you knew where to stay and what was going on.

But this time was different, as a small rural village in pretty much nowhere had been plagued with stories of a werewolf, and you didn’t have time to contact the Winchesters about it before they were bursting into your motel room together dressed as priests.

It made you want to laugh, really, but when they started asking about work, you could only shake your head as you held up your palms.

“Boys, boys!” You shouted, trying not to grin. “Settle down already, I’ve only just got here, alright?”

Carefully, Dean sat on your bed as he folded his arms across his chest; Sam leaned against the wall mimicking his brother’s posture, which made you sigh as you gently tapped your thighs. Unable to keep your eyes off of Dean as you swallowed thickly.

“So, what’d you know?” Dean asked, almost impatient as he raised his brows and stared directly at you.

You shook your head, chewing at the inside of your lip. “Honestly? Pretty much fuck all at this point. You?”

“About the same,” Dean agreed with a curt nod, his gaze dropping to your mouth for a moment before he awkwardly cleared his throat. “Sammy? Could you, erm, could you go grab somethin’ to eat while we talk?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam said slowly, looking between you and Dean for a moment before leaving.

“Quit lookin’ at my mouth,” Dean told him, resting his forearm on his knee and glaring at you. “Now ain’t the time.”

You sighed as you chewed at the inside of your mouth. “Oh, so it’s my fault that you decided to dress up as the only attractive priest on the planet?”

He shrugged. “What about that guy, erm… Andrew whatever?”

“He’s not attractive,” you scoffed. “But seriously, it’s just nothing, just… you look really good right now and, yeah! It’s a little bit distracting!”

Dean laughed softly as he shook his head fondly; he could have said the same about you with your old band t-shirt and matching hoodie, camouflage cargo trousers and beaten up brown boots.

He really could have said the same about you, given how you kept biting your fucking lip and how you were sat with your legs spread; he hardly growled as he swiped his hand down his face, swallowing thickly.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, his breath hitching in his throat as he tried - in vain - to take his eyes away from your mouth for even just a quick moment. He narrowed his eyes slightly, thinking about the last time you were in a motel together alone.

He almost gave up, until you shifted in your seat and grunted under your breath - it almost immediately drew his attention directly to you.

“Dean!” You almost shouted, making him blink quickly before shaking his head in shock. “Let me guess - suddenly you’re distracted, too, right?”

He nodded slowly, clearing his throat awkwardly as he rubbed his mouth. “Yeah, erm… yeah. Sorry.”

You shook your head, taking in a deep breath as you tried to steady and steel your nerves. “So what the fuck do we do? We can’t… how the fuck are we meant to go hunting if we can’t even sit in a room together?”

“I can get changed,” he murmured. “Dump the whole Father Brodén schtick and find something else. Maybe, erm… I think I got an Agent Taylor or somethin’ stashed away somewhere, I don’t-”

“No,” you said softly, quietly. “No, you don’t need to do that - I’ll, I’ll sit this one out, do base research from here.”

Dean shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “No, I can’t let you do that. You were here first, this is your hunt.”

“Dean,” you sighed. “We can’t do shit if we’re like this. You know that, and I know that.”

“So what do we do?” He asked, furrowing his brows.

“Well, Sam’s out,” you mused, pursing your lips for a moment. “I’m sure we could, erm, y’know… lock the door, keep the window shut and erm… let loose, don’t you think?”

Dean seemed to consider it, swallowing thickly as he shifted where he sat for a moment. “Conflict of interest.”

“Hmm?” You furrowed your brows as you frowned.

“There’s you and me,” he started, “we don’t see each other often, you know the life - think we can even work together if we’re… lettin’ loose all the time?”

You shrugged, clasping your hands together between your legs as you swallowed thickly. “I’m willing to give it a shot, are you?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “I would be… c’mere a sec, though.”

You got up, your legs a little shaky as you walked over to him, surprised when he pulled you down onto his lap, licking his lips and grinning; you put your hands on his shoulders, eyeing up the white collar around his neck for a moment.

“You should dress as a priest more,” you breathed out, taking a moment to stare at his lips.

Dean nodded, shifting his hips so that you were right on him. “Noted. You should wear that tight shirt more.”

You squeezed his shoulders a little, breath hitching in your throat. “Noted.”

You couldn’t help it, one hand going to his hair and the other at the nape of his neck as you caught him in a quick kiss; immediately, Dean kissed back, grunting softly when you tugged at his hair gently to pull him closer.

The kiss became open mouthed and heavy, making you squirm a little when you pulled away, looking at how shiny and plump his lips were for a moment.

“Dean…”

“I’m gonna take my shoes off,” he whispered. “And then I’m gonna lie down - you gonna join me?”

“Well, fuck it” you breathed out, laughing for a second. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

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sirthisisa-wendys · 1 year

Note

Hello!! I’m here to request a Shion x fem!reader!! Nsfw please 😜

Idk if I can give a plot and if I can’t just ignore this:

Shion has a shy s/o so he immediately thinks she’s innocent and submissive in bed. Little did he know, she’s more confident than him and she’s a pretty ruthless dom. He ends up being the one to be edged and then overstimulated

SUB SHION FOR THE WIN! (So many people peg him as a sub, and it's just getting to me lol)

Pray: Shion Madarame x Fem!Reader

wc: 789

tw: smut

masterlist

"You think you can take it?" Shion chuckles, running his hands up your sides. "I'm pretty fierce in bed."

"Oh?" You push his hands away while giggling, lying underneath him and trying to keep your cool. "Sure, 'Mad Dog.'" You run your fingers over his tattoo, lacing them into his hair before your lips connect. Shion is such a boy toy; this is a fact every girl in Tokyo knows. But despite this, you're enthralled by his demeanor.

"I'll break you," Shion whispers between kisses, his lashes fluttering closed. "If I'm not careful, that is."

"I would like to see you try," you hum, tugging his pants down with skilled fingers.

It all happens so fast, Shion reasons, his arm slung over his face. This isn't how I planned for things to turn out.

You're sucking him off, sure. But he'd long desired to be balls deep inside of you. Not having your mouth--

"Ah!" Shion hisses, his hips jerking up sharply as you transfer his cock from your warm mouth to your hand. If the guys ever heard of this, he'd be done for. "Please." Shion's breath comes out as a pained whimper, and he tugs on the tie holding his arms captive.

"Don't beg," you reply, your eyes flicking up to look at him. "Good boys don't need to beg."

"Let me cum."

"No." Shion deflates but remains harder than ever. He'd never been denied an orgasm before, but this... He rocks his hips forward once or twice, trying to ride out some sort of high on his own terms. But you ease up your hand, returning your mouth to its proper place. But you don't move at all. You just play with his tip, your tongue caressing the slit of his cockhead slowly.

Shion's been beaten up hundreds of times. Each time had been a defeat worth suffering for, but this? This is torture! One he didn't even bargain for!

"Baby," Shion whines. "Baby, I wanna cum..."

"Be good," you reply shortly, flicking his cock. He gasps - more out of shock than pain - and aches his back, begging you to keep stroking and sucking his veiny dick. Women have worshipped it before; what made you any different?

"They call you a one-pump chump." Shion flinches at the nickname. "I told them that wasn't true. I suppose I need to train you, hm?"

"Train me?" Images of boot camp flash before Shion's eyes. "Are you going to..." He swallows hard. "Are you going to send me off somewhere?"

"Why would I do that when I can train you right now?" You take his cock in your blessed hand once more. "You can show them you can last for a long time, can't you, big boy?"

"Yes!" Shion is rewarded with more strokes, bringing him close to the edge. "Yes, I can do it."

"That's what I thought," you reply sweetly, pursing your lips and kissing his tip. "I knew you could."

Shion reckons it's been eons before he can feel the sensation of an orgasm crest again. He instinctively clenches his abdominal muscles, prepping for an earth-shattering release, but you stop again, letting go of his penis.

"Can't cum yet... it's only been twenty minutes." A tear tracks down Shion's face as he feels his penis soften a bit. But then you do it repeatedly, pulling your skirt up and fingering yourself while licking him back to attention. The sounds of your fingers playing in your cunt make him hard again. Shion imagines you climbing over him and riding him to completion while he's tied down to the bed, your pretty ass bouncing up and down without mercy.

The thought brings him to the edge one more, and he tightens up, but you don't stop.

"You want to cum in my mouth or in my pussy?" you wonder, and Shion is rattled from his trance-like state.

"Pussy," he rasps, and you climb on top of him, just like in his daydream. When you slip over his cock, Shion almost shouts and jumps out of his skin. Goosebumps roll over his flesh, and he instantly anchors himself deep inside you. You don't even have to move as he ruts into you on instinct like a bitch in heat.

It's ungodly how hard he comes, but Shion feels prayers slip from his lips as he spills his seed into you, his mind shutting down and going on auto-pilot as he tries to find himself in the hollow void of pleasure. He also vaguely hears you climaxing, sending him deeper into the void.

I don't care if I never stop cumming, he thinks, all alone in the darkness of his own creation. This shit is addicting.

#shion madarame x reader #shion madarame smut #shion madarame #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut

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igotanidea · 1 year

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Surprise : Matt Murdock imagine

asked by @v4leoftears as a part of my celebration

A/N: it;s been a while since I wrote for Matt, and damn! It's nice to get back to that :D, words in italics are the the references to the past, at first, and Matt;s thoughs, later.

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„Suprise!”

Matt could barely do as little as open the door to his place when Karen, Foggy and Y/N jumped out of different furniture and started happily screaming. They have been planning this little birthday party for him for a while now. Even though Y/N was not sure about hiding in the Daredevil’s apartment, her friends convinced her to do so.

“Come on! It’s gonna be fun!” Foggy said

“Unless he goes full vigilante mode and kills us all in a blink of an eye. You do realize he can hear people heartbeats, right? What do you think would be his first reaction upon sensing three of those in his flat?” she scoffed

“You are too modest, my friend. Everyone knows Matt can tell your heart from everyone else’s. It just beats differently, cause he is soooo in love with you” Nelson grinned at poor, blushing girl.

“Stop it , Franklin!”

“Don’t be me mad at me…..”

“I'm not mad!”

“Last time someone used my real name was probably in middle school, so yes, I can tell you are.”

“We can use some nice scent to calm him down” Karen suggested “I don’t think he would become suspicious if he smells the freshly baked cake or something like this. Or maybe we can get some of his favorite takeout?”

“Nah.” Y/N shook her head “it’s his birthday. We are not taking take-out. If anything I am going to prepare something nice from the scratch.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you agreed to this. I was truly worrying you were going to leave us alone with all the preparations.”

“When did I agree…..?” Y/N trailed, but quickly realized how tricked she was “oh, damn…..”

The three friends had their hands full for the last couple days. The hardest task was probably pretending that they had no clue Matt’s birthday were coming. Even though he was throwing hints left and right.

“I think I should replace my hoodie soon, it seems like it is tearing.” He said one day.

“Really? I know a nice shop with good men’s clothes so I can take you there.” Y/N replied not even looking up from her documents

“I’m running low on medical supplies” he whined on the other

“too many dangerous adventures lately?” Foggy laughed “maybe the devil needs retirement.”

“I might be taking some time off next Thursday., That’s a special date for me” was probably the most suggestive.

“All right. I’ll write it down so no one forgets and won’t take any clients of yours then.” Karen smiled brightly not catching the bait.

So all that left Matt in sad belief that no one of his friends remembered and made him just a bit more nostalgic than usual. He spoke less and tried to bury himself in the work. The plan was working just perfectly.

The only thing left to do was performing some magic so the three of them could leave the office early on that big day, without making Matt suspicious. Now that, that would be a challenge, no doubts. He was just too… careful and observant.

But during all those times of being friends with him, Foggy, Karen and Y/n got sneaky and creative as well. Maybe even more than Matt, since, after all, they were the ones who had to keep his identity a secret and come up with excuses for him being late or bruised or disheveled.

So when the next Thursday finally came, miraculously Y/N got sick, Karen found a lead of a new investigation and Foggy had a family emergency. As a result Matt was left alone in the office, sulking, putting on his characteristic sad wet cat expression and getting lost in thoughts. Somewhere around six he gave up completely and with a deep sigh left the office heading straight towards his apartment. Apparently the only thing he could hope for (even on his b-day) was getting into gear and getting beaten up.

Yeah, well. If only he had more faith in his friends.

“SURPRISE!”

“What…..?” his surprised gaze landed somewhere above Y/N’s head, all his posture asking for any kind of explanation. “What…..?”

“Oh, you silly one!” Y/N rushed towards him, enveloping him a tight hug in which he immediately got lost “Please tell me, you did not actually think we forgot about your special day?”

“I….. I kinda did…..”

“You are a man of a little faith, my friend” Foggy laughed, reaching for the paper hat and putting it on Matt’s head. “We’re gonna party like we did in college.” he added, handing him a bunch of party baloons in different shapes and sizes.

“We weren’t exactly party animals, Foggy.”

“Stop embarrassing us in front of the girls, Murdock!”

“If only that were the only thing that you can get ashamed of” Y/N rolled her eyes and grabbed Matt’s hand leading him inside “stop standing in the threshold birthday boy. There’s more than just some gadgets which were actually Foggy's ideas. ”

“Now you got me worried. I seriously hope you did not set fire in my apartment”

“Idiot!” Y/N smacked his head playfully “use some of your supersenses! Do you smell burnt?”

“Not really.” He smiled lightly “it’s actually pretty nice scent. What did you make?”

“Something special.” Karen grinned, getting the food out the oven “we figured you could actually use some home-cooked meal, instead of take-out again.”

“You shouldn’t have…..”

“Nonsense.” Foggy muttered.

“You, Nelson, have nothing to say in the matter! We made it all from scratch, you just came for the done!”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I brought the presents! That was some heavy lifting”

“Guys!” Karen interrupted Y/N and Foggy’s banter “stop fighting, we should focus on the man of the hour.”

“No, please.” Matt whispered “laugh and bicker all you want. I haven’t had so much laugh and fun in here for a while. It’s just …. nice. Thank you all.”

“Don’t thank us, yet. At least not before tasting and opening the gift.”

“You really shouldn’t have…..”

“Mattie….” Y/N took a step towards him “listen to me” she grabbed his face in her hands and looked him straight into the eyes “you. deserve it. All right? Nod If you understand.” He nodded obediently “don’t you ever think differently, love.”

“Ok, you two lovebirds, come sit and let us eat! I’m hungry!”

“You are always hungry, Foggy!”

“I’m a busy, important man! I’m entitled to be hungry. Can I start now?”

“ NO!” Karen and Y/N yelled in unison

“WHY?!”

“Not before a birthday cake!”

“There’s a birthday cake?” Matt raised his happy, gazeless eyes onto his friends “really?”

“Of course. What’s a b-day party without a cake? Now, here.” The girls put the dessert onto the table and lighted the candles.

“We weren’t sure how old you were, you ancient one….” Foggy joked

“We were actually surprised you lived this long…..” Karen added

“So this is just symbolic number.” Y/N ended the sentence “But the wish is yours to make.”

“I don’t…..”

“Sh! You don’t have to say it outloud. Just think it. It’s all right.”

“All right.” Matt whispered, his eyes glimming a bit as he leaned over the candles and blew them off in the first try.

“Please, I just want them to stay with me like this. I don’t want to be alone ever again”. He though

“Yes!” his friends clapped happily “you made it, it’s gonna come true! Happy birthday, Matt!"

It already did. He closed his eyes, trying to process all those happy feelings bubbling inside him. Thank you, lord. I don’t deserve any of this.

“Finally! Can I eat now?!”

Matthew Murdock never believed he could be happy. He was used to constant pain, fear, guilt and regret. The feeling on carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders all alone. He was a martyr, who put himself on the cross and forgot how to get down from it. And now? Now all that emptiness that was his best friend, was extruded by laughing, joy and that warming presence of his favorite people – friends and the love of his life. They really were here. Despite everything he did, what he put them thought, they never stopped believing in him, never left him. God, he truly did not deserve them. Their voices, jokes and bantering was exactly what he needed. A reminder that no matter what he was not alone. He smiled lightly, digging into the food. Made just for him. To celebrate him. All the effort they put into that, all the planning and preparations. It was just too much to handle and he started to shake, almost unnoticeably by anyone.

Anyone except Y/N, who sat the closest to him.

“Matty?” she reassuringly put a hand on his shoulder throwing him off his reverie “Are you all right?”

“I’m just…. I need a second all right?” he stood up from the table and exit the room, followed by his friends’ surprised gazes. Y/N didn’t even need to think twice when she walked right after him towards the bedroom. Her man was just sitting on the bed, sobbing lightly and that made her blood freeze in her veins.

“Matty?” in a blink of an eye she was by his side, cradling his head and taking all the mixed-up emotions filling him whole “what happened, love? Sh.” She caressed his cheek lovingly “it’s all good. Tell me. I can’t let you go through a mental breakdown tonight. And well, ever. But especially tonight. Tell me, Matt.”

“You’re just all so good to me.” He whispered, hiding face in the crook of her neck “I still can’t process that…”

“Process what, silly? That we love you? That we care about you? That we only want what best for you? Even if sometimes requires tough love?”

“Yes.” He confessed and his confession made her tighten the grip on him

“Good thing we can always remind you.” she smiled and kissed the top of his head

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Of course. I told you. You deserve it. You are a good person, Matthew Murdock. Stubborn like hell and individualistic, for sure, but deep down, nothing but good.”

‘Can we stay here for a while?” he asked just wanting to be with her until he got back his composure.

“I think….” She trailed, but sudden yelling from the dining room cut her off.

“Are you two gonna come out so Matt can open the presents?!”

“WHO’S BIRTHDAY IS IT, FOGGY?!” Y/N yelled back “WHY DO YOU FEEL THE URGE TO TELL PEOPLE WHAT TO DO IN WHAT ORDER?!”

All Foggy did in response was a happy laugh.

“something tells me he's getting another kind of present there!”

“Shut up, Franklin!” she couldn’t help but blush a bit “what do you say, jubiliarian, shall we get back?”

“Only if you give me your present later…” he smirked and kissed her cheek.

“We’ll see about that…..”

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thedreamcrosser · 9 months

Text

Automatic Heritage Chapter 9: Separation

Chapter index: • ch 1 • ch 2 • ch 3 • ch 4 • ch 5 • ch 6 • ch 7 • ch 8 •

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Two screens stared back at each other, the greener one flickering a bit, trying to check if her optics were fooling her. After a long time, she took some steps forward. “Cyan, is that you?”

A weak smile flickered back as the blue-screened bot chuckled and shrugged; the pain kept her from moving much as she leaned against Whitney. “Who else? I told you I would come back.” Beryl's eyes welled as she closed the distance and embraced her twin sister. Only Cyan's detriment of pain made Beryl ease up on her embrace.

“Careful, careful, OW! I have scratches that need fixing.”

Beryl art by @arcanedragoness

“I'm sorry.” Beryl's voice rose in pitch. “I got too ambitious; I ruined your birthday.”

Cyan silently thanked the creators that it was impossible to cry actual water-based tears; otherwise, the hug would have stung more. She pushed the pain aside, wanting to make her twin's pain a priority. “We both made the decision Beryl. It was about time you pushed me to find something new.”

Beryl lifted her chin from her sister's shoulder. “You found something?”

“Those numbers did lead somewhere?” Beryl's husband interjected.

Cyan untangled herself from her sister's embrace as another bot approached. Benzo made no hesitation. “Dr. Mike is on his way, tools and everything. Do you want me to pack your bags?”

Her screen dimmed. “No, it's not like there is anything to pack.” She nodded to her beaten and torn backpack behind her. “Besides, got these.”

Sweat marks emoted on the scruffier bots screen. “Oh yeah, your apartment is infested…”

Wood clinking on the ground nearby brought everyone's attention toward the elevator. The Guardian stood with a grocery bag of items extended in his hand. “That is quite alright; we have already packed some items for you.”

Cyan could make out the items in it by silhouette alone. There were two cans of spray paint, some brushes, and a rectangle brick-like device. “My tablet?” she asked, taking the bag.

The Guardian tipped his hat. “I had given myself time to grab something when the Zurks attacked; I knew one of my favorite students would have been heartbroken if she had just lost her new prize.”

Blush lines glowed on Cyan's face. “Sifu, you are too kind.”

“And you are barely walking!”

Everyone turned to see the surgeon's approach. He was barking orders when he came closer. “Whitney, pick her up and place her on the lawn chair I have set up near the elevator. Those sentinels are giving me the creeps; best to show them that Cyan is not lollygagging.”

“You got it, boss.” Whitney scooped his sister-in-law up and hustled to the elevator without hesitation, Dr. Mike in tow. Beryl followed the two, trying to speak up over Cyan's detestments of needing to be carried.

“Wait, what are we talking about here? What’s going on?”

Her husband turned around, breaking his stride briefly. “The elevator is coming down.”

“And I need to get on it.”

The group did a double take on Cyan's response, exclaiming “WHAT?!” all at once. The dark blue-screened bot's only response was to roll her eyes as she let herself continue to be carried to the lawn chair. Settling down in it she sighed. “Where do I even begin? I do know that someone in a place called Midtown wants me to work for them.”

“What is a Midtown?” Beryl asked with a question mark screen.

“Town, my love. Like what we live in now.” Whitney corrected her.

She dident get the idea. “But we live in the slums?”

Just as the doctor contemplated helping with Beryl's word issue, a voice seethed from afar. Clementine was marching toward the elevator, and she did not seem happy. Momo was right behind her, his face showing a different form of unhappiness, more nervous than her rage.

Sitting up stiffly in her chair she mustered her strength and did her best to diffuse the situation. “Clementine! Momo! I’m alive!”

Momo had beads of sweat now. "Oh, thank the ancestors! We worked..."

"My team was out looking for you and in that short time you somehow got in contact with the upstairs?"

The nervous bot was now looking at Clementine, who interrupted him. He began to reassure her. "I got it recorded; you technically didn't miss a thing."

A blush appeared on Cyan's screen, forcing her to look embarrassed. Taking a moment to hide her emotions from what she felt was her worst moment of being, she looked back up to the outsider.

“W-well, not exactly,” she stammered, “it was more of a ‘they found me’ situation.”

"So there are more companions up there?" Clementine asked.

Momo stammered and stumbled in front of the two. "The lady did say that she had a team that she wanted Cyan to join. So it makes sense that there are more..."

More voices began to blend in as companions started to crowd the area. The group became surrounded by curious bystanders and bots concerned with Cyan's condition. All of this attention vanished as the rumble of the elevator became louder. A rusty hand rested on the orange fembot through all of the commotion, greeting her with a smile. “Clementine! I heard the news! Congratulations!”

She spun to see Zbalthizar. “Where is Doc? Did he hear anything on his end?”

Eyes became wide open at this statement. “Did he not tell you? He is experimenting…”

A loud clang interrupted the whole crowd. The elevator had finished its descent to a rusty stop while the courtyard became unbearably still. Everyone glanced at each other and the ominous object while some bots hid and a few more dared to step forward. Beryl instinctively hid behind her husband. “Whitney, what do we do?”

He did not say a word as he took his hockey stick and stood guard, waiting. The air felt tense as the sentinels who guarded the front of the elevator came to hover to its sides, facing each other. By the time someone decided to inch a step forward the door lifted.

And three ominous lenses walked forward.

The whole crowd watched when two of the new companions with security cameras for heads stepped forward from one in the middle. Both were dressed in uniform, while the middle wore a pinstripe vest. They scanned the crowd.

Beryl looked to Whitney. “Are they?...”

“Peacekeepers…” He replied, “I haven't seen them in decades.”

“What is a Peacekeeper?” Beryl heard someone whisper.

“Is she here? Or did she die?”

Everyone just stared when the vested peacekeeper spoke. He became more irritated, took out a cigarette, lit it, then jammed it into a crack in his head. “Well?”

The silence was too much. Cyan awkwardly got up from her position on the lawn chair, almost tripping on herself from the sense of urgency. “I-I’m here, sir! We are just finishing up some things. We had an unexpected uh…”

“I know what happened!” He spat. “For bot's sake, spare me the details.” He swiveled around and waved her to the elevator. “Someone thinks you are valuable. An interesting take, seeing you come from this hell hole.” The fans in his head puffed out smoke. “Get in before I change my mind.”

A new feeling burned through her chest. This time, Cyan knew it was not Zurk wounds. She turned to her family and friends and found that the Guardian had already slipped a plastic shopping bag into her hand. “You will be missed, my student.” his hollow voice was low. “Take all that you have, and all that you know, and build something beautiful from it.”

“That is if you take care of yourself!” Mike got up from his tool chest. “If you don’t find a doctor while up there…”

Cyan lifted her hand and held him back with a press on his chest. “Don’t you worry your head off. I'm standing, aren't I? Plus, you taught me how to solder. I will be fine.”

The vested one was leaning on the inside of the elevator now. “Pick it up! I don’t have all day! Jesus Christ!”

“Watch your mouth, buddy.” Whitney spat.

“I ain’t your buddy, pal.” He spat back.

Cyan looked between the two bickering robots and then up at the elevator shaft. It seemed to have grown longer the last she looked. The crowd of watching companions behind her all watched her with familiar faces. She wondered to herself if she should have spent more time with them.

“Hey.”

The soft voice with a guiding hand pulled her into her sister's view. Cyan knew Beryl was the one she was going to miss the most. Her shoulders slumped as she gazed at her screen. “I'm sorry for not making time for you. I know I have been a bit distant as of late.”

Beryl smiled and held her twin sister’s hand. “Don’t worry about distance. We got some authentic birthday time together, didn't we?”

Cyan's face blurred. “Oh Beryl, always on the bright side.” She wrapped her twin in the tightest embrace she could muster. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

Her sister felt her sorrow grow in shakes and couldn't help her tears. “Me, too Cy.” She warbled “You are going to do great. You know that? Don’t doubt yourself for a minute while you are up there.”

Untangling, hands were held and let go. Nothing was said, while the meaning was understood. With a final look, Cyan turned towards the elevator. Whitney chuckled before she took a step forward. “What, I don’t get a hug?” He asked.

Cyan pulled him in without hesitation. “Come here, you doofus.”

The vested stranger gave a huff. “Come on, let's GO!”

Whitney gave him a thin-lined glare, promptly turned Cyan around by the shoulders, and whispered into her monitor. “Kill him with kindness for me.”

She leaned towards his pats on her shoulder and snickered. “Always.” Before she could take a step forward a blur of orange and brown strode forward. The peacemakers were quick to respond, snapping their batons into extension. “Stop! You are not permitted to enter!”

Clementine jammed a digit into one of the peacemaker's lenses. “You will bring me up on this elevator whether you like it; or not! I live in this city and I have a right to leave it.”

“Clementine, this is not the way to do this.” Guardian scolded, but the leader of the Outsiders ignored his warnings and stepped inside the elevator. A brutal hit into her gut doubled her over onto the floor, and the other peacemaker kicked her away from the entrance.

The leader took some heavy steps forward. “If any one of you gets the same idea the same thing will be done to you!” He barked, pointing to Clementine on the ground. She in turn gave him a dirty look. Nobody dared make the challenge as he gave the crowd a stare-down. “Come on blue, let's go.”

It took a moment for Cyan to realize that he meant her, and she hustled in to avoid any more scolding. As soon as she was in with the Peacemakers the gate was closed behind her, and a big red button was pressed. She watched her home one last time as she ascended to her new one. The slums below all turned screens to follow.

“There she goes…” Beryl's voice was almost delicate. “Off to her new…” She interrupted her thought process as her eyes became wide and ran to the front of the crowd, now shouting. “Wait! Cyan! I forgot to tell you! I got the upgrade!!”

Only dark blue eyes could be barely be seen as Cyan called back. “What?!”

Beryl huffed as she turned her volume up. “We found a pregnancy upgrade!”

“I still can’t hear you!”

“ I AM GOING TO BE A MOM aw screw it there is no way she can hear me now.” Beryl swiveled around, giving a huff as she turned her back to the empty elevator floor and gave a pout. Her gaze into space wavered as she realized that everyone around her beamed faces of genuine surprise.

Her husband was the brightest out of all of them, accompanied by the goofiest grin a companion could emote and silly dance. Nervously laughing she began to hide behind her poncho. “Oh… I am never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

I did it...

Fatigue hit me hard. They were right. Becoming a mom is exhausting.

But I got my mojo back, and that is what matters. I could not get it edited by my husband this time, but I feel I did a good job with what I could this time.

Criticism is encouraged.

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katatonicimpression · 1 month

Text

So, this web series has so far been one long storyline by Derek Landy (now, officially on the shit list), with a few different artists: Marcio Fiorito, Phillip Sevy & Davide Tinto. The colourists were Erick Arciniega at first, and then Fer Sifuentes-Sujo took over. The final chunk of this series is essentially alternating between Fiorito and Tinto.

So, lets talk about the art first.

You would not have guessed that the colourist was the same each week, given how Fiorito's Wanda looked a helluva lot whiter than Tinto's.

Honestly Fiorito's art was just not great. Sorry but it had a lot of pretty rough moments:

Although a few nicer bits here and there. I liked this Sam, for example:

Honestly it feels like it was produced under rushed circumstances.

I actually made an edit of Sevy's Wanda, and yeah I think he did better than the other two.

But, by far the funniest part of the whole thing is how Fiorito would draw Sam clean shaven (which is, imo, correct for 616 Sam) and Tinto would draw him with a beard. And not even a good beard. So, Sam would be starting a conversation with no beard and ending it with one. Staggering. How does this happen? I'd like to imagine that both artists knew this was a thing but were each too stubborn to change.

The Plot:

I don't care it was fine whatever. Purple space aliens.

The Sam:

Early on in this saga, Sam gets the shit beaten out of him by one of the extra tough aliens (a Fear Teacher). This goes on for a really long time. Seriously, you're just scrolling and scrolling for pages watching him get brutalised.

Now, this is pretty bad. In general, I actually have a fairly high tolerance for violence in fiction, and, in general, I am often the one saying (or at least thinking) "stop complaining about bad things happening to characters you like. it's part of the story, it will lead somewhere" so hopefully it's clear that when I say this felt like too much, I really do mean something by it. The proportion of the comic taken up with this was way too high, even if it had paid off in some narrative way.

It didn't, though.

Both during the beatdown and a few times in the subsequent issues, we get dialogue about how Sam is a less formidable fighter than the other avengers. How he's just some guy and doesn't stack up to them. How he and t'challa can't breathe in space (and, like, neither can Tony but go off). It feels very deliberate and honestly kind of tiring, but you would think it was leading to something, right?

Why put this extensive beat down and all this dialogue about Sam's supposed inferiority into the comic if you're not building to something?

The obvious thing to think here is that this story is set in 616, so Sam is absolutely not just some human dude with no powers. He has telepathic powers. He is very much a special little guy. So, you might think that this was how this was going to pay off. That he'd use his abilities in some unexpected way, showing his worth even if he doesn't shoot lasers.

That doesn't happen, though. I don't think Landy knows that Sam isn't human.

The other option, and what I think (very charitably) Landy was trying to do, was show Sam being Mr Diplomat, and talking to the aliens and that's how he's useful. He gets healed in a magical space healing tube for a bit, then is the main guy who talks to the aliens throughout. There are two problems with this.

The first problem is that Landy's Sam just feels like Steve. And not even a good Steve, like, a very bland version of Steve. Sam's personality is not present when he's talking to the aliens. He's all "sir" and "ma'am" and this very formal "military guy being diplomatic" thing, and that is not 616 Sam. He's a talker, yes. He's empathetic and willing to hear people out, but he's not a soldier, he's not a politician or a diplomat or anything like that. And he's funnier, more brazen. He'd be willing to insult the aliens on purpose, is my point. Landy is hardly the first writer to deliver the blandest possible mischaracterisation of Sam, but it's annoying every time and I think we tolerate it too much.

The second problem, is that Landy does not seem willing to commit to actually having Sam succeed. Sam's job is to be the guy who talks politics to the aliens. Unless it's an important moment or a cool, righteous hero line, then Carol has to say it.

Seriously, that's what happens. Sam's function is to provide exposition, and to vaguely endanger himself in ways that have no consequence. Then, he steps aside to let Carol deliver any and all important dialogue including righteous political shit that surely, surely, you would give to the literal captain america character? No?

So, if the intent was to resolve this by saying Sam adds value through his "talking to people about politics and idealism" skills, then that intention never made it to the final page.

No, what we get is a story that emphasises how much the writer thinks Sam is useless and is worse than everyone else. He just says it over and over again and has an alien beat the shit out of him.

Right at the end of the penultimate issue, Sam comes face to face with a Fear Teacher (I believe the same one who nearly killed him). You would have thought that this would prompt a second fight between them, this time Sam wins, showing that he is, in fact, an impressive super hero in his own right. But no. Instead, in the final issue we cut to Sam already fleeing down a corridor away from the guy.

You guys I'm so mad about this and it's literally just a dumb online mini comic wtf

#salt #like #just so much salt #i should probably delete this #too much sodium is bad for your heart #sam wilson

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graceandtheidiotsquad · 1 year

Text

You (WROEF Oc)

A/n: This was originally written as a vent piece for some stuff going on in my life right now-but I loved how it turned out at least so here it is-

The first few weeks were the worst.

That’s how Eliza remembered it, anyway. The first few weeks, when someone goes missing, were always the worst.

She still remembered every detail of that day, right down to the beaten up sneakers she’d been wearing. She remembered rushing towards the tower-carelessly letting her stupid cardboard birthday hat fly freely from her head. She wouldn’t need it-she never needed it.

Sometimes she forgot it had been her birthday. That felt so trivial now..

Had it been her fault..? Had she just-not pushed hard enough..? She still wondered about that. If she hadn’t been at the party that night-could she have talked him out of whatever he had done..? Would-would he still be here if anything had been different..?

Hell. This was hell-this felt like some sort of perfect, Inescapable hell. And that wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was the waiting.

During those first few days she had hope-maybe he’d change his mind, maybe he would come back. Maybe this was some big misunderstanding and he’d just needed a break..! ..But then the days turned to weeks. And the weeks turned to months.

And the months turned to almost 20 years now.

And the worst-the absolute worst-part of it was she still had hope. She still, somewhere deep inside her-hoped he was still out there, that one day he would finally come home. The other parts-though she felt guilty for even the idea of saying it-..hoped she’d hear he was dead in a ditch somewhere. It was nothing against him obviously, just-..at least she would have some kind of closure. But as it stood-..there was still nothing. Just this empty, reeling pit of the unknown that made her feel anxious, it made her feel empty.

And it wasn’t like she didn’t have friends anymore. She had her support system, she had wonderful friends and family whom she loved.

She felt so guilty for still being upset. Why should she be, she still had friends-! She still had a loving family..! It’s not like she was alone-! ..but sometimes it felt like it. It felt like a whole piece of the gang was just..gone, and never to be replaced. She wondered if the others still thought of him, or worried-or if they’d forgotten, if they just wanted to move on and for her to shut up about it and save them all the griping.

But for now-..all she could really do was wait.

Eliza Krolik..the girl who waited.

”..Hey Milly…” Eliza’s hands softly ran across the interior of the old tower. It still felt so strange coming back here-it felt empty, like a castle without a king.

“I brought you something today..! Something really cool I found-“ the artist gave a weak smile, fishing around for something in her cluttered satchel-she never really did bother to organize the many layers of art supplies and whatever trinkets she could stuff in there. Maybe she would someday, but-not today. Today was more important.

Today she’d found a heart shaped rock on the beach. ”I know, I know it’s not much but-“ she spoke to thin air-she knew there was no way in hell he’d hear her-..but it felt natural at this point. “It’s a Heart shaped rock..! How cool is that..!”

Minutes of painful silenced passed-a joke with no answer, no laughter or reply.

“..Anyway..” she sighed, her face falling a bit. “..I hope..I hope you know out there that someone misses you, Milton. All of us do..! And I know you may not believe me-but they do. In their own ways..! ..and then there’s me-“ she gave a weak, untrue smile. “..The idiot sitting in your old tower, talking to thin air like you’ll actually say something back.”

After another round of uncomfortable silence-Eliza sighed, gently setting the rock down onto the floor in front of that old door painting. It had been the last thing he ever painted-a cryptic, concerning message left behind that never got explained-and likely never would at this rate. “..I love you, Milly..” she muttered as she slowly backed away-turning to leave through the window she’d clambered in through. “..Maybe someday..”

Maybe someday. That sounded like a good summary of how she felt.

Maybe someday, he’d come home.

Maybe someday, there’d be some sort of answer-anything..

Maybe someday.

#what remains of edith finch #wroef oc #Eliza Krolik #What remains of Edith finch au #Wroef au #the unfinished swan #wroef #milton finch #milton finch wroef #Tus Milton #Spotify

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12timetraveler · 2 years

Text

The Capture and The Homecoming

Red Dead Short Sprint

Summary: After Jack's disappearance, the gang is desperate to find him, Hosea maybe more than anyone (besides Abigail and John). He loves Jack like a grandson, and it was, after all, Hosea who was working with the Braithwaites in the first place.

This piece can be read in its entirety below or on AO3

When the group returned to camp looking rather defeated, you knew Jack wasn’t with them. You immediately ran up to Hosea, cupping his cheeks in your hands. He gave you a sorry-looking smile in greeting.

“He wasn’t there,” He sighed.

Not far away, Abigail was screaming in anguish as John and Dutch gave her the same news. You weren’t sure if she was going to strike them, break down crying, or ride out and go find him herself. She didn’t seem quite sure what she was going to do either. Mary Beth and Tilly gently guided her away as she started weeping.

“Where is he? Do you know?” You asked gently, scrubbing your fingers through Hosea’s hair soothingly. He looked exhausted.

“That Braithwaite witch said Saint Denis. That or Italy,”

“Those are... two very different things,” You scoffed.

“Yes. But we have a name, at least. Angelo Bronte,”

“Who?” You asked, brow furrowed.

“No idea,” Hosea sighed. “I expect we’ll find out soon enough,”

“Think you can lay down for a little bit?” You asked gently. Hosea shook his head. You’d figured as much. The sun would be rising in the next hour or so anyway. “I’ll go brew some fresh coffee, then,” you said. Hosea smiled half-heartedly and kissed your cheek.

“Thank you, dove,” He purred.

~~~~~~~~

The search for Jack had to be put on hold when a pair of Pinkerton agents sauntered into camp. As if you didn’t have enough on your plate. So now you had to move on top of it all.

Arthur knew of a place. He and John went ahead to clear it out while the rest of you started packing up. John returned about twenty minutes later, and soon you were all riding out.

Hosea was quiet the whole ride, clearly lost in thought. You couldn��t blame him. Jack was... well, he may have called Hosea “uncle” but really Jack was more of a grandson to him. He saw both Abigail and John as his adopted children, of sorts. When Jack was born Hosea had been over the moon, doting on the little boy in ways only a grandfather would.

You knew he was worried. What might be happening to that little boy? What sort of person had him now? Was he being beaten? Molested? Used in unthinkable ways? The rabbit hole was endless.

You could also see how Hosea was blaming himself. He was the one who’d been working the Braithwaites. He’d drank with Catherine, played cribbage with her. He was the one who’d be involved with that side of the feud. You could see how he blamed himself.

Unfortunately there wasn’t a lot you could say or do just now, while you were riding to a new home. You weren’t sure there would be a lot you could say even if you had him alone. It was a horrible situation, and you knew Abigail would never blame him. But that wouldn’t stop Hosea from blaming himself.

He wasn’t the only one. John could hardly look Hosea in the eye. While Abigail seemed to be blaming Dutch, John was cold toward both of them. This yankee gold that seemed not to exist had cost them far more than they ever could have gained.

As you rode into Shady Belle, the mood was somber. Arthur tried to lighten it all up with a dramatic “Welcome home” speech. Dutch seemed to find it amusing. But no one else was really laughing. Dutch and Arthur rode out soon after, headed into Saint Denis to try and find word on Bronte, and the rest of you were left to set up camp.

You and Hosea helped Mr. Pearson unload the chuck wagon, knowing supper would need to be made soon. Once he had things under control, you began to help set up the lean-to tents around the main fire, making sure the strongmen of the gang had somewhere to rest. They may be needed again soon.

“Mr and Mrs. Matthews,” Susan said, walking up just as you finished setting up the second tent. “I’ve got a room for you,”

“A room for us?” Hosea chuckled as the two of you followed her into the house “We certainly are moving up in the world,”

“Well... you’ll see,” She said, leading you through the front door.

“Room” was maybe being generous. It was more of a broom closet under the stairs than a bedroom. But it had four walls (mostly) and a roof, which was more than you normally got. A number of crates had been scooted together with a large bear pelt spread over it. Your bedrolls were spread out on top of the pelt to create a bed for the two of you.

“Good thing we don’t mind sleeping close together,” Hosea chuckled.

“I figured you two would like that, the way you latch on to each other,” She teased.

“Thank you, Susan,” You said, giving her a small smile.

“Of course.” She waved you off, turning on her heel to go and see to whatever she needed to worry about next.

“We’re really living like royalty,” You teased, sitting down on the bed. “Must be the close proximity to the big city. Even poor vagrants like us can live like kings,”

Hosea tried to give you a smile, but you could see he was struggling. You stood and rubbed his arms soothingly. He leaned into your touches, clearly exhausted and seeking some comfort. You held him close.

“They’ll find him,” you murmured. “It’s Dutch and Arthur. They’ll have him home in no time,”

“Perhaps, but in the meantime...” Hosea sighed.

“Don’t go down that road,” You murmured, lifting a hand to stroke your cheek. “For now we just need to find him. We can worry about the rest later,”

~~~~~~~~~

That night everything was quiet. No one was really talking, no one was singing or bantering.

Micah tried to start something a few times. But once enough guns were raised to him, he slunk off, grumbling about how no one could take a joke. He rode off eventually.

Abigail was a mess. She was trying her best to keep a brave face. But more often than not you found her sobbing into her hands. You and the other girls switched off keeping her company, trying to keep her distracted. But what could you say in this situation? It would all sound hollow.

You were gently rubbing her back, doing your best to comfort her through another sobbing fit. You knew it was useless, but maybe she at least didn’t have to feel alone. At least she knew someone was with her.

Hosea was sitting a ways away around the main fire, just staring into the flames. Occasionally you saw his eyes flick over to you and Abigail before looking back at the fire. Finally he stood up abruptly and strode off, pushing past Bill as he walked across the yard and rounded the house, out of sight.

You knew he needed you. You glanced around and quickly met Tilly’s gaze. She nodded and came to take your place next to Abigail so you could follow after your husband and make sure he was okay.

It took a few minutes to find him. He’d walked behind the little barn behind the house and stood under the large tree next to it, puffing furiously on a fresh cigarette. Even without a lanturn, you could see tears brimming, shining in the moonlight.

“Hosea,” You whispered.

“It’s my fault,” He whispered, not meeting your gaze. Your heart broke.

“No it's...”

“Don’t try to deny it,” He let out a shuddering breath, followed by a small coughing fit. He stomped out his cigarette. “If I hadn’t been playing the Braithwaites like that, they’d never have taken him,”

“Oh Hosea,” You sighed, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his middle. He didn’t move, neither denying nor accepting your hug. He just stood there. “You couldn’t have known,” You said. “The Braithwaites were monsters. Who takes a little boy from his family like that? I don’t even think Colm O’Driscoll would sink so low. You thought you were doing what was best. For all of us. We need money, and it was a good lead to follow. None of us ever anticipated that Catherine Braithwaite would be so horrid.”

“But did we get any money from it? No. Just got Sean killed and Jack kidnapped,” Hosea grumbled. “All because of my stupid plan. Jack’s gone. Who knows what’s happening to the poor boy. He could be with any sort of monster. Starved, beaten, even worse, he may be with some horrible perverted soul who--”

“Don’t, Hosea,” You cut him off, cupping his face in your hand. He seemed to snap out of his self-loathing trance, looking down at you and meeting your gaze. “Don’t think of such things. Don’t put that out into the world. We don’t know where Jack is, but we... we have to hope that he's alright. That Arthur, Dutch and John will bring him home safe,”

Hosea’s hazel eyes flicked across your face, taking in your expression. You watched his face slowly crumple in anguish, and the tears he’d been holding back began falling down his face like rivers.

You cupped the back of his head and pulled him down so he could cry into your shoulder. His arms gripped your waist desperately as he muffled his tears in your shoulder. You could only scratch his head and rub his back, doing your best to soothe him. Though there really wasn’t much you could say or do to help.

You could feel your shoulder dampening with his tears, but you just continued to hold him. You could feel your own tears falling. You missed Jack horribly. And you were so worried for him. Your heart also ached for your friends, your loved ones. Poor Abigail. Poor John.

Poor Hosea.

Everyone was feeling Jack's loss, but those three were feeling it the worst. You tilted your head back, looking up at the stars and begging any divine purpose or deity out there to bring that boy home safe.

"I'm so scared," Hosea murmured, regaining enough composure to talk once more. "I'm scared that he's gone for good. Not just him physically but... But if we do find him, what sort of state might he be in? Torn from his mother, his family, held by whatever kind of demons would hold a child hostage. Even if we find him and get him back, the Jack we know may be gone."

"I know," you whispered, keeping your firm grip on Hosea. "I know. But like I said, for now we should just focus on getting him back safe and sound. We can worry about the rest later."

Hosea pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. You cupped his face in your hands.

"And if we have to burn Saint Denis to the ground after he's back, just like the manor, then we will," you vowed. If a single hair on that boy's head had been harmed, here would surely be hell to pay.

Hosea knocked his forehead against yours and you both closed your eyes, taking a moment to breathe and hold onto each other, letting your tears fall and intermingle on the dirt below.

“Abigail!” You heard Dutch’s voice from the entrance to camp. You both looked back toward the house. “Abigail, we got you your son! Everythings...”

“We got him!” John hollered.

“Mama!” A blessedly familiar little voice cheered.

“They got him,” You breathed in relief.

“He’s safe,” Hosea sighed. You looked up at him and gently wiped the moisture from his cheeks. He gave you a grateful smile, misty eyes watching you tenderly. He turned and pressed a quick kiss to your palm. But you could see him practically vibrating with excitement, desperate to go and see for himself.

“Come on,” you chuckled, releasing him from your grasp. “Let’s go welcome him home,”

Hosea took your hand and the two of you jogged around the side of the house. Abigail was guiding the boy across the little bridge into camp, giving John a meaningful look. She looked up as the two of you rushed over.

“I got my son back!” she exclaimed.

“Jack, Jack, Jack,” Hosea cheered, hardly able to contain himself at the sight of his grandson. “How are you, boy?” he asked, crouching down beside him. You could see him giving the boy a once over, making sure he had no injuries. But he looked... well. He was dressed in a very nice outfit, cleaner than you’d seen him in a long time, and grinning from ear to ear. Not a mark on him.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Jack said, as if it was just another day.

“Everything’s okay now,” Hosea sighed, giving the boy a quick hug. You could see he was torn between sticking by Jack the rest of the night, and going to ask what in the world had happened. Finally he seemed to make his decision. “Abigail,” He said, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder before standing with a loud sigh and walking to meet the rescue party.

“Aunty!” Jack said happily, reaching out for you.

“Hey there, Jack,” You grinned, hugging the boy tightly against your skirts. “Get up to anything fun while you were away?” You asked casually.

“I ate spaghetti,” He said excitedly. “It’s Italian food,”

“Really?” You said, “Well you’ll have to tell me all about it later. For now, I think there's a whole line of folk who wanna see you,” You gestured to the group that was forming, all ready to greet their favorite gang member.

Jack was soaking up the attention, not sure why everyone was so excited to see him, but loving every minute of it. Abigail led him toward the fire, and you glanced over to where your husband was chatting with the Old Guard.

“We got Jack back!” Dutch cheered, guiding Hosea back toward camp. The two had their heads together, quietly talking about something. Hosea reached out for you as they crossed into camp, and you took his hand, allowing him to tuck you against his side.

“...the man seems to own all of Saint Denis. Whole population is terrified of him,” Dutch was explaining.

“Really. But he’s not a politician?” Hosea hummed.

“No. Just very wealthy and VERY powerful,” Dutch said.

“And he just gifted Jack back to you?” You asked.

“No. We had to do him a favor, but John and Arthur handled it easy enough.” Dutch said, slapping Hosea on the back. “I’ll tell you both about it tomorrow. For the night, lets just enjoy ourselves,”

You parted from Hosea to make a quick detour over to Pearson’s table, grabbing three bottles from the crate of whiskey. You moved over to the campfire, offering one to Dutch, who took it with a nod. You then offered bottles to Arthur and John, your way of thanking the rescue party. Arthur took one with a smile, raising the bottle to you in thanks. John almost took it, but paused, glancing over at Jack and Abigail and, thinking better of it, declined with a shake of his head. You gave him a smile and moved to stand beside Hosea.

Hosea wrapped his arm around you and kissed your forehead, taking the bottle you still had and opening it. He took a swig before handing it back to you. You drank some of the whiskey, the woodsy burn warming your core as it slid down your throat.

Standing side-by-side, you and Hosea watched the celebration, cheering occasionally and sharing your bottle as the gang sang along to Javier’s song. You could feel the tension washing away from Hosea as the moments went on, his back relaxing against your hand more and more.

You couldn’t help but peek a look over at your husband over and over again throughout the song. He was so happy, having the time of his life cheering along. He was just happy Jack was back.

As the song ended, the world felt at peace, at least for the moment.

Abigail guided Jack away from the fire to get some food before bed, and the party dispersed across camp, everyone settling into their own way of celebrating. A slight heaviness hung in the air that reminded everyone of the last party you all had, for your comrade now gone. But people were trying their best to ignore it and just be happy.

Well, mostly. Karen was already far too drunk to have only started drinking when the party began. Molly started shouting at Dutch about how he ruined her life, their screeching drowning out the pleasant songs and conversation nearby.

You mostly watched the party from the sidelines, nursing the rest of your bottle of whiskey and just monitoring everyone as they got drunk. You stepped away for a moment only to bring a plate of stew to Charles, who, as usual, had opted to skip the festivities in order to guard camp. He gave you a grateful smile and ate quickly so you could take the plate back and rejoin the party.

When you returned, Hosea was sitting around the fire with a couple others, regaling them with the tale of how he was nearly hanged as a boy for stealing a chicken. He, Uncle and Bill were laughing hysterically at the story as you approached, settling your hand on your husband's shoulder.

"Hullo, dove," Hosea chirped, smiling up at you. You leaned down and planted a kiss on the crown of his head before moving closer so you could whisper in his ear without being heard by the others.

"You should come to bed, love," you cooed. "You haven't slept in two days,"

Hosea met your gaze with a soft smile, and he nodded.

"You're right," he agreed. Giving you a quick kiss before standing to follow you.

"Oh come on, Hosea," Bill groaned.

"Don't let the missus spoil all the fun," Uncle laughed. "You don't have to trail after her like a puppy dog every time she calls," Uncle gave you a friendly wink to let him know he was only teasing.

Hosea slipped his arms around your waist, resting his hands on your stomach and his chin on your shoulder. "If either of you are ever lucky enough to find someone to love like this, believe me you'll understand how important it is to come when they call," you didn't see it, but you knew Hosea was giving them a sly wink. Uncle whistled and Bill laughed, both of them clearly assuming that you were calling him to bed for some love making. Let them believe that if they would. You didn't mind.

"Good night, Gentlemen," you laughed. Hosea reluctantly released you and slid one hand down to your hip, keeping you tucked against his side as you walked across camp and through the front doors of the manor house.

Inside it was quiet. A few folks gathered for some peace inside the house, leaving the rowdy partiers outside. You could hear Abigail talking to Jack upstairs. John occasionally piped up as well. It made you smile. As awful as this all had been, perhaps this was the kick in the ass John needed toward being a good father.

You led Hosea to your little bedroom, shutting the door behind you firmly.

Hosea sighed and allowed you to guide him to lay down on the bedroll. You dutifully removed his boots, setting them at the foot of the bed before kicking off your own shoes and laying down beside him. Hosea wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, the two of you tangling your limbs together until you were as close as could be, intertwined with one another.

"I'm glad he's home safe," Hosea murmured.

"Me too," you sighed. "And he seems..."

"He seems completely fine," Hosea agreed. "I'll sit down and chat with him, make sure he's really as okay as he looks. But..."

"But that can wait for tomorrow," you purred, scratching Hosea's scalp lightly. He hummed and nuzzled against your neck.

"Yes. Tomorrow," he agreed.

It was silent for a moment, and you thought Hosea was drifting off to sleep, finally, but then he spoke up again.

"Poor Sean," he whispered.

With all that had happened, neither of you had much time to grieve Sean. But you knew Hosea had a soft spot for the loud Irishman. So did you. So did everyone. Sean was such a bright member of the gang. It was hard to imagine he was gone.

"I'll ask Bill where he buried him. And we can go and visit him. But, tomorrow," you said firmly. Hosea chuckled and looked up at you.

"Tomorrow," he agreed, kissing your jaw. "Thank you, dove. You take care of me so well,"

"Someone has to. You certainly don't look after yourself," you huffed with fake annoyance. "Now. Sleep,"

"Yes dear," Hosea sighed with a tired smile, burying his face against you once more.

Finally he drifted off, and within ten minutes he was snoring against you. Now content that your beloved was finally getting the rest that he needed, you allowed yourself to drift off after him.

Jack was safe. The rest could wait. Right now the two of you desperately needed some sleep.

#short sprint #rdr2 fanfic #hosea matthews #Jack Marston #Hosea/reader

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moonlit-trolls · 1 year

Note

A little predictable but Secret + Tythus too

[Docs for your sake]

CW: Clear Description of Violence, Death. Characters: Tythus Strigg and Nyctea [from @contrastparadoxx ]

“Never did I wonder where I laid in place of the heathens that roamed the lands. In place of those who followed not a thing, those who truly believe themselves to do good for nothing in return but I know for truth spoken to power nothing is done for no reason. A man helps another in the hopes that he might gain something from it, And if he believes he does out of the goodness of his heart, It is simply the fear of the Messiahs and the Horrors speaking for he wishes to go to the battle-grounds in the future. Where he shall live forever in the halls of glory.

In first cases post mortem-post resurrection. I Find my body behaving differently. My eyes require constant blinking, my heart beats at around eighty times per minute, Different from the seldom five it used to. And These memories, that rust blood must have done something to break my brain into components open rather than the vaults I left closed.”

–Post Revival Diary N° I

Tythus was recovering from having spent so long without a proper body. He ate uncooked meat ravenously like a wolf would without care. He was feral. but he behaved normally under everything. Remaining the stoic man he always was. but the memories of his past haunted him more than they ever did. These secrets that were kept inside lock and key inside his own mind but now they were roaming and they felt liberated.

The one that haunts him the most regards nyctea… and it hurts him physically to be reminded of it

It began on an alley behind a bakery. where tythus made a deal with the owner to allow him to eat the bread that didn’t sell, Sadly it was quite the famous place, and most of the unsold ones were stale or moldy. but he didn’t care too much about it. barely 5 sweeps old he just needed enough sustenance to get on top of his box, and preach the words of the hooting ones, as he was told by Owlcifer his lusus.

But that night was different. Because he saw someone else in the alley, with a blanket over the shivering troll he saw someone of the same caste on the same difficulties, he must’ve been two sweeps younger than he was. and tythus’ heart felt compassion.

— Hey… Kid, Are you hungry? — And the younger one just nodded as tythus handed the whole piece of bread to him. — I can’t say it’s much. but it’ll get you going — And with a smile The young prophet helped the troll get on his feet. And, his heart bled once more. for he couldn’t just, allow someone to go through what he was going through, and allow that he did not. It wasn’t hard, They became friends near instantly, Tythus preached for a bit of money while the other simply rested and waited. On more dangerous areas, tythus would have a small thing to tell the troll to hide until he was done. The melody was stolen from something he heard in the street, but it still meant something.

— Hide Here Hide There Go wherever you are or were! The Big Owl Man Will Find You! And When he Does! We will have somewhere to go! — He smiled when he said that. looking at the other troll — Okay Nyc, you’re going to hide on the boxes right there, Some friends of mine are going to come talk to me. and we can go and get something to eat! I got some generous donations, so I think we can have pasta tonight!” — The smile never left his face even though he was lying through his teeth. They had already cut their hands and made a blood pact, in the name of being together forever, as friends who take care of eachother. and the scar hurt for every lie he told to nyctea. but it had to be done.

Tythus planted all the money he had on the boxes. and said the thing, and as nyctea hid. He walked to meet the trio of Fuchsiabloods that stood in his way. They were discontent with his preachings. and decided to give him some pointers. The main ones were a slash through the face, and getting beaten down to the dirt. As the foot of one of them had spiked boots went through his chest, the other one held his leg so he couldn’t crawl away. But tythus didn’t make a sound so nyctea wouldn’t worry. When all was done. Half of a barn owl mask remained at the scene of the crime. As the perpetrators dragged the young prophet’s body to the forest and dumped him there for the lusii to eat. Only for his lusus to weep over his body as nyctea found the broken piece of the mask. But not the body of his friend.

Tythus awoke in a panic after these memories rushed back. as he slashed through his diary with the ceremonial dagger

—This Must not be known by no being alive—

#My writing #Cw Violence #Tythus Strigg #Drabble

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munsontm · 2 years

Note

[ MUSIC ] for our muses to sing / play instruments together (eddie teaching max how to play guitar send tweet)

It was the first time in a long time that he'd felt a sense of normalcy. More often than not, his life felt like a garbage bag in the wind, aimless, pointless, and devoid of any life at all. He tried to fill the void with drugs and alcohol, occasionally sex when the offer arose. Sometimes those things helped; other times, they made him feel a whole lot worse. Pathetic was the main word that came to mind, though useless wasn't far behind that. Just like every other member of the Munson clan---Wayne aside.

The one thing in his life that helped him live was music. Even on the darkest kinds of days when he felt at the brink of oblivion, a good tune could always call him back from the precipice, soothe his soul, and remind him that some things in life and in the world were good, even if it was sounds compiled together with words, beats and instruments. And when Eddie played, with Betty slung across his chest, killing it like an Olympian god. It made him come back to life and rise from the dead.

But it had never occurred to Eddie to share his musical ability with someone else before. Not until she hurtled into his life like a living firestorm with a sarcastic lip and an icy glare. As a kid, he'd have liked to have a younger sibling, someone to look after and love, to fill the void in his heart devoid of such emotions from years of neglect. Well, now he was approaching twenty and had Max Mayfield where the void once existed.

They were sat together on the old sofa outside the Munson trailer, a beer at his side, soda at hers. He'd spent the last ten minutes trying to tune the guitar Max had presented him. But it was an old beaten-up thing that she probably got on the cheap. No one in the trailer park owned anything remotely fancy, after all. He figured after a bit that it was as perfect as it was ever gonna be, which meant not ideal in the slightest. "It's cool. I've probably got some replacement strings about here somewhere I can dig out later. We're good for now." Grinning, Eddie stood and crouched in front of the kid. He slid the strap around her, adjusting it to her slighter frame. "Bitchin!" he said, imitating their mutual psychic friend. "Now you're ready to rock out with your---nevermind. We're gonna rock it, Mad Max."

As he sat back down, he started to get that feeling. "Black Sabbath's Iron Man is pretty piss easy to learn. Smart girl like you will be smashing it before you know it." He felt alive, almost happy even, and it showed in the dimples of his smile.

"Oh yeah, got this for ya!" Eddie suddenly produced a marbled lilac-coloured plectrum from his jeans pocket and placed it in her hand. "Hope you like it." Nerves prickled at him just for a moment. What if she didn't like it? Before settling on that one, he'd stared at the variety for what felt like hours. Eddie laughed the anxiety away, silently praying he'd done well. "Uhh...anyway, yeah. We're gonna start with an E chord. Then we'll go into the main riff B5, D5, E5, G5, D5, E5. Can you remember that?" He knew she could. Max was far more impressive at her age than he'd ever been.

It took a couple of practice runs for them to surpass the intro and main riff and then the first verse. But she'd destroyed it as expected, far quicker than his expectations. "Shit! You're killing it, Maximus." With an animated tone, he clapped her over the back and swung for a high-five. "Those boys are not gonna know what hit em' once we're done." Jamming out with Max under the sunset sky, it was a good day. One where he didn't feel pathetic or useless. Hell, he even felt his actions made a difference in some other unfortunate soul's life. Wasn't that a first? Making that firestorm smile, her icy glare melted into awe and wonder at her blossoming skill. It would be a moment he never forgot. Now Max knew the power of music too. He hoped it took her through the dark too.

@shezoomer

#shezoomer #𝚍𝚢𝚗. 𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 & 𝚖𝚊𝚡. ( 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚣𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚛 )#I'M not o k a y #i'm nottttttttttttt #v. volume 4.

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sommer-girl · 1 year

Text

Fremover, Part I | Self Para

Date: 12 March 2023 Warnings: Discussion of the destruction of the Norway Pixie Hollow, vague reference to Anna's drama with Ashleigh

Anna arrives in Norway.

Anna’s world had fallen apart overnight. It turned out that her best friend was never her friend to begin with; that her best friend actually wasn’t a nice person at all; and that Anna was in the wrong in all the conflicts, big and small, that had begun over Ashleigh. When I go, Ashleigh had said, you’re not going to have a single friend left.

That wasn’t entirely true. Anna still had Elsa. And she still had Danny, who was here despite how distant and weird he had been lately (honestly, Anna was a little surprised). She had Peri, whom she was really looking forward to seeing. But she still couldn’t shake this awful cloud that had descended over her, this sense that everyone could see exactly what she was and everyone was judging her. So she’d even pulled away from the few people who were still on her team, burying herself in a book on Norwegian fairy history even though she sat next to Danny on the plane.

She knew she had to talk to all of those people she’d fallen out with over Ashleigh. She had to apologize to them. The thought was as mortifying as it was inevitable; especially when it came to Nemo, who was on this trip. Anna couldn’t avoid eye contact with him forever.

But weren’t people always telling Anna to think less about herself? To focus on the people, the issues that she was so passionate about? That sounded like a pretty attractive plan to her, now. So she was silent, eyes focused forward, as the group made their way to the Fremover offices for orientation.

“Anna?”

Anna’s head whipped around. Somehow, deep in thought, Anna hadn’t even noticed the familiar waves of frosty blonde hair. The person who was a huge part of the reason she was here to begin with!

Somewhere, despite all her heartache and confusion, Anna felt a little twinge of hope.

“Peri!” She peeled off from the group that was starting to make their way into the meeting room— she wouldn’t be long, really!— and ran to give Peri a hug.

“Anna! It’s so good to see you! Welcome to Fremover!” Peri greeted in Norwegian. She looked happier than Anna had seen her in a long time. Maybe Anna was projecting a little bit, but she looked like she had this sense of purpose about her. Anna envied that. All she wanted was to know what her purpose was. Especially after realizing she had no idea, after all, who she really was.

“Thanks!” Anna said breathlessly. “I’m, uh, really excited.”

“That’s great. You should be. I think Mari is leading your orientation today. You’ll be in good hands,” Peri assured her. “But I won’t hold you up any longer. Get in there!” Peri smiled and gestured toward the door. “See you later!”

Anna followed behind the last person to go on and grabbed an open seat at the table in the center of the room, still riding the high of running into Peri. It didn’t quell the nervous energy that was still bubbling up in her. She just… didn’t want to mess this up. Especially because of who her dad was. And at least that was a familiar anxiety, instead of the unfamiliar territory Ashleigh’s words had led her into…

There wasn’t much time to go down that particular spiral, though.

“Hey everyone!” Anna sat up straighter to see a small, stocky woman with silver-blonde hair pulled back to show pointed ears enter through the front end of the meeting room. Her face was weather-beaten, with deep lines around her eyes, but her smile seemed to warm the whole room. “Welcome to Arendelle! My name is Mari, and I’m the volunteer coordinator here at Fremover. First off, I just want to thank you all for being here. You could have done a lot of different things with your spring break, but you’re here with us!”

With that, Mari launched into a detailed explanation of Fremover’s mission. The word, she explained (though Anna already knew this) meant “Forward” in Norwegian, And that summed it up, what they were doing: bringing the fairies of the Norsjø Hollow forward. Into life beyond the hollow.

The organization had started as a way to connect displaced fairies with new hollows that could take them in. Everyone wanted to stay together, but it simply wasn’t possible in all cases, and so the volunteers kept detailed records of who had gone where. When lost fairies came to them looking for their families, Fremover helped them find the people they were looking for, and gave them food and a place to stay while they waited or planned their next moves.

Now, most of the fairies were settled in their new homes, but lost fairies still came by all the time. And Mari knew her work wasn’t done yet. Her new focus was to petition the government to give back the land that had been destroyed by developers, and to dedicate it as a monument to the ruined hollow.

“It’s slow-going, but we push forward,” Mari said, smiling gamely. Anna hung on her every word. This was someone who was doing something. Making a difference. She wasn’t a politician or a celebrity, she was just a person. And she was maybe doing more for fairies than the entirety of the Arendelle government. “Any questions?”

Anna’s hand shot up in the air. She was about to put her entire heart into this thing.

#self para #fremover

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higuchimon · 2 years

Text

[fanfic] Hunger For Vengeance: Chapter 2

All throughout dinner little ideas of what he could do flickered through Sora’s mind. He paid little attention to what he ate; some sort of beef dish, he thought. Beef wasn’t easy to come by for most people, but Academia got the best of everything.

Once he was done, he slipped a lollipop out of his jacket and started to lick as he headed out of the cafeteria to roam around the gardens. There were guards posted here and there, mostly recent graduates who hadn’t been assigned to any particular post just yet, but no one said a word to him. He wasn’t anywhere nearly as high-ranking as Yuuri, but he did stand out among the rank and file, and he wasn’t doing anything against the rules anyway.

Academia was a pretty big place, even for being on an island. There were gardens and fountains and small buildings scattered here and there that made it feel even bigger. Sora recalled a tale he’d heard once that Yuuri lived in one of these gardens.

They say he’s really part plant and that’s why he’s not all there. He’s not really human.

Sora snickered to himself at the thought. He couldn’t guess if it were true or not but he found it funny regardless. He’d never spent enough time around Yuuri to know. As far as he knew, no one spent that much time around him.

He’d just about reached the end of his lollipop when he turned a corner on a path he’d been wandering down, and spied a bit of light ahead of him.

I don’t think I’ve seen that place before. That wasn’t a big surprise. Most of his free time he usually spent studying or working out or wandering inside the buildings. Tonight he’d gone somewhere else and thus found someplace new. New to him, at least.

He glanced over it from a distance. He thought it might have been made of glass, at least originally. Vines climbed all over it, and bushes grew around it, high enough that he couldn’t see inside from where he was. There were lights coming from inside, so someone might be there.

Most of the time, the idea of a place where vegetables might be grown would have sent Sora wandering firmly in the other direction. But thinking of Yuuri and seeing this made him move closer. He couldn’t hear anything, so maybe whoever was there was napping or something?

Step by step he came closer, and managed to recognize the bushes set outside the opening as being roses. They looked very dark in the rising moonlight. He wanted to think they were black roses, but black roses didn’t exist, did they?

Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. Sora tried not to get too close. Whatever color they were, the thorns were very long and very sharp and he could have sworn that they dripped something thick and gooey and not something he wanted to get on himself, let alone in himself.

He peered carefully in between them and into the building itself. Underfoot stretched brilliant emerald green moss, dotted all around with flowers of every imaginable shade. There were more bushes inside, also with flowers of red and blue and violet and colors Sora didn’t think had names. The warm air was drenched in scents that had to come from the flowers.

Slowly Sora slipped past the entrance, wincing faintly as a few of the thorns caught in his jacket. Nothing pierced him, however, so he ignored that and looked around once he got further in. Deeper into the greenhouse he saw tall trees – the ceiling had to be taller than any room he’d ever seen before. There were benches here and there, usually close to something growing, and places to store things, and a few doors scattered that he guessed led to other rooms.

Very little of this made sense to him. This was clearly someone’s garden, but he wasn’t sure if it were Yuuri’s. Nor was he sure what he would do if it were Yuuri’s.

What could he do? Burn it down? No, even if he could, that would get him carded for certain. Like everyone else, he’d seen the demonstration of how that could happen. The Professor wanted everyone to know what they’d be doing once the war started. A few captives from XYZ, people off the streets who wouldn’t be missed, had been presented to the school as a whole, and then the Professor carded them himself.

Sora looked forward to having the chance to try it on his own one day. But he’d rather not have it tried on him.

So what were his other options? He still wanted to find some way to get back at Yuuri for stealing his win. There were so many stories about how perfect and how terrifying Yuuri was. Could he do something so people would know he wasn’t afraid of Yuuri? What could he do?

He wandered a bit further, gaze darting this way and that, until he spied a few books stacked on a finely carved oaken table. The more he looked, the more certain he was this had to be Yuuri’s garden. Who else at Academia would want a place like this, and could actually get it?

He flipped the first book in the stack open. It was hand-written and involved notes of some kind.

That’s weird. Wouldn’t he want to use a tablet? Anyway, reading this made it pretty clear that this garden was indeed Yuuri’s. He didn’t recognize the writing itself, but what little he could understand made it obvious. Plus, all the plants. There were maybe half a dozen, at best, plant duelists at Duel Academia, and none of the others were enough in the Professor’s favor to get a place like this.

He set the book back down, doing his best to ensure that he put it in the same position he’d picked it up from. All right. So this was Yuuri’s greenhouse. That still left the most important question – what could Sora do to prove he wasn’t afraid of Yuuri?

The idea hit as he looked around and spied a small rack of tools. Spades, trowels, shovels, watering cans – he smiled. Most of that couldn’t be proven to belong to anyone in particular.

But the watering can was colored to match Yuuri’s hair and even had his name etched onto it. Why Yuuri would want that was beyond Sora, but it was there, and the idea couldn’t be resisted. Quick as a cat, he snatched the watering can up and started back for the door. He wasn’t sure where Yuuri was, and it would be best to get out of there before he came back.

Sora had taken perhaps twenty steps back towards the exit when something rose up under his feet and twined around his ankles, sending him sprawling on the ground. For a second he lay there blinking, then he tried to get back up. He wasn’t sure of what he tripped on, but the sooner he got out of here, the better.

“I really hope you aren’t trying to get away from me,” a voice that was far too familiar spoke from high above him. Sora jerked his head up in time to see Yuuri leap down from a tree branch. “That’s not a good idea. Especially when I am very angry at you.”

For a handful of heartbeats Sora didn’t move at all. Then as Yuuri landed near him, he wriggled harder and harder, breath coming quicker and harsher with every footfall, almost inaudible for the thickness of the moss.

Then Yuuri’s hand landed on his neck, gripping tightly. “Shu’uin Sora. Or should I call you a little thief?” He hauled Sora up, and whatever had wrapped around his ankles allowed it, though none of Sora’s struggles had done anything.

“I wasn’t -” Sora wanted to claim he’d not stolen anything. But Yuuri simply hefted the watering can from where it had fallen and frowned at him. Sora stayed quiet. Perhaps he’d have better chances of coming out of this in one piece.

There were lots of stories about Yuuri. Some of them involved what he did to people who angered him. They weren’t often seen again.

“We’re going to see the Professor,” Yuuri declared. He pushed Sora ahead of him. “Unless you want to end up as fertilizer – or worse – I wouldn’t attempt to run away if I were you.”

Worse than fertilizer? Sora decided that was a question it would be better if he didn’t have the answer to. He hurried along, wanting to stay enough out of Yuuri’s reach that he didn’t get knocked around and close enough that Yuuri didn’t think he was trying to run away.

When they passed sentries, none of them said anything at all, but Sora could feel their eyes on him. He wasn’t sure what they thought, but he guessed it was probably something along the lines of “that poor kid”. He ground his teeth together and kept walking. He’d get out of this, somehow.

Yuuri knew exactly where the Professor’s office was and a few tricks to getting there that Sora hadn’t ever heard about. Perhaps ten minutes at best had passed from the moment Sora picked up the watering can to getting inside and the door opening, allowing them to where the Professor sat on his large throne.

He seemed to be busy right now, talking to some other people who were probably teachers or researchers. But when Yuuri cleared his throat, Professor Akaba Leo turned towards them at once, head tilted in curiosity.

“A small matter, Professor. It seems that this student entered my greenhouse without permission and attempted a theft.” Yuuri set the watering can down. Sora was surprised he’d brought it with him. “Now, I can dispense my own justice and feed him to my mandrakes, but he is a talented soldier, in need of seasoning and experience. Perhaps another way would be more suitable.”

Sora fidgeted at the sight of Akaba Leo’s stern gaze on him, and dropped his eyes.

“What else did you have in mind?” Akaba wanted to know. Yuuri tapped his fingers on one arm.

“He stays with me for a week. Any of his assignments can be redirected there, and I will see that he receives nutritional drinks and water, but nothing else. At the end of the week, if he’s learned his lesson, he’ll be released back to the school population.”

Akaba Leo raised one eyebrow, and Sora winced at every word. Yuuri had to be kidding for that! How could he do something like that?

I’ve got plenty of snacks stashed in my room. I can get back there and fill up. Not a problem.

He tried not to grin. Yuuri wasn’t even looking at him so it probably didn’t matter.

The grin vanished in the next moment. “And to ensure that he doesn’t weasel out of his punishment, have security clean out his quarters. Everyone knows he has enough food to last out a small siege hidden away in there. Clean it all out.”

Sora’s jaw dropped and he whirled around to stare at Yuuri. “What? No! You can’t!”

Yuuri paid him no mind at all, but kept on looking at the Professor. The Professor, for his turn, merely nodded.

“I have noticed his talent. Best it not be squandered and that he learn proper discipline.” He waved one hand, and once again Yuuri’s hand landed on Sora’s shoulder.

“First, we’re going to make sure that you don’t have a secret stash to go back to,” Yuuri declared, steering him out of the room. Sora flailed and squirmed, but Yuuri wasn’t easy to get away from. He was led through the corridors and somewhere along the way, Yuuri had managed to get a message through to someone.

In fact, exactly who Sora would not have wanted to see if he had the option right now. Kaneko stood outside of his quarters, a smug smirk all over his face.

“You just keep getting in trouble, don’t you?” Kaneko mocked. He casually knocked open Sora’s door and strolled inside first. Yuuri made sure Sora stayed in the doorway and watched as Kaneko started to go through all of Sora’s most secret places, tossing cookies, cakes, lollipops, daifuku, and every other bit of sweets that could be found into a large bag.

Every time he tossed something new into the bag, Sora struggled a bit harder, wanting to get to his stash before it was gone forever. Kaneko threw everything around to uncover any little spot where something could have been hidden, checked into every cabinet and every nook and cranny, emptied out the small refrigerator, and the small area Sora used as a storage place.

It took close to two hours and two bags before it was all done. Sora stared at the devastation, slowly shaking his head. This was all over a watering can?

“Get rid of all of that,” Yuuri ordered. “I would suggest dumping it into the ocean.”

Kaneko saluted brightly. “Oh, you don’t have to worry. I’m going to make sure this stuff is all taken care of.”

Sora started to yell something else, but Yuuri’s grip tightened on his shoulder once more.

“Now, let’s go. You’ll get anything you need later. Not that you’re going to need much from here for the next week.”

Yuuri pushed him around and they started back through the corridors. The last sight Sora had of his treasure trove was the two bags slung on Kaneko’s back, and he wasn’t going anywhere in the direction of the ocean.

Sora’s thoughts were a jumble of rage and hunger and fury. He’d always had a fast metabolism, which was one of the reasons he ate like he did. To see everything he’d stored up taken away like that – he didn’t think for a second Kaneko intended to just throw it away. He almost wished that he would.

But Kaneko was going to eat it himself. He’d probably share it with his friends, or whatever those people who hung around him called themselves. That didn’t matter. What mattered was that Sora wasn’t going to have it, and he’d worked to collect it himself!

Yuuri got him back to the greenhouse before letting up on his grip. He lightly spun Sora around, set the offending watering can where it belonged, and then turned back to regard Sora with thoughtful and amused eyes. Sora stared back at him, suddenly reminded of what Yuuri had said about feeding him to the mandrakes.

“Now, what am I going to do with you?”

Let me out of here! That was Sora’s first thought at the question. But it never passed his lips. He hated what was going on, little as he understood it. He did know this though – he’d committed an offense against a senior at the Academia, and that meant he’d earned a punishment of some kind. What he needed to do was keep his mouth shut and plan for future vengeance against Kaneko.

Whether that had ever occurred to Yuuri he didn’t know. Yuuri just regarded him, then nodded towards a door tucked into a side corner.

“It’s getting late, and I have matters to deal with tomorrow. I get up before sunrise, which means you’re going to do the same.”

Sora wasn’t that unused to early rising, though normally it was after the sun rose. He searched for some answers, then finally came up with the only one that made sense right now.

“Why?”

Yuuri chuckled at that. “Because this is my garden, and my garden needs weeding on a regular basis. I usually do it but now that I have you – that’s going to be your job for the duration of your punishment. Once I teach you the difference between what I want to grow and what I don’t.”

Sora started to say something else and stopped when he realized that he had no idea of what an actual weed looked like. If he were going to get out of this as fast as possible, then he’d have to learn as quickly as he could. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“So what now?”

Yuuri pointed to the door again. “That’s where you’re going to sleep. Go on. Tomorrow is going to come very early – and I have several more chores for you than just weeding.”

That didn’t sound remotely good. But Sora made his way to the door and peeked inside. It wasn’t much – certainly not the kind of place he would have wanted for himself. A simple cot, a small table, and nothing more. A window set high up in the wall, probably within climbing reach if he worked at it, and just big enough for someone like him to squirm through, though he doubted he could if he were much bigger.

The door swung closed as he entered, and he heard a tiny click. The door was locked – just what he would have expected if he’d thought about it. For a few moments he wasn’t sure what to do, then he shrugged and did the only thing he could – took his shoes and jacket off, then settled on the cot.

It wasn’t as hard as he thought it might. In fact, it was every bit as comfortable as anything provided by Academia, if not more so. It wasn’t big, but he had plenty of room. Big enough for two pillows and a warm blanket. He wasn’t sure how cold it would get here at night.

Once he got tucked in, he fell asleep a lot sooner than he thought he would have. He’d put in enough effort throughout most of the afternoon on the course, and that used up a great deal of energy. He’d make plans for his further revenge – and how to deal with what punishment he had to work with now – once he woke up.

What he woke up to was a toe prodding into his side. His thoughts were a welter of confusion at first, then memory snapped back into place, and he knew he was in a little room in Yuuri’s private garden. When he opened his eyes, Yuuri stood over him, looking fully rested, fully dressed, and fully annoying. Not that he was ever anything less than that.

“Get up. I’m ready for breakfast.”

Sora blinked a few times, rubbing his eyes to get the sleep out of them, and started to stand. “What’s that got to do with me?” He accepted that he’d have to weed, but what else?

Yuuri smiled that savage little slice of a smile of his. “You’re going to serve me breakfast. Me and my very special guest.”

That sent Sora’s stomach churning. What in the name of all sanity – assuming that had anything to do with Yuuri, which it probably didn’t – was Yuuri talking about?

Yuuri beckoned to him and Sora followed him out of the tiny room and through the garden to another room. This one seemed to have the functions and appliances of a kitchen, along with plants being set on every available surface, and a few that wouldn’t have normally been considered available. On one of the clear spaces there rested two bottles.

“That’s your breakfast,” Yuuri said, pointing that out. “Drink them down and then bring that over there.” He nodded first to a covered tray, then to a door on the far side. “That’s where we’ll be.”

We? Sora couldn’t wrap his head around Yuuri willingly eating with someone else. Well, maybe if the someone else was being blackmailed somehow? As far as he knew, Yuuri didn’t have any friends and no one had even been assigned to duel alongside of him in pair duel training. He’d more than once heard people being very, very thrilled about that fact.

He had no time to really think about it. Yuuri just regarded him with those far too cold eyes of his, and Sora went to have his ‘breakfast’. He could smell Yuuri’s breakfast from here, hot and delicious and with a fragrant aroma of tea.

Two bottles, and it took him almost no time at all to drink them both dry. The nutritious drink didn’t give him quite the same full feeling as having a normal breakfast did, but after he finished it, he heaved a deep sigh, then headed to the tray that Yuuri indicated. When he heaved it up, it definitely had enough food for two on it. Maybe even three.

Being this close to it was already torture. He hadn’t eaten proper food since dinner the night before, and his stomach made it known that it wanted real food, not just the bland not-quite-vanilla drink.

Don’t growl at me. I’ll feed you when I can. Sora hefted the tray onto his shoulder and made his way to the room Yuuri indicated. The door wasn’t locked and he was able to nudge it open with his foot.

On the other side there spread yet another garden. This one had more obviously poisonous plants – at least they looked poisonous to him. Yuuri stood beside one of them, tracing his fingers over it tenderly. It was probably the gentlest anyone had ever seen Yuuri.

The moment he knew Sora was in there, he indicated a wrought iron table, and Sora staggered over there to set the tray down. He just managed to do so without spilling everything, though there was a rattling, as if of a teapot. Yuuri strolled over and settled himself on the more throne-like of the two chairs there.

“I’m glad you were able to join me,” he said, and Sora blinked, wondering if Yuuri were talking to him.

“Oh, you know I’ll always make time for you,” an unexpected voice replied. Sora whirled around to see a tall, lanky figure leaning in the door. He had carrot-orange hair and a mismatched outfit that made Sora wonder if he’d picked it up out of a ragbag and put it back together himself.

When the stranger saw Sora looking at him, he smiled quickly, the expression as strange as Yuuri’s. “And who are you?”

To Be Continued

Notes: Here we are with chapter two. Sora’s not going to have a fun time.

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #ygo arc v #chapters: hunger for vengeance #bad things happen bingo #ygo big bang 2022 #shiunin sora #yuuri (arc v)#dennis macfield

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dycefic · 3 years

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Have An Evil Day

No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’

Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.

But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.

I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it. They didn’t give me any trouble.

I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.

I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.

We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.

I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.

And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.

“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”

He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.

“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”

He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”

“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”

“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”

He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”

“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”

He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.

About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”

Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”

“Biohazard.”

“Oh. Class three?”

“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”

He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”

“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”

He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”

I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.

We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.

I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)

By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.

“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”

“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”

“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”

“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.

“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”

“Sir, I know you’re not – “

“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”

I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”

Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”

Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”

I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”

“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”

I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”

“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”

“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.

“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero… one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”

Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”

“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”

I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.

It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.

“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”

Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”

Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”

“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”

“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”

Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”

“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”

He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”

“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”

He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”

“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.

I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”

“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”

Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”

Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.

She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”

Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”

“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”

He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”

“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”

Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”

“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”

“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.

“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”

He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”

“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”

He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”

“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”

Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”

“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”

Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”

“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”

He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”

We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”

He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”

“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”

“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”

“A union? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”

“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.” Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”

“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”

“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”

His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”

There was a long pause.

“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.

“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”

We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”

“You want me to join the bad guys?”

“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”

“That’s a regular concern?”

“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”

“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”

“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “

Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”

“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”

Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.

Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.

But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.

Have an evil day!

#welcome to Evil Mart #good is not just good #evil is not just evil #people are complicated #and so is retail #tw graphic #tw gore #tw violence #tw murder #it's a supervillain story #supervillain shit happens #you are now warned

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childe-dni · 3 years

Text

I'll Take Care of You

xiao x reader

word count: 1.1k

genre: fluff I guess

warnings: sickness, not proof read

after a long day of commissions, you wake up in an unknown room

a/n; I've been meaning to write this for a while but I wanted to try writing for some other characters first because unfortunately I can't really just keep writing for xiao over and over again, no matter how much I may want to

What time is it? you wondered to yourself as your bleary eyes blinked open. You had just woken up in a room that you noticed to be different from your own. It was quite a bit bigger and contained none of your belongings – in fact, it seemed more like some kind of guest room rather than one with a designated owner. The curtains were shut, making the room appear dim, but you could still see small streams of light seeping through the gaps around the curtains. You guessed it was morning.

You had no idea where you were or how you even got there in the first place but you decided your first step would be getting out of this bed that was notably more comfortable than yours. However, as you tried to sit up, your muscles failed you and your joints betrayed you. Just as you were about to shift your weight to your elbows to balance yourself on the mattress, a terrible pain shot through your arms and you came crashing down immediately. You tried moving your legs but they ached too – your chest especially felt tight as you tried (and failed) to swallow your coughs.

Did I really get beaten up this badly yesterday? you thought. You couldn’t remember much from the day before, only that you had a long day of commissions and that –

“Oh…” you groaned to yourself. Your memory was slowly but surely being restored and you briefly recalled your legs giving out somewhere near Guili Plains. Though you hadn’t been beaten up by anything, you did know that the weather around Liyue lately had been inconsistent and turbulent – one minute it was boiling hot, the next there were gale winds from the anemo archon himself, the next there would be hail stones pouring from the sky – and as you coughed, wheezed and sneezed in the mystery bedroom, you didn’t find it too hard to deduce what had happened. Your temperature was all over the place; under the covers you felt like you were pork on a spit roast but as soon as you shifted out of them you felt like you were on the highest peak of Dragonspine. No, you hadn’t been bested in battle against a stonehide lawachurl, treasure hoarders or a fatui agent, instead, your immune system had been bested by the nationwide menace known as Liyue’s weather. In other words, you were sick; very sick.

But there was no point in laying here alone in the Mystery Bedroom doing nothing. Though it was strenuous and painful, you forced yourself to sit up on the edge of the bed. Your eyes were still hazy and you could feel beads of sweat forming on your forehead. Just as you were about to take the leap of faith and attempt to stand up, you noticed the door creak open in front of you. You lifted your head for your eyes to be met with golden ones staring at you blankly.

Although you were slightly seeing double, it was still difficult to mistake those piercing eyes coupled with the dark green hair and teal coloured highlights. The face of the man before you was definitely one you had seen many times before due to all sorts of emergency commissions you received from Wangshu Inn and his beauty especially was hard to forget. However, you were shocked at the fact that you didn’t have to seek him out and, rather, he came to you.

Whenever you were around the inn, you tended to make almond tofu for him as a way to lure him out and from there the two of you would just spend time together – whether you were talking about anything and everything or simply just enjoying each others presence – and you appreciated how he seemed to ease up around you more and more with each visit.

“So you’re finally awake,” the man muttered as he swiftly made his way over to you.

“Hello Xiao-” you began before being interrupted by the feeling of Xiao’s bare hand on your forehead. You weren't sure if the warmth in your face was caused by the close proximity between you and Xiao or your illness, perhaps it was a bit of both.

Though his facial expression remained fairly stoic, you could still make out the slight concern hidden deep within his eyes.

He hummed quietly before saying, “It appears your temperature has gone down slightly, which is good. You’re steadily recovering from your illness.”

“I’m assuming I’m in Wangshu Inn, then?” you asked after a moment of silence between the two of you.

“Yes. I found you nearby two days ago while I was clearing out monsters.”

Two days? you nearly exclaimed but were cut short as you choked on your words and began spluttering. You couldn’t believe that you had been out for so long but you didn’t have the opportunity to ponder on that fact for much longer as Xiao began lightly pressing down on your shoulder. Though he was gentle, your weak body still gave in under the pressure and you found yourself flat on the mattress again in no time.

The adeptus helped lift your legs onto the bed before muttering, “You still haven’t fully recovered. You should let yourself rest for now. I’ll get you some water to drink.” Xiao now had a more obvious look of worry and perhaps even sadness on his face as he regarded you. For someone whose countenance was usually apathetic or wearing a scowl, this new expression was foreign – you had never seen him look this way, and you definitely hadn’t expected to be the cause of such a look.

You stared at Xiao in silence, slight guilt washing over you before croaking out, “You don’t need to worry about me, Xiao. I’ll be right as rain in no time.” You strained a smile but even that wasn’t enough to convince him.

“I know I don’t need to worry about you but I still do,” the adeptus mumbled more audibly than he would have preferred as he turned away.

You opened your mouth to respond but were cut off again.

“You always worry about me for nothing,” Xiao started. His words sounded similar to his usual chiding, but his tone was far softer than that which he tended to use for scolding. “Even though your life as a human is much more fragile than mine, you try to look after me for some reason... so now it's my turn, I'll take care of you.”

By now, Xiao had reached the door and you could do nothing but stare at his toned back before he spoke his final words while leaving your room.

“I trust that you know to speak my name whenever you are in need of anything. I will be there when you call.”

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #xiao #genshin xiao #xiao x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin imagines #childe-dni writes

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itsallyscorner · 3 years

Text

Teaming Up with Sam and Bucky ft Zemo

Pairing: FEM!Reader; Bucky Barnes x reader, Sam Wilson x reader; platonic(?), let’s throw in some Zemo x reader

Summary: What it would be like to team up with our favorite duo. Takes place during TFATWS.

Warnings: none, TFATWS SPOILERS. Lowkey a mess :D

A/n: Ever since TFATWS came out I’ve been reminded of how much I love Bucky and Sam. Also I have a new found love for Zemo. I’ve just been so obsessed with this series and I’ve been reading so many fics about it, so I decided to finally write my own :) Enjoy my loves❤️

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

✧───── ･｡ﾟ★: *. ☽.* :★. ─────✧

You’re basically working with a bunch of children.

The children mostly being Sam and Bucky, though Zemo does have his moments once he joins you three.

You’ve known dumb and dumber for a few years now, being part of the Avengers, you’ve worked with Sam on multiple missions. The friendship blooming somewhere in between.

You were also close friends with Steve; when he first came out the ice, you were assigned to help him adjust to the modern world by Fury. He would tell you a bunch of stories of him and Bucky running into trouble or Bucky always saving his ass whenever he was getting beaten up.

Eventually, you finally got to meet Bucky, though he wasn’t Bucky, he was the Winter Soldier. Your introduction to each other was quite memorable to say the least.

He choked you with that metal arm of his and for a split second you swore you might’ve found it attractive—till he threw your body against a car.

You sided with Cap during the accords and helped him protect Bucky. When that whole mess was over, Steve asked you to stay with Bucky in Wakanda to make sure he would be safe.

You were the first person to have some kind of bond with Bucky. Before and after he was freed from Hydra’s hold on him, you were always someone he knew he could trust.

When Steve told you what he was going to do while retuning the stones he told you to watch over them.

“Promise me you’ll keep an eye on Buck and Sam?” He asked you, sitting on the edge of your bed. He had snuck into your room late at night, knowing you were wide awake.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, a lazy smile on your lips, “They don’t need me, I’m sure they’re capable of surviving on their own.” Steve breathes out a laugh and shakes his head, “You’d be surprised.”

“But seriously, (y/n), they need you. You know how they get when they’re together. You’re the only person in the world who knows how to deal with the both of them at the same time.” Steve reasons, his baby blues sparkling in the darkness of the guest room of Tony’s lake house.

“Make sure they’re not on the verge of killing each other or running into too much trouble?” You tiredly nod, sleep slowly consuming your body. “I promise, they’re gonna be alright, Steve.”

Sometimes you found yourself looking up at the sky, cursing at it—or Steve—for leaving you with two of the most childish and stubborn men you’ve ever known in your life.

You were like the mother of the group; breaking up fights, making sure they skipped no meals, patching up their boo-boos, etc.

“Will you stop staring at me?” Sam snapped, tossing his goggles onto the seat beside him to glare at Bucky.

“I’m not staring at you.” Bucky remarked from across Sam. His flesh and metal arm crossing with each other as he stared at Sam challengingly.

“Yes, you are. Your eyes are connecting with mine. You’re literally staring at me right now!” Sam pointed out, to which Bucky rolled his eyes at.

“Because I’m talking to you, genius. I wasn’t staring at you.” Bucky quipped.

“Yes you were!”

“No I wasn’t!”

This continued till they were sick of bickering with each other, finally yelling out your name for help.

The arguments were straight up petty. Bucky wouldn’t admit it, but he was the pettiest.

Exhibit 1: “LoOKiNG StrONg jOHn!”

Like seriously? Bucky’s the pettiest bitch, nobody can tell me otherwise.

You and Sam would definitely find it amusing how Bucky doesn’t trust Redwing.

Obviously, you all despise John Walker. Just the thought of him left a bad taste in your mouth.

He was like a fly that you all couldn’t get rid of. But because you were all painfully patient people—mostly you and Sam—you had to deal with his bullshit despite the way he annoyed you all.

Totally loosing your shit when Bucky helps Zemo break himself out of prison.

“Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.” You groaned, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose together.

Bucky looks at you with feign innocence; his mouth agape and puppy eyes. “I—didn’t do...anything(?).”

“You helped Zemo break out of prison didn’t you?” You crossed your arms at him, hip jutting out. As if on cue, Sokovian sugar daddy walks into the abandoned garage you were all in.

Before you can explode on him, Bucky tried to calm you down, “Wait, I technically didn’t do anything though! It was his plan!”

Zemo definitely lives up to being the ✨Sokovian Sugar Daddy✨ of your dysfunctional group.

I think you’d all be surprised at how rich he was. The amount of connections he had wasn’t that big of a shocker.

No like seriously, homie was pulling all sorts of shit out his ass; cars, private planes, houses in different countries, etc.

You all had a love hate relationship with Zemo. On days when he was actually helpful, you all got a long. On the days when things got horribly messy, Zemo couldn’t even let a word out since Sam would tell him to “shut up”.

Though that still doesn’t excuse the fact that he got the Avengers to spilt up and go against each other.

When you guys are all hiding out in one of Zemo’s apartments or homes, you would probably cook breakfast, lunch, or dinner for everyone.

They actually loved it when you cooked because it made the atmosphere feel a bit homey and calm compared to the current situation you were all in.

You were the person they can all go to. You were easy to talk to, making it easier for them to open up to you.

You always checked in on them mentally and physically. For example, you knew Sam felt guilty about giving up the shield, but Bucky never made him forget about his choice. You were there to reassure him that he thought he was doing the right thing and didn’t know the hidden agenda of the government.

You were like their on the go therapist, babysitter, and partner.

Sometimes Bucky and Sam would even argue for your attention.

“Can you stop hogging (y/n) please? Her ears might fall off from hearing you yap all day.” Bucky said as he gently took your arm and dragged you away from Sam.

“You literally spent the whole day with her yesterday, you’re the one who needs to stop hogging (y/n).” Sam argued, grabbing onto your other arm.

“I didn’t get to spend time with (y/n).” Zemo mentioned from his seat in the kitchen, a glass of whisky in his hand. Bucky simply turned to him and pointed, “NO!”

Honestly what’s a friendship with Bucky and Sam without some harmless flirting. They weren’t gonna lie, you were gorgeous, the most attractive one out of the group.

When you guys had to go undercover at Madripoor, both times with Zemo and Sharon, you had to wear dresses that were a bit revealing. Maybe your chest was a bit shown, but the dress definitely showed off your legs.

“So what do you guys think?” You stopped at the bottom of the stairs of Sharon’s apartment, doing a little spin to show off your outfit.

Both Bucky and Sam’s jaws drop, Zemo probably nodding in approval in the corner.

You can’t forget about the nicknames: maybe doll, sweetheart, or darlin’ from Bucky and the typical Louisiana Cher from Sammy.

While fighting against the Flag Smashers or anyone in general, you guys always had each other’s back.

You could directly be fighting someone, but you’ll naturally have an eye on Sam and Bucky to make sure nobody was sneaking up on them.

It’s a given that you all patch each other up after some fight.

You were all very protective of each other. If there’s one thing Sam and Bucky can agree on, it’s their instinct to protect you.

Like how you kept an eye on them, they also kept their eyes on you. Even though they knew you could hold your own.

“Could you walk?” Sam asked you as you laid on the concrete floor. You were double teamed by a couple of Flag Smashers. Two super soldiers against a normal person, you totally got your ass handed to you.

You pushed yourself up to rest on your elbows, “I’m fine, just got dropped kicked twice, but I’ll be fine.”

Sam smiled at you, “That’s my girl.”

Though the two can be a handful and argue almost every minute, you loved the both of them tremendously. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

🏷 Tags ↴

*If your name has a line through it, it means tumblr won’t let me tag you*

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milliedazzledust · 3 years

Text

Somewhere Only We Know (Bucky Barnes imagine)

Request: @the-craziestone story about Bucky x Reader, where Bucky is really obsessed with Reader - But not in a creepy way, more like he's really really in love with her and he can only see her, like she's his world Anon: can you do something with reader gifting Bucky Barnes the 3 Lord of the Rings books? They were published after WWII, and reader knows he liked The Hobbit so she thinks it's something he'd like

Words: 2943

A/N: this is pure fluff with no warning, also I changed a tiny bit the second request to fit the story - enjoy ;)

He couldn’t explain the sadness he constantly felt every time he was walking through the streets of the city he used to know by heart. A stranger in a strange land was the best way to describe him. More than seventy years had passed, and he hadn’t witnessed any changes. While he had been a puppet deprived of freewill and controlled with the sole purpose of killing, he had missed the birth of a whole new world. Now, as he strode around the streets, he could easily remember each of their names, but none of them were familiar. His mind remained in the 1940’s and in the middle of the noises, surrounded by the sound of first responders vehicles, the children running around and cars piling up on the road, he was a stranger in his own home. It was an unsettling feeling, a pining melancholy that reminded him in every step he made that his Brooklyn didn’t exist anymore.

He was furious in a way, but mostly confused. Haunted by memories he had gotten back a second ago, and they didn’t fit this new reality. He wasn’t even nostalgic, but the loneliness was getting heavier every day. He could still picture the park he used to take his sister, the alley where Steve had gotten beaten up one day, the bakery his mother used to go to every morning. Treasure of souvenirs he would keep forever. And although the park, the alley and the streets names were still here, he was left alone walking down Brooklyn.

“Hey, Y/N!” He heard a voice shouting. “Where do I put those ?”

His head mechanically turned to a young boy carrying a heavy box of what looked like antics. Without thinking he crossed the road and when his eyes laid on the small shop, he gasped. There it was, one small piece of his past still here. It was an old bookstore he used to go to with his sister. The man, a friend, an immigrant from France with a thick accent, would let them stay for hours. Bucky loved reading to Rebecca. They would sit inside and she’d insist to hear The Hobbit. François, the man owning the store, would make coffee and stay with them, relating the stories he had heard around the world, telling them all about the France he had known. It was all still here. ‘Au Nom de la Rose’ was still here.

He didn’t hesitate a second and rushed inside the place, an honest smile on his face. His eyes roamed over the room and he took a deep breath. It was just like he remembered, a place filled with murmurs and whispers floating above his head and through the roof, indistinct conversations between friends, huge windows bringing in a powerful light at this hour of the day, plants in almost every corner. Even the atmosphere was the same, this powerful smell of imagination coming from the laying books on the shelves, begging to be read, mixing with a distinct smell coming from the dust. The small couch and the old table he used to sit by with his sister were also there. The wooden pieces had many rough and sharp edges but looked just as smooth and clean as he remembered. Finally, his eyes landed on a woman there. He watched her rearranging a bouquet of daffodils, breathing in the perfume of the vibrant flowers as she tended to them meticulously.

For some reason, he couldn’t look away. She felt familiar, like he had known her all his life, yet he had never seen her before. When she turned around he took an instinctive step toward her. She noticed, raised her head and that was the moment their eyes met. His breath caught in his throat when she smiled at him. He stood, frozen on the spot, staring at her. He couldn’t comprehend that instant connection. There was an inexplicable sense of excitement yet weird feeling that they had known each other forever, that they were meeting each other again after a long journey. He was transfixed, almost stuck by the confusing mixture of emotions but oddly comforted by them - all at the same time.

“Can I help you ?” She asked him.

He surprised himself thinking there was something eerily calming about her voice, that he could listen to her for hours.

“Do I know you ?” He quickly wondered out loud, mentally facepalming himself for his lack of tact.

“Shouldn’t I be asking that question ?”

“Why ?”

“You’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes” She grinned.

“I’m … I’m sorry” He apologized profusely. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Look weird ?”

He could swear his heart skipped a beat when he heard her laugh.

“This place is beautiful”

“Thank you”

“How long have you been working here ?”

“Forever” She smirked. “The store belongs to my family. Passed on from generation to generation”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“You’re related to François Y/L/N ?” He questioned.

She tilted her head, crossing her arms.

“Now I’m intrigued” She told him. “How do you know about my grandfather ?”

“We’ve met,” He answered without thinking. He rapidly realized his mistake when she narrowed her eyes in utter curiosity. “I … I didn’t mean … I mean … It was … It was a long time ago”

He gulped, hoping she wouldn’t push it. She looked him up and down, assessing him.

“What’s your name, weirdo ?” She inquired, giving him a skeptical glance.

“Bucky. M’am”

She smirked.

“Let me guess, a soldier ?”

“How … ?”

“You all have the same manners, and the same eyes”

“What do you mean ?”

She was now standing in front of him, staring at his face with the most adorable smile he had ever seen.

“You carry the same sadness and the horror you’ve seen” She replied honestly. “My father was a lot like that too”

Her answer had the effect of a punch in the gut he hadn’t been expecting. He felt naked under her gaze, a stranger with the power to see through his soul.

“I’m Y/N” She introduced herself, raising her hand to shake his.

It was rare for him to smile truthfully but the unexpected bliss slowly growing made his lips twitch before he could even acknowledge it.

“Hi, Y/N” He greeted her.

She chuckled, amused.

“Hi, Bucky” She murmured.

After that encounter, he made a point of coming back as much as he could. He stayed for hours sitting on the couch, reading the same book over and over again. They shared quick words but he didn’t dare to start up a conversation, too afraid he would say something he shouldn’t, something that would scare her away. He was content like this. There was no Winter Soldier, no war, no fight, no one else than Bucky. Being next to this girl was in itself a medication for him. It made no sense but she was so bright and radiant. Like a magnet, he was sucked into an invisible gravitational pull toward her.

By the second week of him coming into the store, she started to notice the small marks of attention. He would come so silently she wouldn’t hear a thing, bringing a fresh cup of coffee he would lay on her counter when she wasn’t looking, replacing the daffodils before they could fade, carrying the heavy boxes filled with new books. When she wasn’t working, she would grab something to read and sit next to him. They would exchange a smile but wouldn’t talk. The proximity was enough. Their presence was louder than any word. A quiet routine they were slowly creating.

By the fourth month, nothing had changed and that day was no different. Rain was pouring outside and the store was empty, except for Y/N and Bucky. Just as usual, he was reading in a corner while she was working. New stacks of books had arrived and she was methodically putting them on the shelves. Standing on a ladder, on the tip of her toes, she was so focused on the task she had failed to notice the soldier walking up to her.

“Do you need any help ?” He offered.

Surprised to hear his voice so close to her, she lost her balance and slipped. She yelped as her ankle hit one side of the ladder and automatically closed her eyes, anticipating the fall. She tried to brace herself but before her body could touch the ground she felt something cold holding her waist. Suddenly, instead of laying on the floor, she was against his hard chest, in a protective embrace. She recognized his arms around her and shivered at the odd coldness. He felt it immediately and was quick to put some distance between them, making sure his metal arm was no more on her body and only his human hand was steadying her.

“Are you alright ?” He questioned. She pursed her lips, trying not to show that she was hurt when she heard how worried he sounded.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine”

He looked skeptic but didn’t say anything about it.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” He apologetically told her.

He took the books scattered on the ground, putting them away, and helped her walk to the couch.

“You know, if the goal was to literally make me fall for you, I’d say you did a pretty good job there” She flirted, making him chuckle.

He sat on the table in front of her and grabbed her calve, gently laying her leg on his thigh to assess the damage. From the corner of his eyes, he could see her blushing. It made him insanely happy to know he wasn’t the only one affected by their closeness. They tried not to look at one another, too embarrassed by the situation. This was the closest they had ever been and the touch on his skin on hers was more than enough to make her heart ready to jump out of her chest. When he clasped her injured ankle, she cried and instinctively pushed him back.

“Fine, huh ?” He repeated her own words with a smirk.

She huffed and rolled her eyes.

“It’s not a big deal, Bucky” She reassured him. “I’ve got to get back to work”

“You’re not moving from this couch” He ordered.

“Is that an order, soldier ?” She ironically threw at him, crossing her arms in annoyance.

“You bet it is”

She watched him, intrigued, as he stood up and piled up some books on the table to put her ankle to rest on it.

“No moving around, got it ?” He made sure she would follow his advice.

“Aye, aye, Captain”

He chuckled

“Technically speaking, I’m not a Captain” He confessed as he continued what she had been doing earlier and started putting the books carefully on the right shelves.

“Would you have preferred Sergeant ?” She replied, bitting her lips, unsure this was the wrong moment to admit she knew who he was.

He instantly stopped what he was doing and slowly turned around to stare at her.

“What did you say ?” He asked, more scared than ever.

Up until that moment, he had avoided telling her who he was. Becoming part of the Avengers meant his identity wasn’t a secret anymore, and although he had done a terrific job staying hidden among the mass of people, it wouldn’t have taken more than a little push to find who he really was. He stood in front of her, frozen, not having a clue how to react.

“Sergeant Barnes, isn’t it ?” She sounded nervous, almost frightened to say his name out loud.

“I… “ He tried to say anything, but as the rain kept pouring outside, slowly turning into a thunderstorm, he blankly stared back.

“Would you have told me ?” She whispered.

“Eventually”

She humorlessly snorted.

“We’ve known each other for more than three months, Bucky. I see you practically every day. Be honest, eventually would’ve never come”

“It’s not like that” He tried to explain.

“I’m not mad, don’t worry” She sadly smiled. “I just wish… I guess I wish you could’ve trust me”

He rubbed his jaw in frustration and made a step toward her. Without breaking his gaze, he slowly took the glove off, revealing his metal hand. Still, he didn’t look at her, too afraid of her reaction. The cold metal had never felt so hot against his skin, a burning reminder of the stranger he had become.

“I didn’t want you to be scared,” He admitted in a broken voice.

“Of you ?” She was surprised. “Why would I be ?”

“I’m not a good man, Y/N”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that ?”

“You don’t understand…”

“The red box under the counter” She interrupted him. “Can you take it for me ? And turn the sign of the shop, we’re closed.”

He gave her a puzzled look, but did as she said anyway. He locked the front door and took the box she asked for before walking to her and putting it directly in her hands.

“Sit” She instructed him.

He didn’t dare to stay near her and chose to stay on an opposite chair.

“I found this a little after you and I met” She told him, motioning to the box. “It was in the basement, hidden under old junks my parents had kept over the years”

He let her speak, not understanding where this was going or why she was telling him about that. She slowly opened the mystery box and took a small envelope out of it. It looked old, so old the paper had turned into a deep shade of yellow.

“My grandfather wrote this” She confessed. “In 1957. It’s addressed to Bucky and Rebecca Barnes. I believe it belongs to you”

She handed him the letter that he took with shaky hands.

“How did you… ?” He started to ask.

“It was a long shot,” She explained. “The first time you were here, you said my grandfather's name like it meant something to you. Like you really knew him. When I found the box, and the envelope, I didn’t make the connection with you right away. But your name was all I needed to start my research. My parents kept pretty much everything so it didn’t took me too long to find an old photo with you and him, back in the 1930′s”

He wasn’t moving at all when she showed him a picture François had taken of them right before he was enlisted.

“I wanted to wait for the right time to tell you, I guess. I mean, you have enough ghosts as it is”

“Still not scared ?” He inquired in a humorless chuckle.

“Not one bit” She didn’t hesitate to reply.

She softly smiled and motioned for him to come closer. When he sat next to her, she moved the box from her lap to his.

“We were friends, François and I” He recalled, his eyes glued on the letter. “He was married to Eloise. This bookstore was their treasure. He kept repeating that I shouldn’t go to war when I could stay hidden under the pages of books that would take me around the world without risking my life”

She took his metal palm between her fingers when she heard his voice breaking. He almost tried to remove it but she tightly entwined their hands together.

“Maybe he was right” He muttered under his breath.

“Or maybe you and I were meant to meet almost a century later” She shrugged.

He snorted before turning around the envelope to open it. Y/N gently laid her head against his shoulder and let him read in silence. She didn’t move when she felt his body shaking with tears but only held his hand harder.

“They’re originals, from 1954 I think. He kept them for you” She told him as he slowly took what was in the red box. A set of three old books. “Why Lord of the Rings, though ?”

He laughed,sniffing, before brushing the tears off his face and staring down at the woman. At that very moment, he felt like the journey was done. His soul had stopped the search it had been on for a time that felt like forever. Like a century.

“My sister and I, we used to come here often,” He said in a melancholic grin. Sorrow was finally starting to be replace by something much better, happiness. “We would sit on this very couch and she would make me read the Hobbit. She used to love that story so much.”

“How many times has she make you read it ?” The woman smirked.

“Enough to remember every single word” He exaggerated, making her giggle. “When I told François I was leaving, he said he would send me books to help me travel away from the war, even just for a moment. I guess he kept them, hoping I would come back. Even after I was declared dead”

“Maybe deep down he knew you weren’t”

“And he planned this whole meeting with his granddaughter ?” He ironically added.

“Oh no, that was beyond him. That was fate, Barnes”

“I was meant to find you” He agreed, a deep feeling of love and utter contentment forming in his heart. He bent his head down and let all he needed to say be spoken through the kiss they shared.

“Will you read it to me ?” She playfully requested.

Overflowed with joy, he smirked and kissed her forehead before opening the old book on his lap. There it was, the only choice he needed to make. The only home he had yearn to create. Her.

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