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sabo-has-my-heart · 1 year

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Riding Lessons

Inspired by This artwork by @mamamittens

Warnings: suggestive, GN!Reader, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 1295

Sipping at your drink, you watched the latest idiot haul himself up onto the mechanical bull. The country music that always played had long since faded into the background of your mind as you scoffed at the overconfident male. You’d seen guys like him before, men who wouldn’t last 5 seconds, so to speak. They were usually drunk or stupid, oftentimes both. There were, of course, the ones who were just overconfident, or trying to impress someone, but they usually didn’t last any longer than the drunken idiots. It had been a while since you’d seen someone fairly impressive ride the fake beast. Not that it was easy, you’d ridden it yourself a few times, but at least you had a decent time. Sure enough, the man was thrown pretty quickly, making you roll your eyes. The only one to truly impress you was someone you hadn’t even met, but he had the record time on the board. Vaguely you wondered if you’d ever be able to meet him, you were here often enough. Did he come here and just not ride? Maybe he came in at different times than you or had actually been from out of town. Sighing, you knocked back the rest of your drink as you watched a blond mount the mechanical bull. He didn’t seem like one of the usual riders, he didn’t look overconfident or drunk. At the same time, he looked sure of himself, like he knew how good he was. He was definitely good. The way he rode, taking his hands off the saddle, holding on with his thighs alone, smirking as he rode. It was enough that you were sufficiently impressed with the man, joining in on the cheers that went up for him once he was off. He hadn’t broken the record, but he’d been pretty good, piquing your interest. He sat down at a table with a brunette who looked about his age, and a much younger dark haired boy. The three laughed and chatted for a moment before the dark haired boy walked up to the bull, unbuttoning and shrugging off his shirt, drawing numerous whistles from the women.

“Looks like we have someone special riding tonight! Our current record holder, Ace!” the bar erupted into cheers that nearly deafened you as you stared at the young man. This was the guy who held the record, the one who’d caught your attention, the one that interested you the most. He certainly didn’t look like the typical riders, he was confident, but not cocky, he wasn’t stumbling drunk, though you suspected he’d had a drink or two, and while he waved at the crowd, he didn’t seem intent on impressing anyone. Though perhaps that was because he’d already impressed everyone by setting the record time.

Ace smirked as he looked around at the onlookers, hoisting himself up onto the bull, not even bothering to grab the saddle as he put a hand on his hat and gave the operator a thumbs up. The country music turned up as the bull started up hard, trying to send him flying. His body rocked with the machine, still not holding on as he chuckled. Marco and Thatch always wondered how he did it, how he rode so effortlessly, not bothering to hang on in the least. The spotlights on him made the red highlights in his hair stand out as sweat began to drip down his body. While he could make it look effortless, it was actually quite exhausting to ride like he was. If he’d been holding on to the saddle, hell, if he’d been holding on with his thighs, it might have been easier, but he really wanted to impress the crowd tonight, having had a couple of drinks already. Finally, he slipped, moving a little too far back, the machine throwing him off seconds from his record time, still holding his hat. Ace just laughed as he got up from where he’d been tossed to the ground, a huge grin still on his face, walking back over to Thatch and Marco.

Knocking back the last of your latest drink, you stood up, making your way over to the bull. You looked Ace’s way, your eyes meeting his before you mounted, giving him a quick wink before it started moving. You knew you wouldn’t beat him, hell, you were still holding the saddle, there was no way you’d manage to beat his seemingly effortless ride. But you weren’t looking to beat him, you were just looking to impress him. Finally, you felt yourself falter, biting your lip as you pushed yourself off the back as the front reared up. Could you have tried to hold on? Tried to reposition yourself and continue going? Sure, but you’d rather not risk the face plant in front of the cute boy you were trying to impress. Sliding off the back, you stumbled backwards, managing to keep yourself from falling as you caught yourself on the sides of the ‘ring’ the bull stood in. Looking over at your time, you smiled, while you hadn’t managed to beat his record, you’d managed to beat your own record. Still, you hoped it was enough to impress him.

Ace smirked when you’d winked at him, interested in the person who’d walked up so confidently after his little show. You were pretty good, enough that you’d gotten his attention.

“I think someone wants me to notice them.” he said, chuckling as he watched you.

“Question is, are you going to do anything?” Marco asked, raising an eyebrow at him. Ace shrugged, taking another drink.

“Might, they did pretty well, after all. And they went to all that trouble just to get my attention.” he said, eyeing you as you walked back to your spot, your gazes meeting once more. Ace finished his drink before getting up and walking over, hands stuffed in his pockets.

It didn’t take long for the object of your interest, Ace, to approach you, still shirtless as sweat ran down his body.

“Pretty impressive. So, what’s your name?” Ace asked casually, sitting down next to you, waving the bartender down and ordering another drink.

“Y/n, and you are the record holder that I’ve been interested in meeting.” you stated, feeling a little more confident than usual.

“You’ve been interested in me, huh? Well I hope I’ve lived up to expectations.” he said with a smirk.

“I expected someone a little older, maybe, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.” you said, giving him a flirty smile. Ace chuckled, and smiled at you.

“You know, unless I’m reading this wrong, I could show you how to uh, ‘ride’ if you’d like. We’ll have to go back to my place though.” he said, looking at you over the rim of his glass as he took a drink.

“Mmm, taught by the best? That’s a hard offer to refuse, but I barely know you, we haven’t even had dinner.” you teased, taking a sip of your own drink. You wouldn’t deny that you wanted to go back to his place, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t tease him beforehand.

“How about breakfast tomorrow morning instead? If you’d like and if you have time, you can stay all weekend, that way you’ll definitely get dinner.” he said, chuckling at the little ‘game’ you were playing.

“Oh, breakfast and dinner? Throw in lunch and you have yourself a deal.” you said, laughing slightly as you set some money on the bar to pay for your drinks.

“All three meals and ‘riding’ lessons? Feeling a little greedy? I better be getting something in return.” he said jokingly, paying for his own drinks before getting up, the two of you leaving the bar for ‘riding lessons’.

#one piece #one piece ace #Portgas D. Ace #portgas d ace #fire fist ace #op ace #hiken no ace #hiken no ace x reader #fire fist ace x reader #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d. ace x reader

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deannagrey · 5 months

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Just Dare Me: Chapter 2 (3/4)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4

“Why are we are we here, David?” I asked instead of going down the rabbit hole with him tonight. My heeled boots were too wet to be comfortable. The tips of my twists dripped water onto the back of my blouse. I needed a warm shower, a cup of coffee, and a crappy fantasy TV show to veg out to immediately.

“Follow me.” He pushed away from the bar with a dark smile that sent a spark in my belly. This spark didn’t feel as ominous as it usually did. It felt exciting. What the hell was there to be excited about in the presence of David?

“Hope you remember rule number two,” I called after him. The bar had gotten harder to navigate. I bumped into quite a few people to keep up with him. It looked like the band was switching out. A guy with a charming grin took the place of the soulful singer from before. His opening words to the crowd were ‘howdy’ and I jumped at the roaring response. .

“Of course, I remember number two,” David tossed the words over his shoulder. “You remind me every time. You really that scared?”

I scowled, not answering.

After our first few dares, we came up with a set of rules neither one of us could break. The first rule: nothing illegal. No stealing from big box stores, committing fraud, yada yada.

Rule two: we couldn't dare one another to do something that could lead to physically harming ourselves or others.

Rule three: dares couldn't be sexual in nature. No daring to kiss or sleep with someone or each other.

As we neared his destination, my stomach dropped and my mind immediately went to rule two. I said as much out loud which earned me a laugh from David.

“You’re not going to hurt yourself,” David said as soon as the current rider on the mechanical bull fell off, head first. They walked off the padding, rubbing their neck and trying to stretch out their back. “Well…as long as you hold on or fall with grace,” David added with a shrug.

Every part of me twisted with nerves at the thought of mounting that thing. There would be no dignified way to hold onto the bull. My clothes would get more wrinkled than they were currently. And my twists would whip in every direction. I swallowed at the thought of how ridiculous I’d look. When I glanced at David, he was looking back at me with a smile. He knew. He knew how ridiculous I’d feel. David had found the perfect activity to ensure embarrassment. Payback for the fountain slip.

“I didn’t dare you to get in the water,” I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest.

He didn’t need further context to know what I was referring to. “I know. But I am daring you to get on the bull…you putting an end to this once and for all?”

The first one of us to refuse a dare meant the game was over. I had to keep the streak going. The first person to say no to a dare owed the other person anything. Anything in David's terms was dangerous.

“Absolutely not,” I snapped and pulled a hair tie from my pocket. David watched with that smug look on his face as I unbuttoned the sleeves of my silk top and rolled them up.

“Just be happy I’m not setting a time limit,” he said. “Originally, I wanted you up there for a minute, at least.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, thank you for your benevolent generosity.”

“For you? Always.”

“Who’s next?” The operator called, looking around the crowd for a willing participant.

I squared my shoulders, cracked my knuckles, and declared, “Me.”

“You?” The operator’s eyebrow lifted. He readjusted his cowboy hat to sit further back on his head like he was having problems seeing me. “Are you sure, sweetheart?”

I scowled at the overly familiar pet name. “More sure than you’ll be if you call me that again.”

The operator chuckled and opened the gate for me. “My apologies…Miss.”

As I crossed the threshold, the guy called out the safety guidelines. I was in control of how fast the bull went. The fine signal was a thumbs-up and the stop was a thumbs-down, yell, or scream. Whichever came first, according to him.

“You should try for the record. Maybe you’ll surprise yourself,” David called in a mocking tone once I stepped onto the padding. I was only allowed to keep my socks on and they squeaked against the plastic underneath me.

“And what’s that?” I played along even though there was no way in hell I’d stay on this thing for more than a millisecond.

“Seven minutes.” David gestured to a clock behind me with the record time beneath the current timer. “You get free drinks for a year.”

“Well, in that case…” I gripped the handlebar near the “head” of the bull and wrapped my arm around its “body.” With a deep breath, I pushed myself up in a poor attempt to swing my leg over the bull. The operator was polite enough to look the other way, hiding his laugh. David? Not so much.

“Might want to use the stirrup,” David rested his elbows on the wooden gate surrounding the bull. He looked entirely too entertained. The only thing missing was a bucket of popcorn.

My cheeks burned when I noticed the very convenient stirrup. How I overlooked it before, I have no idea. Maybe it was the nerves coursing through my veins. Or the fact that David hadn’t torn his gaze from me once. I was approaching full panic mode. I didn’t perform well in situations that could show me in a less-than-favorable light.

With a determined inhale, I gave myself a quick mini pep talk. In moments of doubt, I became someone else. And tonight, I needed to be a rough-and-tumble Yara. A girl who rolled with the punches and mounted bulls like a champ.

#westbrookeangels

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hurrakka · 5 months

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Oh my god. I am obsessed with your Left 4 Dead AU for Leon and Sasha. Is there any fanfics for it yet? I can't get enough!

I also just saw your art of Leon talking to Chris about the Vaal Hazak dragon, and I love the idea that Leon would so be obsessed with playing MHW. Like dude needs a vacation, he shuts off all communication and just binges that game. Who needs sleep? That's his escape from all the shit show that has become his life. He can pick pretty flowers, catch rare creatures for pets and kill monsters without getting thrown around in real life and he can make cool armor with it. (He may or may not even get some ideas on how to fight B.O.Ws using some crazy shenanigans inspired by his own game antics.)

Chris really wants to know why Leon suddenly thinks riding B.O.Ws like a bull is a good idea in the midst of combat. Leon just really wanted to try it in real life. It was just as cool (but a lot more terrifying) as he expected it would be.

Sorry. I'm rambling. I just love your art and all your crossovers for these boys. They're amazing. I can't get enough.

Going back to MHW having an entirely different character as a layered armor is hilarious I can just imagine my hunter on vacation and hires Leon Kennedy to do the work. Guaranteed, he'd have a much better time in the MH verse and do a bunch of goofy shit like knocking a monster out of its powered state w/ a capture net and spam aerial attacks to get more mounts. Since the monhun games are canon within the RE verse, I like to think that he dabbled on on some of em, to the point of even actually trying some tricks on B.OW.s like he did monsters. If giant monster can pin him, let him ride em (and stab em) like a mechanical bull as a treat. He could probably bring oversized hunks of meat laced w drugs to bait zombies and it may actually work lmao. OH and tysm for enjoying my l4d au brainrot. I don't think there are any fics yet? Aside from this one which was a trade I did.

#crossover gang hell yeah #manifesting more of those in mh wilds

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slutforstabbings-archive · 1 year

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cowboy!corey hcs... what u got?

Sorry for taking a week on this 😅 without further ado ~

pre-accident:

Corey grows up watching old westerns, Little House on the Prairie, The Waltons, etc because Joan doesn't want him watching any of that raunchy, degenerate current TV, it might give him ideas about girls and a girl could take him away from her.

Little does she know he's still getting ideas about leaving. Go west, young man! Haven't you been told? California's full of whiskey, women, and gold 🤩 Corey heavily feels his father's absence, so the cowboys and farmers on TV become his Daddy. That's what A Man is. That's what Corey should be, would be if his fucking mother would lay off. That's what would make his father proud, if he had lived, the kind of boy he would've raised Corey to be, Joan be damned.

As he gets into his teens, he gets more interested in science and math in school and science fiction in media. Joan allows him Star Wars and Star Trek. He puts the cowboy thing to bed and decides to become an engineer and he works really hard junior and senior year of high school and in his two years at the community college.

But then the accident ruins that plan, and his daydreams find their way back to farms and rodeos and shoot outs. Except Corey always used to picture himself as the US Marshall. Now he imagines himself as the bank robber or the cattle rustler. Less Lone Ranger, more Jesse James.

post-accident, pre-Michael/no Michael:

Maybe in a universe where he gets away before he meets Laurie and Allyson and Michael, he packs a backpack full of clothes, rolls up a big wad of cash he's been hoarding and leaves in the middle of the night while Joan and Ronald are asleep. He takes a bus to Chicago and then a train to Montana or Colorado or Wyoming.

Maybe he gets a job at a horse stable. He doesn't know anything about horses, he's never even seen one in person before. But he mucks stalls and whatever other grunt work they give him and he learns how to ride after his shift is over. He's good with horses, he gets horses. Big, scary, powerful animals that are afraid of everything. They're fascinating.

Turns out he's got a knack for breaking horses that buck of that habit, so someone at work is like why don't you try this amateur bronc riding competition that's coming up? It's a pretty different skill but Corey's okay at it. It only takes him a couple of events to make it the full 8 seconds. The day he makes it, he's wearing a new hat. That's his lucky hat from then on, and it never lets him down.

post-Michael:

If Allyson left with him when he called and said 'we need to leave' I could totally see her going country with him. She would look so cute too, wow 🥺. But I think her presence would keep Corey more grounded and more normal, so I don't think his trajectory in this situation would be that much different.

However, survivor!Corey or a Corey that diverges from canon later than the phone call isn't gonna be mucking any fucking horse stalls, and he rides bulls, not broncs. The kind of targeted fury that drove his murder spree is gone, but he's still pissed the fuck off, he loves violence, and he hates himself.

He signs up for an amateur bull riding competition. They tell him he should practice on the mechanical first but he doesn't give a shit. He makes it the 8 seconds easily. When they give him his prize he just stands there glowering.

But the glower doesn't mean he doesn't like the attention. Corey loves the attention.

If this Corey isn't on the run from the cops, he's going pro, and he's like, a wrestling heel but for the rodeo. He wears all black, he always looks pissed, he never no scores - he wishes you had to stay on the bull for 10 seconds or 12 or 16. Some of the other cowboys think all the hype around him is blown out of proportion, but the ones who've actually spent any time with him, the ones who've seen his darkened eyes and eerie stillness as he mounts the bull before the gate opens, they know he's a scary motherfucker.

If he IS on the run from the law he's not going pro but I don't think he can stay away from the amateur competitions. He just registers with a fake name, wears a bandana over his nose and mouth like a bandit. It's easy money and it helps him get the violent impulses out.

@cordelium @toxicanonymity @ethanhoewke @heartrot666 @mutlifandom--mess @hersweetrevenge @rebel-blue @wolvesandvampires

#corey cunningham #cowboy!corey cunningham #thoughts #mine #ask

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bekoobove · 10 months

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Fazbear Fears #20: The Bucking Bull

9 Years Ago

Jared Montgomery knew his eleventh birthday party would be great. His parents were throwing him a party at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza- in his eyes, they might as well have booked a venue in heaven. He loved the place- though only this location.

That may sound strange to say, but it was true. In all honesty he had no interest in the dancing bears, bunnies, birds, or any other weird robots these restaurants had. He found them creepy, uncanny. The food wasn’t the draw, either- Jared had always felt the pizza was only marginally more tasty than the box it came in. No, what made him love Freddy Fazbear’s was the arcade. And what made this location his favorite were his high scores.

The letters JRD could be seen flashing in the high scores on every cabinet’s screen. Combat Kids, Zany Sword, Mangle’s Quest- you name it, he’d mastered them all.

Well, almost all…

As soon as he passed through the doors, he heard it. The cheesy western music and squeaking mechanical parts.

Jared caught sight of the large platform. The outside was lined with a fence, each corner topped with a plastic cattle skull. The platform itself was surrounded by inflatable cactuses and encouraging-looking cutouts of the Fazbear gang dressed like cowboys. And, at the platform’s center, bounding back and forth, was Jared’s nemesis: The Bucking Bull.

It was a fearsome foe. Two quarters was all it took to get it moving, but Jared had easily sunk forty dollars into trying to get the high score. Obviously most bucking rides like this didn’t have any such thing, but this one was different. There was a sensor in the saddle that tracked how long you could stay on, which transmitted the times to a screen hanging above the game. Jared was on the board- number four- which would be enough for most people, but not him.

But today, Jared had a good feeling. The high score was 2 minutes and 49 seconds, which he ultimately felt he could beat. And that high score would be the sweetest present of all.

He warmed up with a few rounds of Air Hockey with some of his friends- Sally, Benjamin, and Jacob. The first two were no problem, but Jacob presented a challenge. Jared didn’t mind- he liked a challenge (It helped that he won, best two out of three). Jacob had always been the best at these games of his friends, JCB usually lingering just below JRD.

It was Jacob who stood by his side as he approached the Bucking Bull. Jared glared at it. Its empty plastic eyes glared back, as a quick burst of steam shot out its nostrils. It felt like a Mexican standoff, with Jared almost expecting a tumbleweed to roll past. Still, the true confrontation wouldn’t begin until he mounted the ride.

He slid the quarters into the slot, causing the gate inside to open up. An employee standing at a small booth gestured him inside.

“Good luck.” Jacob said, smacking him on the back.

“Thanks, but not needed.” Jared smirked. He climbed up to the platform. “This is the last time, you stupid bull.” He muttered under his breath.

He climbed on and gave a thumbs up to the employee. They flipped a switch on their booth, and the rodeo began.

The next few minutes were a blur- literally. Try as he might, Jared couldn’t make out any faces cheering him on, although there were many. The western music blared louder than ever, and there was a voice on the soundtrack yelling YEE-HAW! Still, he kept a firm grip on the bull, not letting up for even a moment.

Eventually, though, he faltered, and was flung from the bull. He braced himself as he fell- less for the platform, and more for fear of failure

Jared crashed into the inflatable platform, but didn’t either bother trying to get up. He simply listened.

There was silence for a moment. Then, from the screen, he heard it.

“2 MINUTES AND 58 SECONDS. WE HAVE A NEW HIGH SCORE!”

Jared cheered, and jumped over the fence. His friends surrounded him, just as excited, congratulating him. There wasn’t any other fanfare, but Jared hardly cared. “I’m king of the arcade!” He yelled victoriously.

The employee winced at his sudden scream. “Yeah, great job, kid.” They said unenthusiastically, rubbing their temples in irritation. “Ok, do any of you other guys want to go?”

“Ooh, me!” Jacob crowed.

“You sure?” Jared asked. “I’ve seen you on the bull before, you’re not that good.”

“Why do you care? Scared I'll snatch your high score from under your nose?”

Jared chuckled. “Just trying to save you some quarters, buddy. But have at it.”

And Jacob did, depositing his quarters and boarding the bull. The ride began, and Jared prepared for him to be thrown off.

He wasn’t though, which impressed Jared- an attempt longer than five seconds for Jacob was rare. Even more seconds rushed by, until Jacob had beaten his personal record of 31 seconds.

Jared clapped. “Great job, dude! Best you’ve ever done.” He braced again, certain his friend wouldn’t last much longer. But to his shock which increased by the moment, he did. Jared would never be able to figure out what caused it- encouragement by seeing Jared’s high score ride, some elaborate rodeo training he’d undergone since his last try, or just some kind of luck. What mattered was that at this moment, Jacob was entering the top ten, and an unpleasant thought crossed Jared’s mind: “Am I gonna lose the high score?”

It was ridiculous. The previous high score had lasted for years, surely his wouldn’t be conquered within five minutes. And yet, no matter how quickly the bull spun and bounced, Jacob’s hands clamped onto it.

Jared had counted in his head. Only twenty seconds left and his high score would be gone.

He knew it was stupid. He’d still have second place, and he was undefeated on every other machine in this building; why care so much about this one?

Seventeen seconds.

It’s just…this was one of the only things he was good at. Jared wasn’t particularly athletic, or intelligent, or innovative- his teachers would often tell him as much. If he couldn’t be the best at this, then what was he?

Twelve seconds.

It didn’t matter what he thought or whether it mattered, it was over. Jared stumbled backwards…and realized he was right next to the control panel. He could make out a small lever set to HARD. A few inches above it was another setting. It read NIGHTMARE.

The ride could be made harder.

Ten seconds.

If Jared had thought about it even a moment longer, he would have realized how utterly stupid this was. There was an employee right there- even if he did the deed, he would be caught and get into major trouble. Definitely not worth it in the grand scheme of things. But Jared didn't have that moment. Instead, with one swift movement, he grabbed the lever and yanked it upwards.

Seven seconds.

The employee obviously noticed his movement, but rather than anger, horror grew on their face. Jared could hear the bull spinning faster, with scraping and squeaking from its machinery. He heard Jacob yell, startled and a little afraid.

Four seconds.

Jacred saw one last thing before his life changed forever. A small piece of duct tape stuck next to the NIGHTMARE setting, with a short note in permanent marker- POWER OUTPUT UNSTABLE AT THIS LEVEL- OFF LIMITS UNTIL REPAIRS.

Two seconds.

There was a scream, and for just a moment, Jared thought maybe everything would be ok. Surely Jacob had merely been thrown off, right?

Jared turned to see he had, but things would hardly be ok.

The sheer power of the bull’s buck had sent Jacob soaring, above the platform, over the fence, through the arcade-

Until he slammed skull first into a concrete pillar nearby. There was a nightmarish cracking sound, and Jacob’s body fell to the ground, limp.

“Jacob!” Jared screamed. He ran over to the pillar, as everyone else stared on in stunned silence.

Jacob’s hair was matted with blood, which dribbled out of his head. Jared swore he could see cracked chunks of bone peeking through the hair as well. His skull had been seriously fractured by the impact, and Jared knew there was no hope.

His friends tried to deny it, but Jared had always been a bit more shrewd than them. He was old enough to understand that there were some things doctors couldn’t heal you from, and this was one of those things. Jacob was declared dead as soon as EMTs arrived on the scene.

Dead.

Jacob was dead.

And Jared had killed them.

That simple fact whipped into a storm of conflict and controversy. How should he be charged? What were his intentions when he messed with the controls? There was no denying he had, the employee had caught him in the act, but his parents tried. “Our son wouldn’t do this, he’s a good boy!”, they would protest to anyone who reasoned with them. That pithy line was practically etched into his brain, as well as requests for testimony in his favor, advice for a lawsuit over the Bucking Bull’s faulty machinery, anything to shift the blame from their good boy.

And there Jared sat, huddled up in the eye of the storm. While the adults screamed and screamed, he was left alone with the fact that Jacob was gone because of him. It hadn’t been intentional, but did that even make a difference?

Eventually his family decided to move. They told anyone who listened they weren’t running from the accusations, they merely worried for Jared and his future. Anyone who asked Jared how he felt was met with silence and averted eyes.

Two months after his birthday, Jared’s family left their town, Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, and the Bucking Bull behind.

But it wasn’t finished with him yet.

8 Years Ago

His birthday had been empty.

Not of fun, or of gifts, or of friends. No, of joy.

Jared’s mind had finally begun to sift through his grief and guilt, and comprehend that if nothing else, feeling this broken and wrong wouldn’t bring Jacob back. He had emerged from his shell, and begun reaching out to people again. His trauma had been present, but buried, muffled.

Now, though, it was as if every cry of “Happy Birthday” sought to uncover the self-hate and agonizing regret that dwelled below. Every smiling face he saw brought horrible thoughts to his mind: “How am I going to kill you? What selfish mistake will I make to ruin everything?”

Eventually it was too much for him. He excused himself and locked himself in his bedroom. His parents tried to coax him out with promises of presents and cakes, but he couldn’t even begin to care about such things. He simply laid quietly on his bed, hoping they’d leave. Soon enough they did, and he drifted off into the sweet release of sleep.

But this was not a dreamless slumber.

Jared opened his eyes and picked himself off the dusty ground. “What…”

He immediately realized this was a dream, which had never happened to him before. It seemed like a lucid dream. After he’d first heard the term a few years ago, he’d spent weeks attempting to trigger one, not that he had any idea how to do that.

Still, this didn’t even feel like that. The environment felt- for lack of a better term- real. His eyes even watered a bit at the dust he’d kicked up while he moved. Jared tried to get a bearing of his surroundings.

He was in a small, fenced-in square. A firm wooden fence lined it, and beyond there was nothing but unnerving, endless void. There was nothing left to see.

Then, a snarl from the middle of the ring. And yes, Jared was certain this was a ring.

Sure enough, a cloud of dust was being kicked up at the center by the Bucking Bull. This wasn’t the first time this reminder of his past had stampeded through his dreams, but he could tell it had always just been flotsam, drifting in and out, like anything else your mind occupied itself with during the day. But this dream felt like it had been made for the Bull. Not only that, the Bull was not right. The plastic form itself wasn’t the disturbing part- it was the same bucking ride which had gobbled Jared’s quarters for months, though its eyes were now empty sockets. What scared him were the additions- the arms and legs it used to stamp the ground even now. And yes, that was the right term- arms and legs. They were smaller than the Bull, in a way that would be comical under different circumstances, and clearly belonged to a child.

To Jacob.

The boy and Bull had fused into one horrifying hybrid of man and machine. A hybrid that came charging at Jared.

So enraptured by the monstrosity, Jared didn’t even move. The Bull bucked upwards, and its horns (had they always been so long and pointy?) impaled Jared.

Jared screamed. The pain was real- more real than any dream had any right to be. He could feel fractured bone shifting in his torso, and he struggled to breathe. Warm blood cascaded out, forming a dark stain on his shirt.

The creature huffed, in a way that indicated grim satisfaction. It braced its hands against his body and pulled its horns out. Jared collapsed to the ground.

At least, he would have. As he fell, he suddenly awoke in a cold sweat. Jared was shell-shocked. “What- what was that?” he whispered to himself. What chilled him most of all was that it felt like he had woken just as his dream-self died. As if he had only been allowed to wake because that thing had finished with him.

That thing…

“Jacob. That was you.” Jared didn’t know if Jacob was still present, but he spoke anyway. It was insane to say, but it was true- some figment of Jacob had returned to torment him.

Jared didn’t sleep the rest of the night. He wouldn’t sleep for many more nights.

5 Years Ago

It was like tradition at this point.

Eventually Jared returned to some sense of normalcy after that first nightmare. But it wouldn’t be the last. His following birthday bore the same fruit- the same horrid dream, down to the smallest detail and up to the grisly end. He attempted to stay awake the whole night the year after, but failed (Jared was unsure if it was supernatural interference or if he just wasn’t good at staying up that long). Three made a pattern, and Jared accepted his fate- annual torment that he honestly felt he deserved.

In a way it was almost relieving. This birthday was the best one he’d had since his mistake, because he no longer felt the guilty need to torture himself- someone else was doing it for him. And today had truly been great- his parents, who had been quite distant lately, treated him and his friends to dinner at a great Mexican place in town. He’d gotten some great gifts, including flying lessons from his parents (He’d always wanted to be a pilot). Overall, it had been one of the best days he’d had in years, and made him reluctant to climb into bed. He knew this wouldn’t be a pleasant sleep, but what choice did he have?

After a restless hour, bracing for what was to come, Jared drifted off. As expected, he found himself in that arena. It was the same as always.

At least, until the Bull appeared. Jared could never see it happen- it always materialized just out of sight. Still, he heard the huff, and turned. The Bull had changed. Rather than being just as it was with the grotesque additions of its limbs, the abomination before him was constructed of marbled flesh, bone, and muscle. It looked greasy and rotten, and there was a long, needle-toothed mouth along its upper back, from which a deep growl emanated. Its head was covered in several extra eyes, which all glared at Jared accusingly. Even in his dream, he could feel vomit rising in his throat.

That was nothing compared to what happened when it spoke.

“JARED.”

“I SAW YOU. YOUR PARTY.”

“YOU WERE LAUGHING. SMILING.

“YOU KNOW YOU DON’T DESERVE THAT.”

The Bull’s words were a kick in the gut. And yet, Jared felt like it was right. He had always known he didn’t deserve any happiness, but tried to deny it.

“THIS IS WHAT YOU DESERVE. THIS PLACE HERE.”

“YOU WILL DIE, OVER AND OVER AGAIN.”

“YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR CRIMES.”

“YOUR CARELESSNESS.”

“YOUR SELFISHNESS.”

“YOU WILL SUFFER. AND YOUR SUFFERING WILL HAVE NO END.”

With that, the abomination- a stitched-up, bleeding reminder that Jared wasn’t worthy of joy- charged and gored.

Jared didn’t even put up a fight.

1 Year Ago

It had to just be in his head.

Not the Bull, no. Jared knew very well that that was real. Each year they became more brutal. The pain of his goring wasn’t just familiar- he knew it like he knew the flight controls of a plane, except he had no power to change the course. What was in question was the feeling of agony that occasionally erupted from his torso while he was awake. It was like two red-hot knives were being driven into his chest, puncturing organs and cracking ribs.

Obviously it was the Bull’s horns. But that had always been confined to his dreams.

He had made certain to have no plans the day after his birthday: he usually needed the time to recover from the increasingly violent mental assaults. But a particularly vicious spike of pain left him speeding to the hospital, praying they’d have a rational answer for what was wrong with him.

He eventually was looked over by a woman named Dr Gray. She ran some tests, but still couldn’t find anything wrong- at least, until she had some technicians run an x-ray.

Jared waited in the examination room for a few minutes, before she reentered looking concerned.

“Ok, so I got a look at the x-ray in the lab, and I can bring it up here on this screen. Maybe you can explain the…oddity present.”

Dr Gray grabbed a remote and flicked the screen to display the scan. It showed Jared’s torso, most prominently his ribcage. The bones looked slightly bent and displayed cracks.

“It appears your ribcage was broken, but not severely. In fact, it looks like it healed more quickly than should be possible. Even stranger, some examination of the fractures gives the impression this injury occurred multiple times.”

She sighed. “Can you shed some light on this? Even apart from the bizarre nature of your condition, there is no reason it should be causing pain like this.”

Jared hesitated, before deciding to let a little of the truth slip. “I’ve had this recurring nightmare for years. I’m trapped with a monster, and it always kills me, goring me on its horns right there. It feels so real. Do you think that might have anything to do with it?”

Dr Gray frowned. “There’s a known phenomena called psychogenic pain, where your psychology and emotions can cause you to imagine pain. It could even result in true physical symptoms, but nothing this severe. And this is severe.

The damage is building up, and the bones are weaker than they’d otherwise be. I fear if whatever has been happening to you occurs one more time, it could completely fracture your rib cage. This could very well be fatal.”

She began prescribing an anti-anxiety medication for his dreams, which was hardly a novel experience for Jared. The last word echoed through his mind: FATAL.

Was this what Jacob had intended the whole time? Not just mental torment for the sake of it, but to slowly wear down his body. Now, he was running out of time.

Jared didn’t deserve this.

It was such an absurd thought. He had spent nearly a decade enduring the attacks of the demonic Bull because he felt like it was his punishment. He was a bad person, who had killed a boy. But now, when confronted with death, he wasn’t sure. Did he really deserve everything he had suffered, for what had ultimately been a mistake? Why shouldn’t he be allowed a happy life?

These questions piling up in his head were a shock to the system. Jared had never even questioned his place. But now, he was tired of being pushed around, and he was angry that Jacob would do this to him. Yes, as bizarre as it sounded, Jacob had crossed a line in the quest for post-mortem vengeance he’d set out on. And he needed to be stopped.

No matter how long it took.

Now

“Cutting it close, are we?” Jared sighed as he pulled into the abandoned parking lot.

He had begun his mission of searching for the Bull mere days after his troubling diagnosis. Jared had assumed it was still located in his hometown pizzeria, which had closed shortly after Jacob’s death. Alas, it wasn’t so simple. Jared was somewhat disgusted to learn the company had simply relocated the best animatronics and attractions to other restaurants, which included the Bucking Bull.

From there the ride had been pawned off from place to place. Over one six-month period, it had gone from a junkyard to a local sports bar to a Fazbear location to an inflatable-attraction renter. From what Jared could learn, the ride no longer functioned well, and carried a rotting smell no matter how much it was washed, thus no one holding onto it long after it was purchased. But Jared had finally pinned it down. The most recent Freddy Fazbear’s it had been installed in had quickly folded, and no one had touched its contents since.

And here he was. Jared stepped out of his pickup truck, a crowbar in one hand and a holstered pistol at his side. “One way or another, it ends tonight.”

The doors were boarded up, but he easily pried them off. He walked inside the building, scanning for the machine.

The info Jared had received was accurate. The restaurant hadn’t even been touched- rows of arcade games without any gaps, and the three animatronics powered down on the main stage. If he didn’t know any better, he’d assume it was just closed for the night.

The Bull wasn’t in sight, though. It had been purchased extremely recently; perhaps it was still uninstalled, stored in the back?

Jared spotted a door at the back: STAFF ONLY. “Good place to start, I guess.”

He swiftly walked across the main room, but paused. Had he just heard a voice, echoing through the empty restaurant?

No, no. It was in his head.

But was that enough to say it wasn’t real?

Jared grasped the doorknob and turned. The door swung open, and there it was.

The Bucking Bull.

He hadn’t seen it for a decade in its ordinary state, surely it would be easier to stomach than the flesh beast that haunted his dreams? Nothing but a torso and head molded from shiny black plastic. And yet he almost vomited. It was all coming back- the control panel, the red duct tape with a scrawled warning, the smashed, bloody skull of his best friend.

Jared stumbled forward, trembling. The platform around the bull had been deflated, leaving nothing but the central motor with trailing wires. It was dead center in the room, surrounded by other animatronic parts- almost like it was a place of honor.

With all his strength, Jared raised his crowbar. He closed his eyes, and brought it down onto the machine’s plastic head-

CLANG

Before Jared even opened his eyes he knew something was wrong. That wasn’t the hollow sound of metal hitting plastic. That was the harsh sound of metal striking metal. However, that observation didn’t prepare him for what he saw.

Before him stood the Bull- yes, stood. Silently, and faster than Jared thought possible, the Bull had gained legs formed of nearby parts. It had swiftly brought one up to block his blow, and had succeeded.

Jared couldn’t even process this before the limb reshifted, closing around his crowbar, gripping it tight. It pulled it out of his grasp and threw it against the wall.

Jared tried to scream, but no sound came out. The Bull approached, lumbering along on its horrible legs of mangled metal. Once it was within a foot of him, it spoke.

“JARED.”

“THANK YOU FOR COMING.”

“BUT PLEASE. CEASE THIS NONSENSE.”

Jared wasn’t sure if it read his mind or the confused expression on his face, because it clarified.

“THESE DELUSIONS THAT THIS IS A FIGHT YOU SHOULD WIN.”

“YOU DESERVE TO DIE. I THOUGHT YOU HAD FINALLY UNDERSTOOD WHEN YOU CAME.”

“THAT OUR BOUTS WITHIN YOUR HEAD WERE AN INVITATION. YOUR MOUNTING INJURIES MY WAY OF LIGHTING A FIRE UNDER YOU.”

“YOU WERE MEANT TO COME READY TO DIE. YOUR FINAL BREATH BEGETTING LONG OVERDUE JUSTICE.”

“PERHAPS NOW YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?”

Jared did. He stopped his slow retreat. He lowered his arms from their defensive pose. And he prepared to die.

The Bull’s leg reshaped again, into a long, oily spike of gears and pistons. It positioned it against Jared’s chest- one slight movement would drive it through his heart.

“I’m sorry, Jacob.” Jared said, as a tear rolled down his cheek. He knew it would earn him no mercy from the Bull, and he hardly felt he deserved any, but he just felt the need to say it.

And then, a voice.

“Jared, please! Run!”

Jacob.

Jared gasped, and somewhat awoke from his trance. He grabbed the Bull’s limb and twisted it away from himself. The Bull was clearly thrown off guard, and stumbled backwards. This gave Jared the chance to run.

He burst out of the backroom and into the main showroom. He ducked behind an arcade machine and tried to be as quiet as possible.

The backroom door slammed open, and Jared could hear the lumbering Bull, creaking on its amalgamated limbs.

As the monster moved, Jared tried to concentrate. “Jacob?” he thought as strongly as he could, hoping his friend would be able to hear.

“Hey, Jared.”

Suddenly, the world around Jared collapsed, and he resurfaced in the ring. The same place that had been home to so many deaths. But it felt different, more peaceful in a weird way.

And standing there was Jacob- a short brown-haired kid in a striped shirt, smiling awkwardly. There were no remnants on his body of his fatal injury.

Jared stared, unsure of what to say. Eventually he forced himself to speak. “Uh, hey. Why’d you tell me to run?”

Jacob stared back, confused. “Because you were just standing there even though you were about to be stabbed?”

“But isn’t that what you wanted? Weren’t you just telling me about how I deserved to die?”

Jacob sighed. “Jared, that wasn’t me. I’m not the Bucking Bull.”

“What?!” Jared asked incredulously. “Then why are you here?”

“Ok, maybe I sort of am. Ever since…the accident, when I died, I’ve possessed the Bull. I’m not sure why, it just sort of happened. But I’m not the one that tormented you in your dreams and is trying to kill you now.”

“Who is?”

“You.”

There was a completely deafening silence. “No.” Jared muttered. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“In some subconscious way, you are. I’m not an expert on how this works, but from my time as a spirit, I’ve learned that the emotions of the living and the dead are powerful. They can animate nonliving objects, or hurt people. And one of the most powerful emotions is guilt.”

“So you’re saying because I felt bad for killing you this thing is gonna kill me? I haven't even been close to it since what happened.”

“First off, my theory is that since you knew the Bull so well, and it was so directly connected to your guilt, it caused a connection that helped your emotions be transferred no matter how far away you got. And secondly, stop saying you killed me.”

“What do you want me to say?!” Jared cried. His knees trembled, and he fell to the dusty ground. “I messed with the controls of a ride you were on, all because I wanted to keep a stupid high score! You’d be alive today if not for me. Maybe the Bull- maybe I- was right all along. I don’t deserve to live.”

Jared felt a hand on his shoulder. “You’re wrong.” Jacob said. “You made a dumb mistake. You were eleven. I’m glad you’re willing to accept responsibility, but you can’t let your guilt tear you apart.”

Jared wiped his eyes. “Why are you even comforting me? Why is this your problem?”

Jacob grinned. “Honestly? I think this is why I stayed after I died. You’re my friend. I wanted to help you.”

Suddenly, the arena was consumed with unimaginably bright light. “Guess that’s my cue.” Jacob said as the white consumed him. “Good luck, Jared. See you again, someday.”

When the light faded, Jared could see the dusty arena- his place of self-torment- was gone.

And then Jared awoke. He was back in the pizzeria, and the Bull was still raging.

Quietly, with no urgency, Jared climbed to his feet and walked out from behind the arcade machine.

The Bull caught him out of the corner of its eye. It snarled, and stamped the ground, preparing to charge.

“Listen.” Jared began. “I know what you are now. You’re me.”

The Bull barely reacted.

“I made a mistake. And because of that, Jacob died. For so long, I’ve been unable to forgive myself.”

YOU DON’T DESERVE FORGIVENESS.

“I’m not denying what I did. But torturing myself like this won’t bring Jacob back. He’s forgiven me; maybe I should too.”

JUSTICE MUST BE SERVED.

“You are kind of right. I left town so quickly, it didn’t give me the chance to do some things. Apologize to Jacob’s family, and his friends…I should do that.” Jared stared the beast down, determined. “But I won’t accept you killing me. I’m done being haunted by a past I can’t change.”

There was silence. It was as if the Bull was, for the first time, struggling to condemn him.

I JUST WANT PEACE. FOR THIS NIGHTMARE WE BEGAN TO END.

“Then end it.”

The Bull was still. Then, it crumbled. The plastic body hit the ground with a THUD, and the metal joints and limbs it had used clattered apart.

The Bull was gone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jared slid into his car, tossing his crowbar into the back seat. He pulled out of the parking lot, and eventually made it onto the highway.

The sun peered over the horizon, coloring the distance pink and red. The rolled-down windows ushered a calming, cool breeze into the vehicle. The world was alive and hopeful, and for the first time in almost a decade Jared felt the same.

“Thank you, Jacob.” he said quietly, once again certain there would be no answer.

He continued his drive, making sure to enjoy the dawn as he went.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #anthology #fazbear frights #horror #cw: gore #body horrow cw #bull #bucking bull

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hintsofhoney · 2 years

Text

All-American Boy

Paring(s): Bull Rider!Dean Winchester x Bull Rider!Castiel

Summary: Cas spots the guy who knocked him down to second place in the bull riding competition at the bar after the show. He's not at all mad about his loss.

Square(s) Filled: Destiel for @spnkinkbingo, repressed sexuality for @taylorswiftbingo

Tags: 18+, anal sex, anal fingering, outdoor sex, light dirty talk, bull rider!Cas and Dean

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Based off the song All-American Boy by Steve Grand. Shout out to my darling betas @treat-winchesterswith-kindness and @deangirl93. I would be lost without you two.

You can also read me on Ao3!

DESTIEL MASTERLIST | SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

The bar is crowded like it usually is after a show, the what-they-called country music these days barely audible over the cheers for the mechanical bull’s next victim. It was some girl, blonde, about 5’2” if Cas had to guess — tiny little thing; he’ll be surprised if she lasts more than three seconds. She’s wearing a cowboy hat that is clearly too big for her — probably one she stole off some cowboy’s head in an attempt to be flirtatious, and of course he let her keep it because she’s a good looking girl and even Cas has to admit — she’s got great tits.

His eyes move away from her as she mounts the bull, partly because he wants to spare himself the second-hand embarrassment, but also because he’s not here to look at women tonight. Unfortunately, however, it seems that women are here to look at him.

“Howdy, handsome,” a brunette says, approaching him where he’s standing at the bar, leaning against the bartop as he nurses a whiskey.

He smiles because he doesn’t want to be rude, but she takes it as an invite to continue.

“I saw ya out there today. You almost beat the record, you know. Twelve seconds is a long time on a bull.”

Cas huffs a laugh and takes a sip of his drink. “Two seconds is a long time on a bull.”

She giggles and takes a step closer, her fingers coming to twirl her hair. “I suppose you’re right.”

He looks her over; she’s only slightly taller than the blonde who has long since been thrown off the bull, her almost pleading brown eyes staring at him as he takes in her outfit — cowboy boots, jean shorts, and a tank top with a plaid flannel tied in the front — just about the same as every other girl here trying to save a bull and ride a cowboy.

“Look, uh, I don’t mean to be rude, but… I don’t swing your way, darlin’,” Cas explains, hoping for the best reaction but expecting the worst. The rodeo crowds weren’t exactly the most accepting.

Flush creeps into her cheeks as realization flashes over her face. “Oh, I’m um — I’m so sorry,” she stutters.

Cas shakes his head, putting his hand out to calm her down. “It’s alright,” he chuckles. “I’m flattered, really. And for what it’s worth, if I did swing that way, I wouldn’t have said no,” he winks. Her cheeks grow redder. Cas feels accomplished. She disappears into the crowd after an awkward goodbye, and Cas resumes his search for someone more his type.

That’s when he sees him sitting across the bar with the blonde in his lap, one of his hands resting on her denim-clad hip as his other holds a whiskey. Cas recognizes him as Dean Winchester, the guy who knocked him down to second place by a few seconds earlier tonight. He’s laughing at something that Cas doubts is funny, and he starts to roll his eyes before Dean’s green ones meet with his through the sea of people between them. For a moment, Cas is frozen in place, the cheering muffles, the crowd fades away, and it’s just him and Dean in their cowboy hats, button-downs, leather vests, and blue jeans. The moment ends as quickly as it came when Cas is brought back to reality with a hand slapping down on his shoulder.

“You did good tonight, brother,” Gabe smiles, clinking the beer in his hand against the nearly-empty whiskey glass in Cas’s.

“Yeah, thanks. Some money would’ve been nice though.”

“Meh, money-schmoney. You’ll beat that guy next time,” he says, nodding in Dean’s direction. “Where’d he come from anyway? Never seen him before.”

Cas shrugs, downing the remainder of his drink. “Dunno. But I’m gonna find out.”

He waits a few minutes, only half listening to Gabe tell some funny story about the roping competition, willing for the girl to get off Dean’s lap because he knows he can’t approach him until she’s gone. Cas is the only openly gay rider in his organization, but he knows from experience that he’s certainly not the only gay rider. Most of these guys grew up in towns where the parking lot of the local Baptist church on Sunday was considered a “big crowd”. The same parking lot was usually used for discreet hook-ups in the back of pick-up trucks on Wednesday nights, and Cas knows this because he’s been there, done that. He stopped believing in God when he gave Max Banes a blowjob in the back of his truck bed at 16 behind the First Baptist Church of Lawrence and he wasn’t immediately struck down by God’s wrath. You’d think having gay sex in the backyard of the Lord’s house would provoke some kind of Biblical punishment, but they both came and then went home to their Jesus-loving families and told them that youth group had run late.

Cas’s parents had come around eventually; they even label themselves as allies now. But he got lucky – most of these guys are probably going to marry a woman and have sex with her out of obligation for the rest of their lives while they’re thinking of having a dick up their ass just because they don’t want to bring “shame to the family” or some shit like that. Cas thinks it’s ridiculous, but he can’t blame them. Hell, if he was half as repressed and self-loathing as these guys were, he’d be doing the same thing.

He watches as the blonde finally gets up from Dean’s lap after he whispers something in her ear. Cas thinks that he might have misread the situation, that maybe they’re going somewhere together, but then Dean pulls a pack of smokes from his back pocket and the girl rolls her eyes. Cas smiles, tells Gabe he’ll be right back, and follows him outside.

It’s a cold night and Cas can see his breath. He looks around and spots the back of Dean’s cowboy hat rounding the corner. The bar is downtown, tall buildings on either side of and behind it, creating a perfect maze of alleyways to get lost in. Dean stops halfway down the backstreet, leaning against the brick wall of the bar as he lights his cigarette. Cas walks up to him a few moments later, and their eyes meet again. Dean smirks, knowingly. It’s like he can read Cas’s mind.

“How’d you know?” he asks, handing Cas a cigarette.

“Oh, no thank you, I don’t smoke,” he replies. “And I can usually tell by the way a guy rides a bull.”

Dean chuckles, taking a drag. “Was on him longer than you were.”

“Mm, barely.” Cas watches the way Dean’s muscles flex underneath his button-down and vest as he brings the cigarette to his lips, the moonlight reflecting off his belt buckle. It was silver, a picture of a man riding a bull in the center, SIOUX FALLS BULL RIDING CHAMPION engraved around it. “What brings you to Kansas? There’s more rodeos in South Dakota,” Cas questions plainly.

“Rode in ‘em all. Wanted to try somethin’ new,” Dean explains with a bored sigh, as if he’s been asked the question a million and one times.

“A bull’s a bull,” Cas states. “They’re the same here as they are up there.”

Dean chuckles. “Sure. But the cowboys aren’t.” His green eyes meet with Cas’s once again, the smirk on his face so cocky that Cas has to resist slapping it off. Dean drops his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and stomps it out, his stare never leaving Cas’s as he mentally challenges him to make a move. Cas looks around, deciding that this alleyway was too open, too risky. He didn’t care, but judging by the way Dean had been acting with that girl earlier, he definitely wasn’t nearly as out as Cas was.

Cas grabs his wrist, and pulls him down the alley, making a right at the end of it, and down another that dead-ends into a concrete wall. It could smell better, the aroma from the nearby dumpster invading their nostrils, but privacy is a priority and they’re too horny to care. The minute Dean’s back hits the wall, Cas’s lips are pressed up against his, his hands roaming his body as he slips them underneath Dean’s vest and pushes it off of him. Dean goes straight for Cas’s ass, squeezing it over his jeans before he trails his palms up Cas’s back. A whimper escapes Dean as Cas moves to his neck, sucking on his sweet spot, his fingers unbuttoning his shirt. The chill of the night air hits Dean’s bare chest, goosebumps spreading all over his body as he shivers, Cas pressing up against him to keep him warm.

Cas trails kisses down his chest, the pad of his thumb gently rubbing over Dean’s nipple, the remaining warmth in his body being drawn to that one spot. Cas goes lower and lower, until his knees hit the asphalt beneath him and he’s eye-level with Dean’s buckle. His fingers work quickly to remove it, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the zipper down within seconds. Dean’s hand finds itself knocking Cas’s hat off his head to get to his hair, his heavy breathing filling the alleyway as Cas licks up his shaft. “Oh, fuck,” he gasps, and Cas takes him in his mouth, and Dean’s suddenly never been warmer in his life. Cas can feel his own cock hardening beneath his jeans, Dean’s groans spurring him on as he takes him deeper, his hands pulling at his hair. A minute or so passes before Dean says, “Fuck, Cas, you – you gotta stop.”

Cas smiles, pulling off of Dean with a “pop”, his hand still wrapped around Dean’s cock as he stands up. “You remembered my name,” Cas states, grinning, only inches away from Dean’s face.

“Y-yeah – fuck – yeah, I w-wanted to know who I w-was beating.” He’s stuttering, and not from the cold.

Cas chuckles and shakes his head, one of his hands coming to undo his own belt buckle. He’s a pro at this by now, and within seconds his jeans and briefs are around his thighs and he’s spinning Dean around and pushing his chest into the wall. He spits on his fingers before bringing them to Dean’s hole, a sharp inhale escaping him as Cas slicks up his entrance. “Been a while?” Cas asks, nonchalant, as if he’s not about to finger some guy he just met in an alleyway behind some bar.

“N-not really a lot of options in South Dakota.”

Cas spits on his fingers again, bringing them back to Dean’s hole, circling around it a few times before slowly pressing one in.

“F-fuck,” Dean chokes, and Cas stretches him open a little before he adds another finger.

“That blonde girl in the bar – she gonna come looking for you?” Cas asks.

“If she does, she’ll get her answer, won’t – shit – w-won’t she?”

Cas huffs a laugh. “I guess she will.”

“You concerned about it or somethin’? I thought I read somewhere –” Cas starts to scissor him open, causing him to jump, “ – fuck. I thought I r-read somewhere that you were out?”

Cas raises his eyebrows at that. “So that’s why you came to Kansas?”

“So what if it is?”

Cas curls his fingers slightly and pulls, earning a groan from Dean. “Just nice to have a suitor, is all.”

“Shut – Christ, man – shut u-up.”

Somehow the cold air isn’t affecting Cas’s dick in the slightest, and he attributes that to the fact that Dean can’t say a sentence without stuttering whenever his fingers are inside him; he’s needy, and Cas likes that. He pulls his fingers away, a pathetic whine escaping Dean that makes Cas smirk, before he pulls out a condom from the shirt pocket beneath his vest. He rips it open, Dean’s shaky breaths of anticipation filling the momentary silence. Sliding it on his cock, Cas spits on his fingers and slicks up Dean’s hole one last time before spitting on his palm and doing the same to his dick, the cold air not at all helping in the keeping-things-wet department.

Dean gasps as he feels Cas’s cock press up against his entrance, and he swallows his moans as it slowly pushes inside him. His hand finds his own dick, hard and throbbing, as Cas pulls back slowly before swiftly snapping his hips into him. Dean yelps, the stretch painful but oh so good at the same time, and then he silently prays that no one overheard him.

Cas is relentless, his rough hands gripping onto Dean’s hips as he continues thrusting, his quick short breaths visible in the chilly night air.

“Fuck. F-fuck, man,” Dean stutters, pausing his actions to spit on his palm before jacking himself off again. He’s so close — it’s probably the fastest he’s ever been brought to the edge — and judging by the way Cas’s thrusts are getting quicker and more uneven, he can tell he’s close, too.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight,” Cas grunts, his fingertips pressing bruises into Dean’s hips.

Dean’s hand is working in tandem with Cas’s thrusts, and then he feels it creeping up on him, and then — then he’s coming all over the concrete wall in front of him, long, drawn-out “fuuucks” escaping him.

Cas thrusts once, twice, before he’s following in Dean’s footsteps, his hips flush with Dean’s ass as he presses in as deep as he can, his head thrown back as he comes. He rides it out, his breath steadying a few moments later.

“Oh my — fuck,” Dean breathes, and Cas huffs a “yeah” in agreement, before slowly pulling out of him. He takes the condom off and ties it, tossing it in the nearby dumpster, before making himself presentable to the public again.

Dean does the same on shaky legs, picking up Cas’s cowboy hat from the ground and walking over to him, placing it back onto his head.

“Thanks,” Cas smiles.

“Sure thing. You, uh — you wanna get outta here?” Dean asks nervously, his hand coming to scratch at the back of his neck.

“Little too late for that question, don’t you think?” Cas chuckles. “But yeah, why not? At least whiskey at my place is free.”

#spnkinkbingo #taylorswiftbingo #Destiel #destiel fanfiction #destiel smut #dean winchester x castiel

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herotome · 3 years

Note

MC wants to go on an amusement park date! Any of the ROs have a favored attraction?

Hoho, I can answer this now that my queued post as gone through!!

Warden: Yes, you know it --

He's at the very front of the viking ship. Tower of Terror type ride would also appeal to him. If it seems like it might send him flying into the stratosphere, he's into it.

Griffin:

Griffin likes PVP type rides like teacups and bumper cars where he can bully whoever he's with.

Note: Some bumper cars seem to be more accessible than others, depending on if they have pedal accelerators or hand cranks on the side.... <_<

Mia:

Monorails and ferris wheels where she can see the whole park. She'd also like to try one(1) unique snack from every single concession stand, assuming they offer some variety of foods.

Dart:

Dart likes to practice his accuracy at carnival games.

He'll ask Griffin for pointers (if Griffin is there -- idk, on a team building field trip??), and then Griffin will say "ok let's compete lol" and Dart will stubbornly refuse to compete because he doesn't want to lose. Dart can be goaded into competing at laser shooting rides, but you gotta be willing to be there all day bc he will keep getting back in line to improve his score....

Jade:

An animatronic mount that she can just ride around all Prince Ali. She would also love petting zoos (favoring birds in particular) and mechanical bulls.

#herotome ask #RO: everyone #have i ever mentioned that griffin taught dart how to shoot a gun lol #no? oop there it is

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skellebonez · 3 years

Note

if you still wants prompts, how about 9 with red son after being taken in by tang and pigsy, seeing how they, mk, mei, and sandy all act around each other and being completely bewildered and out of his element around an actually affectionate family dynamic?

I had an idea a while ago about what might have happened if WBS had left one of those wisps that possessed the Bull Clones in DBK after episode 10, something she could use to try to manipulate him much more subtly and from a distance behind the scenes, so I'm gonna play around with a smidgen that here (so this ended up a little long... ok a lot long... SUPER LONG, 2K words). This is set between episode 10 and the Lunar New Year special, a little canon divergence.

How long have you been standing there?

The last few weeks hadn't been easy on anyone, but it hit Red Son harder than anyone else. Everyone had been hurt, physically at least, but Red’s hurt was on a deeper level... he'd thought everything was at least back to the status quo after Xiaotian had fought his possessed father.

He had no idea that the fight would be the catalyst for being forced into leaving his parents.

Oh, he had tried to stay. For a while everything had actually been pretty ok, his father was less cold and one minded on gaining power, but it quickly became apparent that something had gone wrong. He tried to talk reason into his father when he began to lash out at him, a little more every day, but after what had happened last time he couldn’t argue without his chest feeling tight and the words sputtering as they escaped his lips. His mother had tried as well, and she had managed to get through to him for a moment before that familiar blue light shone in his eyes and they realized exactly what had happened.

It was at her urging that he leave after that. For his own protection, she said, and Red didn’t know why that brought up so many conflicting emotions. DBK has fixated on him at the White Bone Spirit’s insistent manipulation, once again latching onto the notion of him being a traitor (and that hurt even more the second time around somehow) and she feared she would not be strong enough on her own to keep DBK from nearly succeeding in what he had failed to do last time. They had agreed on a plan, one that would have PIF playing along and pretending to banish her son so she could try to keep DBK under her watchful gaze while Red Son was at the very least out of harm’s reach.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize that he wasn’t safe anywhere alone. His mother had kept in contact with him at first, back when he tried to stay in his old apartment. DBK had made short work of that plan and Red realized quickly that if his father considered him a traitor and his mother wanted his safety before anything else he would need to swallow his pride and do the one thing he hadn’t planned on trying.

He went to Pigsy’s Noodles and asked for shelter... After he was body slammed by Noodle Boy and his two companions there, naturally. He supposed now that the reaction was relatively warranted.

The first thing they asked him was “How long have you been standing there?” since he was completely soaked in the rain that was pouring outside.

It was the scholar, Tang, who had listened to him most out of anyone. He seemed to be well versed in the stories of the White Bone Spirit and knowing the fight Xiaotian had put up against his father (and seeing the news stories of DBK smashing a random apartment) he was more than willing to give him a chance. Xiaotian had seemed willing to help after a time and once his stomach started growling and he admitted he had not eaten a full meal in over a day (and had been eating the worst meals he had in a while due to always being on edge) while hiding Pigsy had scowled and told him to sit down and wait. It was an awkward silence that fell over everyone.

The bowl of soup the pig demon placed in front of him was the best looking and smelling thing he had seen in days and he could barely hold himself back from scarfing it down. It was delicious, not that he was ready to admit so out loud. “Perfectly adequate” was what he had said when asked, around a full mouthful of noodles no less. He doubted it fooled anyone.

Though he hadn’t known what to expect when he asked for help, where they would send him or if they would even say yes. He thought maybe he would be sent to stay with Sun Wukong, though that would have been the worst possible outcome given their less than stellar history, or been told to stay with Xiaotian in his cramped tiny apartment. What he hadn’t expected was Pigsy to lead him out by the shoulder with a firm grip toward his and Tang’s apartment.

They’d given him their spare room and an old mattress and a set of rules. No going off on his own for his own safety (though he had a sneaking suspicion they also didn’t fully trust him which was honestly fair). He would work with Xiaotian on his deliveries or in the Noodle Shop (the idea of driving with Noodle Boy all day made him shudder and he hoped he would be set to work in the kitchen instead most days, but he bit his tongue). He could leave only if he stayed with Xiaojiao or Sandy. No catching things on fire (again, fair). Try not to fight with Xiaotian and Xiaojiao too much.

They tried to work out some kind of payment but he knew his father had no idea how bank accounts worked so he assured them he would at least be financially stable.

And things just... fell together somehow.

In time he started calling Xiaotian and Xiaojiao by their names rather than the nicknames he has given them. He found he actually quite liked Xiaotian’s music and driving delivery routes was not as bad as he feared. Xiaojiao had shown him the wonders of street racing (in disguise and the less Pigsy and Tang knew the better) and they bonded over mechanics. He had met Sandy and his many cats and learned that he was both a cat magnet and, according to Sandy, needed anger management (and also bonded with him over mechanics). He’d seen Sun Wukong only once, very briefly and neither saying a word in awkward silence. But somehow he could tell the monkey looked sad as he flew off back to Mount Huaguo.

Soon enough Pigsy had allowed him to help making soup and as it turned out while his own preferences for spicy food weren’t exactly popular with most normal clientele it drew an entire new group of food challengers. Pigsy seemed more than appreciative of this.

Tang, meanwhile, was overjoyed to have someone to talk to about all his stories and scholarly pursuits that wasn’t just Xiaotian and an annoyed (if, Red eventually realized, affectionately so) Pigsy. It was honestly quite fun to discuss topics he knew about and learn things even he had not known, learn how humans had passed down stories of demons he knew long ago, and just enjoy mildly antagonizing Pigsy in good fun.

This was all stuff he almost could have anticipated given what he knew about them all already. What he hadn’t anticipated was how... affectionate they all were.

Oh, some things he expected. Pigsy and Tang constantly being together? That wasn’t much unlike his parents. Xiaojiao grabbing him in hugs and pulling him around? He had seen how she was with others, that seemed in her character. Xiaotian bumping shoulders with him all the time? Much the same. Granted, he flinched every time this happened out of reflex.

But his confusion had started when Pigsy had ruffled Xiaotian’s hair on the first day Red Son worked in the noodle shop. The action baffled him, especially when the other young man swatted away the chef’s hands in annoyance, but there was a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice that belayed that he hadn’t hated the action.

He saw how much Xiaotian and Xiaojiao hugged, threw their arms over their shoulders, playfully punched each other. How Tang would also ruffle their hair and how Pigsy would move Xiaotian with a firm hand to where he needed him to be walking to. How Sandy would just gather everyone up in massive group hugs out of the blue.

He saw how Pigsy sometimes, when no one else watched, gave Tang the free helping of noodles he hassled him for with a smile. How he frowned after Xiaotian as he walked up to his apartment on shaky legs that were tired from a day of work and fighting demons. How Tang and Pigsy would sometimes reach over the counter and hold hands for a second before going back to what they were doing. How one time he had seen Xiaotian and Xiaojiao sitting back to back on his bed when he was sent up to get them and just... enjoy each other’s company.

He heard the nicknames and saw the casual brushes of hands and bumps of shoulders and smiles and gazes and it...

It made him realize how alone he had been with his mother, before his father had returned. How he almost always had Bull Clones for companions as he worked on his machines, how she rarely gave him casual touches of affection. Even after his father had returned she had been somewhat cold to him. His father was far more concerned with opening the box that started all of this, though he did not know how much blame to place on his father’s neglect itself or the influence he was under.

He loved his parents and he was certain they loved him. He had to be certain of that. But he could no longer deny they were not... affectionate.

So when one day Tang had reached out to grab his shoulder he had panicked.

Luckily he hadn’t burned the man, he had jumped back when he felt his hair flaming up, and he apologized profusely (when had he started being apologetic for his actions? maybe he was just afraid they would second guess giving him a chance and kick him out) for almost harming him.

It surprised him even more when Tang apologized and asked if he was the one ok, saying he didn’t mean to startle him and he should have asked before touching him. He honestly didn’t know what to say, staring at the man before Pigsy had managed to get his attention. Again, he apologized, saying he just didn’t expect it and that it was alright. He didn’t care as long as he wasn’t surprised again.

Something changed after that. Every morning when he woke up Tang and Pigsy made it a point to just nudge him in some way after getting his attention. A grip on his shoulder, warm and firm. A nudge on his arm. At first he tensed or flinched just like when Xiaotian or Xiaojiao touched him, but after a while he just... got used to it. Soon their gentle affection didn’t elicit any reaction and after that he realized he was starved for this kind of attention. He wanted more, not much, maybe he could stand his hair being ruffled a bit now.

And so he started to return it. He grabbed Xiaotian’s arm one day to get his attention and the look of surprise and joy on his face told Red that Pigsy and Tang must have told him something. He started sitting closer to him in the tuk-tuk, no longer pushing away when a bump made their shoulders brush together. He sat closer to Xiaojiao when they played video games or worked on blueprints for their rides. He allowed Sandy’s cats to have free reign of him (within reason) and accepted the hugs and nudges the large man had clearly been holding back from him (he was never able to initiate contact first, the other man was too touchy for him to beat him to it).

He started tapping Pigsy on the shoulder at work for his attention. He didn’t sit two seats away from Tang anymore, instead sitting right beside him.

And a few weeks later when Tang reached up to ruffle his hair the same way he did with Xiaotian he paused, looking at Red Son for permission. He nodded his head yes.

He knew why his old rival seemed to like them so much now.

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kiatheinsomniac · 3 years

Text

Unwoven Fate IV

[MY MASTERLIST]

(Y/n) had left her horse outside the walls of Florence, making it her priority to rent a room for the night before examining what she had found at her childhood home. The streets of Florence were busting with bards, merchants, artists, guilds and all other civilians of the home city of the Medici.

Well, former home city.

Something was wrong here, the same something wrong that she had missed back in Forlì. These weren't Florentine guards. Their uniforms were red and higher-ranked guards bore the emblem of a bull. It seemed that everywhere she had travelled to in Tuscany thus far had these soldiers patrolling the streets. Something had happened: some form of conflict or siege perhaps?

(Y/n) didn't know a lot about politics; 'it's not a lady's business', her Aunt had always told her. That had always annoyed her. Regardless of the discrimination of her sex, it was the lack of knowledge that irritated her the most, something for her Aunt to lock away right before her eyes, like a child having their favourite toy taken away for their bad behaviour.

These past few days were the only ones in which she was no longer treated as a child for the first time in her life. And it was getting increasingly difficult.

Terracotta rooftops and tall church steeples rose from the ground around her as she made her way to a tavern, paying for her room and having to barter a little with the price, knowing that her money would run out sooner than she would like. Settling down in the bar below, she tore off a piece of bread to wipe around the edge of her soup bowl, mopping up anything that was leftover and leaning over her bowl.

Her bag was settled on her lap, too worried to leave it and its contents alone in her room. She had started using an alias and trying to hide her face as much as possible by now, knowing that her Aunt and Uncle would use their influence to have people searching all over Tuscany. So, now she was Maria: a merchant's daughter attending the communion of her cousin in Venice, only passing through Florence for a time.

"It was a very powerful speech, indeed, but I would have liked to see the stronzo burn." A man grumbled from a table nearby, speaking to his friend between finishing his drink, "He's the one that got the attention of the Borgia and if not for him, perhaps they wouldn't have come to Firenze at all and the Medici would still be here."

(Y/n) could feel her ears perk up almost, turning her head away to listen without suspicion. The name Borgia rang a bell, hadn't her Uncle mentioned travelling to see a Borgia once? She could recall the event: sitting by the open garden doors while embroidering, her Uncle preparing for his journey. He had been gone for two weeks.

But who was this Savonarola? (Y/n) knew of the Medici, of course, but why weren't they here? The Borgia had taken over the city? Had the infamously rich family been executed, imprisoned or exiled?

"I think it's worth listening to Auditore." The other man replied, "He was wanted for a long time so something must have been keeping him busy, Something that motivated his speech, I bet. I was there when his family was killed, you know? I was one of the people that thought they were all guilty of betraying our republic and I saw him calling out in the crowd. He was only a boy, then mind you."

More names: Savonarola, Borgia, Medici, Auditore. She repeated them like a mantra in her mind, engraving them there. She hoped that things would add up as she went along (although, much of that hadn't happened just yet) and these names could come to meet her understanding in time too.

As the men changed their topic, she decided that now was the time to check what she had found back at her childhood home. Travel, shelter and hunger had taken up her priorities until now.

Paying for her meal at the bar, she headed up the creaky stairs to her small room. She'd bought the cheapest one and the price showed: a small section of the loft with narrow walls, a singular bed and a desk with a candle that was on its last hour of light by the looks of things. Stepping outside, she lit it from the one mounted on the corridor wall, heading back into the room and locking the door behind her.

Sitting at the desk, she carefully took out the scroll and the wrapped object, placing them down as gingerly as if they were holy relics. She bit her cheek as she ran her fingers over the mysterious parcel, feeling herself falter as she imagined either of her parents doing the same so many years ago. Taking a breath, she reached for the scroll first, untying the cord around the middle.

Upon opening it, she realised that it had been folded as a letter once, with the wax seal broken on either side of the paper. The ink showed the same signs of age as the paper which was discoloured and fading.

Signore y Signora (L/n)

The Assassins have lost their hold over Firenze. My brother and two of my nephews have been executed by the Templars. There was a traitor in their midst: Uberto Alberti. My surviving nephew has travelled here, to Monteriggioni, with my sister-in-law and niece. Do not try to continue your work in Firenze and do try to get your contacts in the city to safety, if possible. The Assassin stronghold has now been moved here. We need to reinforce our ranks: I am training more mercenaries and slowly introducing my nephew to the ways of the Assassin. Keep yourselves and your daughter safe.

We work in the dark to serve the light. We are Assassins.

-Mario Auditore.

Assassins. Her parents had been Assassins. That name! Auditore. Could Mario be the one that the men downstairs were talking about? No, the man said that a boy had called out to his family from the crowd and Mario mentions a surviving nephew. This nephew must be the Auditore that the two men were speaking of. Folding the letter back up, she reached for the wrapped parcel next.

Her fingers carefully worked on unwinding the string that kept it all together, pulling it away until she could start peeling back the cloth. But she wasn't entirely sure of what she was looking at afterwards.

Some sort of arm guard? It had a form of shaft going along the length of it with very intricate metalwork. Her brows furrowed as she picked it up and turned it so that the shaft was facing downwards. That symbol again, the same one that had been on the mosaic - it was at the base of the arm guard.

She had been hunting with her Aunt and Uncle before and was trained with a bow. This device looked similar enough to the arm guard that she had to wear to prevent her arm from potentially receiving an archer's kiss, a bruise from the impact of the string hitting the arm if your elbow was positioned wrong. Pulling up her sleeve, she attached it to her arm and held the limb out to examine the armour, pushing her wrist back to-

She gasped as the shaft moved with some mechanism, causing a blade to poke out and stop with a noise. Her fingers had instinctually curled in to prevent them from being sliced off.

Examining the device further, she guessed that more of the blade was stuck inside the shaft, what had come out looked too small compared to the size of the arm guard. It hadn't been touched in years, perhaps time had taken its toll on this too? she reasoned. Rolling her wrist to try and trigger it again, the blade shot back into the shaft. She took it off and switched it to her dominant hand instead: this was not armour, this was a weapon.

She put the letter back in the bag and shoved it under the bed, changing her clothes and laying them over the back of the chair of the desk. She could feel as she braided her hair that it needed to be washed and she prepared herself to go to sleep. In the morning, she would set off to Monteriggioni and see if Mario Auditore and his family had any answers for her.

She couldn't help but smile to herself as she looked back at the hidden blade before stashing it back into her bag. Finally, she felt like she was getting somewhere! She had travelled from Forli to Florence now on the hope of finding something and now she finally had. Her parents had been Assassins! Someone in Monteriggioni could have answers! Snuffing out the candle and pulling the woollen blanket over her body, she closed her eyes. Tomorrow morning, she would head out for Monteriggioni.

⚜⚜⚜

She had to get off her horse as soon as the town was in her sights. Tears prickled her eyes as she led the creature by the reigns instead. She always felt two steps behind the world: as if, while living with her Aunt and Uncle, what would have been her life had continued while she was left behind to learn how to play the violin and how to embroider, how to have her whole life planned out for her. Be a lady, marry a man, give him heirs, die. It was the only future she knew but now another one was revealed to her; one that had been taken and she couldn't go back to.

But she would make a new one - she was making a new one - right now.

She left her horse outside the city's walls, looking around at the rubble. The defences had crumbled in many areas, homes showed signs of having been burned down either partially or entirely. The people looked tired, hungry, scared.

The remains of a large villa stood at the far end of the small town, the stairs leading up to it having makeshift paths for the people to cross safely over the damage. (Y/n) reached out to place her hand on the arm of a woman passing by. Her blonde hair was styled up with wisps framing her face, her silk skirts were dirty and she hugged a shawl around her shoulders, her makeup a mess. She had no undershirt, just her corset. She looked cold.

"Excuse me but, what happened here?"

"The filthy Borgias! That's what! They came a few weeks ago and destroyed the place early in the morning. Almost everything is gone and those who can't help to rebuild are leaving." (Y/n)'s eyes were caught by a red and gold flag on the floor, partially covered in debris, that same symbol! The one worked into the blade on her arm and on the mosaic puzzle.

"And that flag? What does the symbol represent?" She pressed further.

"I've always assumed it belonged to the Auditore family, they started flying them shortly after they arrived. The villa was theirs, they ran the town, brought it to prosperity." There! That name again! Things were adding up. (Y/n) had to contain her excitement. Upon seeing the state of the town, she felt that it could be another dead end but this could lead her to the family who knew her parents, this other family of Assassins.

"And where are they now? I need to meet them - I've come a long way." The young woman continued.

"Lucrezia, dai!" The blonde looked over (Y/n)'s shoulder to a group of women dressed similarly to her. Courtesans.

"The family's daughter owns a bordello in Roma now, we are travelling there today."

"Can I come with you?" (Y/n) spoke with a pleading note in her voice, "I won't trouble you, I just need to find these people." The courtesan eyed the woman eerily.

"And why would a lady like you, want to travel with girls like us?" Her eyes became fixed to the strings of pearls around her neck that were poking out from under her chemise.

"Because I'm alone and I've never travelled before recently. Someone wronged my family years ago when I was just a child. My parents died as a result. The Auditore's are the only ones who might be able to help me find out why." She paused, "Please."

The courtesan gave a pitiful smile, "I'm sorry to hear that. . . Come along." She beckoned with her hand as she led (Y/n) over to the group of girls.

As she mounted her horse again, she felt anxious. She didn't know what she was going to find in Rome. Her parents had been Assassins. What if they had been bad people? Who's to say that they had killed for good? She had only told herself this because she wanted to believe it. What if she was wrong?

Either way, she would find this Mario Auditore in Rome and, hopefully, she would find answers with him.

#unwoven fate #assassins creed #ezio auditore #ezio auditore da firenze #ezio auditore x reader #assassins creed ii #ac #ezio x reader #ezio auditore/ reader #ezio collection #ezio auditore da firenze/reader #ezio auditore imagine #Ezio Auditore fanfic #ACB #assassins creed x reader #assassins creed brotherhood #ac II

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felixlcsser · 4 years

Text

Felix was watching the mechanical bull riders, a girl mounting the contraption and immediately tossing her neon hat into the air. Most everyone was laughing, cheering her on, their faces contorted into expressions of drunken joy. A gaggle of her friends lunged to grab at the hat like it was the bouquet at a wedding, a short redhead grasping it in victory. His expression looked utterly bored, however watching the display like he was being forced to sit down and watch a round of golf. A single sight kept popping back up into his head like a whack-a-mole, the sight of Delilah Astor entangled with someone who wasn’t him. I’ll haunt you, she had told him, and at the time, he had practically begged for her statement to be true. But now, it rang in his head like a warning as he tried to brush whatever he was feeling inside. Jealousy would be ridiculous, he told himself. The vodka in his hand was helping, taking pulls of it occasionally as he watched another rider step up, eyes limp, leaning against a railing that lead to a cow pasture with no cows. “Thought that guy would have unhinged his jaw and swallow you whole by now. Think I have a class with him. His tongue’s always darting out, like a salamander,” he commented to Delilah dryly, trying to paste a smile on his face as she entered his field of vision. Tipping his cowboy hat to her, he only needed a piece of straw in his mouth to complete the image. He didn’t get to be jealous, he reminded himself. “You, uh, want to check out the barn or something? Hear it’s haunted. Better than watching this trainwreck,” he offered, gesturing towards the bull and the girl attempting to ride it backwards. @delilahastor

#this sucks excuse me #c:delilah

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gripefroot · 3 years

Text

Sprite [5/8]

Sam’s rumor of another mission to an AIM facility turned out to be true, much to your concern. Tony gave a briefing the next morning, giving the mission date for the following day despite the protests of yet another mission without more of a break.

“We didn’t have any major injuries last time, so we’ll be okay,” Steve says, quite reasonably, later that day in the gym. There are a few people congregated, but only Natasha was actually exercising on a nearby balance beam. Bucky is wrapping his hands near where you are sitting on a pile of mats to the side. You obviously couldn’t do the balance beam or lift weights or use a treadmill, but you preferred not to be alone.

“My arm is still bruised!” Sam says, brandishing his arm so that the fading purple bruise could be thoroughly admired by his audience. “Can’t lift weights! It’s only legs for me.”

“Then go for a run,” Bucky says. He’s not hiding his smirk. “Complain to your bird friends outside.”

Sam grumbles under his breath, and you smile. “Run! What’s the use in running when I’m outrun by everyone here.”

“I can’t outrun you, Sam,” you call. “I mean, if you want to race…you’ve got it in the bag between us, I think.”

“Yeah, unless your personal chauffeur Tin-man here takes you for the ride.”

“Yep, you’d lose,” Bucky says without pause.

“This is what I mean – this is a disgrace –”

“You just need to find someone your level,” Steve says to Sam. He’s trying to be kind, but you see the sparkle in Steve’s eyes. Sam scowls.

“Man, you guys are the worst.”

“Maybe Tony will get Banner’s notes for super serum, and you can be the next experiment,” Steve says with a grin. Bucky snorts. Sam puffs out his chest.

“Then I’d whoop all ya’ll, and you’d regret it forever. New team leader – Falcon, right here.”

“And then Tony would dish back all the sass you give him now,” Bucky points out.

“Huh! I ain’t scared of Stark.”

Sam sufficiently needled, Steve and Bucky begin their warm-up routine; running in place, squats, and the like. You watch Nat’s grace on the balance beam for a while before she dismounts – if she was in the Olympics, she’d knock it out of the park, you’re sure of it. And you smile as Sam mounts a treadmill, still grumbling to himself.

The two in front of you move onto push-ups, and if you’re not mistaken, they’re competing to see who can do the most. You can hear them counting under their breaths. They really were show-offs when they were together, and you grin, watching with interest.

“Hey!” you shout, and they look up at you. “You’ll be here all day if you keep on like that. Make it harder.”

“One arm?” Bucky asks Steve, out of breath.

“Nah. Bigger load.”

They share a grin.

“I claim Nat,” Steve says quickly, before Bucky can even open his mouth. “HEY NAT!”

She wanders over, wiping the sweat from her face with a towel. She’s not impressed by Steve and Bucky as you are - more familiar with their competitive antics than most, and so the look in her eyes is cool.

“Sit on my back,” Steve tells her.

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea, grandpa.”

“If you get Nat, then I get…” Bucky falters, looking around. Only Sam is left in the room, and running at the treadmill with an interested ear cocked towards them, he shakes his head violently, panting slightly.

“Nuh-uh. No way, Tin-man. I ain’t sittin’ on you.”

Bucky’s eyes settle on you. His grin lights up his face. Natasha doesn’t miss this exchange – in fact, she laughs, and on her way to Steve offers you her shoulder to hop down.

“One body each,” Bucky says to Steve, who nods. He hasn’t caught on yet, but when Nat lowers you to Bucky’s back –

“Not fair!” Steve objects.

“Oh, I think it’s fair,” Nat says airily.

You sit down, crossing your legs between Bucky’s shoulder blades. He’s holding himself in a plank position, much like Steve as Nat perches on his back, legs over one side with her towel slung ‘round her neck.

“Ready – set –”

Even though you’ve never done it before, you imagine it’s much like riding one of those mechanical bulls found at rodeos and in terrible themed bars. You are completely dislodged, and you laugh in surprise. Nat’s laughing, too. Bucky is moving much faster than Steve, and you lose your balance, clinging to Bucky’s shirt before you’re jolted off the side.

“Stop, stop!” you shout.

Immediately he does, chortling, and you clamor back up, breathless from giggling. Only Steve is straight-faced, focused as he continues his push-ups.

“Bad idea, man,” you say. “Let me down somewhere safe.”

“But you’re such good resistance!” Bucky teases.

“Oh, whatever.”

You climb up on his shoulder, and he stands carefully to return you to the pile of mats. He beams at you, in thanks for the joke at Steve’s expense, and goes back to his push-ups. The lively excitement from the past few minutes dissipates as you watch the trio continue their competition, now arguing whether they ought to take turns or if a pile of weights would be a fair substitute for you. It was strangely difficult, watching the three of them having fun while you couldn’t – just because you were likely to get tossed around and get hurt.

And about that moment that you began to feel more left-out than ever. Two years, and you still hated being small.

You summon the hoverboard, and without telling anyone you slip from the gym, in search of something to do that wouldn’t remind you so painfully of your situation.

“Can’t you all see she’s lonely?”

The single light which JARVIS had turned on for you in the kitchen was enough to keep you in relative darkness. Huddled with your back against the little cupboard which held your miniature dishes, you allow the tears to burn your eyes as you remember overhearing Hope’s words from earlier.

“She could be at home with her family, she could hide in her room all day – but she stays with you. All of you. Can’t you imagine how it feels to be the only person in the world your size? She stays with you because she needs the company. She needs the support.”

And then,

“Tony, you have to find a way to reverse the effects of that accident.”

With your unhappy thoughts from the training room, you knew Hope was right. You were lonely. That weird ache in your chest was only worsening. The mission…had been good for you. It reminded you of what it was like to be really useful. Part of something. And now that was over, and you were still as vulnerable as before.

You sniff, wiping the snot from your nose.

“Who’s there?” The voice is low, hushed – but you recognize it at once. Bucky. Bucky? He was supposed to be sleeping! It was the middle of the night!

“I’m here,” you say hoarsely, and a moment later he appears, wearing only shorts and a tank-top, as he stares down at you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice gentle. Perhaps he’s remembering what Hope had said, too. “What’s up?”

“Just thirsty,” you lie. “What about you? I thought your meds knocked you out.”

“They do. I forgot to take them.” Bucky smiles ruefully, and he opens the cupboard above your head to pull out a prescription bottle. “Can I get you some water?” he asks.

“Yeah, sure.” Your voice is thicker than usual, from crying. Hopefully he doesn’t notice.

“So,” Bucky says loudly, pouring the regular glass and the tiny glass. “Ready for tomorrow?”

No, not really. “Yeah,” you say. “Hopefully we’ll get the rest of Dr. Banner’s work and we can get that over and done with.”

He’s silent as he pops his pills, but afterwards he gazes down at you, his mouth twisted. “You ok?” he asks.

“I’m ok.”

Another moment passes, and Bucky leans down on the counter near you, propped up on his elbows. You offer as much a smile as you can manage.

“You heard what Hope said,” he says.

You whisper. “Yes.”

“I heard you on your hoverboard in the next room.” His eyes drift away. “I’m sorry. That must have been painful.”

“She didn’t say anything I don’t already know.” The words came out more bitterly than you intended, and to disguise your feelings, you drain the glass of water.

“If…if you want to talk about it. I’m here.” Bucky sounds slightly uncomfortable – of course he would be, offering emotional support. But he still said it, and that means a lot. You see the sorrowful look on his face. He understands, probably more than anyone.

“I’m just lonely, sometimes,” you say, your throat closing over the words. “It’s hard…it’s hard to feel so useless, in danger even around my friends, and…I haven’t even had a hug in two years –” Your voice breaks off, and you rub your burning eyes to keep the tears from spilling. “I shouldn’t complain,” you say briskly, sniffling. “I’m alive, I’m perfectly healthy – apart from the size thing – and I have you guys. You’ve been good to me.”

“We care about you,” Bucky says softly, his eyes intent on your face. “And we want you to get better. I hope we find what Tony needs to reverse your condition.” He pauses. “I really do.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

His smile is small, but sincere.

“Let me take you to your room,” he says. “We need sleep before this mission, you and I. Otherwise we’ll both be nodding on the Quinjet and Sam will never let us hear the end of it.”

You give a weak laugh, and don’t protest when Bucky lifts you gently to place you on his shoulder. It’s more comforting than you would have thought, just to have human contact. You nestle into the warm, familiar scent of his skin, and close your eyes with a shuddering sigh.

This mission is nothing like your first.

This AIM facility is fully guarded, and there are no outside vents. Several minutes of a tense skirmish outside the sewer entrance (really, AIM?), and you’re finally brave enough to peek out of Sam’s pants pocket as he sloshes through the brackish water. There were floaties that made your stomach clench with nausea.

“Yuck,” he says. “This is nasty.”

“It won’t be so bad inside,” Steve is ahead of the group, already in the next chamber. “Come on.”

There are more guards and more scientists inside, and in the tight quarters you’re jostled back and forth – there’s no room for Sam to fly. Finally you grow too impatient, and crawl out of his pocket and buzz into the air, flying high and away from the fighting to scope out the concrete tunnels.

“Go left, sprite,” Tony says on the coms. “That’s where the energy readings are highest.”

Staying high and out of sight, you continue down the concrete tunnels, weaving around light bulbs and thankfully unnoticed. Get the data, get out, you tell yourself. It’s simple. Just like the first.

But this time, the computers in the massive cement chamber are surrounded by a dozen people in lab coats, arguing loudly about whether they should take the hard drives and leave or if the Avengers would be defeated by their guards…

“Not likely,” you murmur to yourself, staying in the corners of the room to observe. It didn’t look like you were going to get a chance to pilfer anything, unless the scientists suddenly disappeared.

The clamor in the tunnels is growing louder, and you hear a shout. Well. Maybe you were going to get some backup. The door opens with a crash.

Yep. You would thank Bucky and Steve later.

The scientists really didn’t stand a chance, not really – even with the various weapons they fumbled with were pretty much useless. Scientists. Not soldiers. Not guards. Just nerds. Your people. You smirk to yourself. If you ever did get to be a proper scientist, you would make a note to learn to defend yourself…

“Nice work,” Steve pants to Bucky a few minutes later. The scientists are strewn across the floor in inelegant heaps, some moaning piteously and some silent. Bucky is twisting his metal arm, a frown pinching his brows.

“Perimeter check,” he says briskly. “I don’t want to get caught like last time.”

“You guys are efficient,” you say aloud, and both glance up at you. Steve is surprised, but Bucky smiles as you fly down. “I’ll get the –”

Bucky’s suggestion of a perimeter check was the right move, but not quick enough. You had distracted them. Which gave one of the scientists time to reach in his pocket – your eyes flicker towards him, his face horribly familiar, and he lifts his arm –

“Look out!” you shout.

But it’s not Steve and Bucky he’s aiming for – it’s you –

His smile is gleeful, utterly deranged as he points some – some thing at you – you don’t know what it is, but the flared barrel is similar to the electromagnetic gun from the last mission. No sound comes when he pulls the trigger, but immediately the bones and muscles in your body clench in on themselves, and you scream. The wings on your back seize, and stop.

From far away, a voice. That slimy voice from the first AIM facility, the first mission. “This will teach you not to rob us again, eh?”

And then pain. Bulging, searing pain! Bright, shattering pain – and a ringing in your ears that is oddly familiar. Familiar? Suddenly you’re seeing Dr. Banner’s lab again, the green lights and the sensation of every particle of your body vibrating painfully and your brain pounding against your skull – black spots appear in your vision –

“She can’t fly!” Steve shouted. He was clenching the scientist’s collar in one fist, the other having bloodied his nose. Now the man really was unconscious, but the damage was already done. Bucky barely heard Steve, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off you as weird light engulfed your form and pierced through the room as you fell.

It seemed to take forever. But the light just seemed to get brighter and brighter, and closer, and with fierce concentration Bucky lifted his hands to catch you, hoping he was aiming for the first place in the light – oh, no – if he missed and you fell to the floor…he would never forgive himself.

A body larger than expected crashed into him, knocking the air from his lungs as the floor met the back of his head with a painful thunk.

The collision brings you back to your senses, and you feel the hard, warm body tangled with yours. You blink several times, trying to think beyond the ache in your skull. You hear Bucky groan next to you.

“Bucky,” you whisper.

“Yeah…are you okay?”

The horrific pain was over. Only a few aches remained, throbbing in your limbs as an afterthought. “I think so. You?”

The room is dim again, and you hear Steve say something into the coms. You lift a heavy hand to rub your eyes, and the body next to your shifts, and suddenly a face comes into focus above yours. Eyes full of concern, mouth twisted in worry –

And a hand, cupping your face.

A what now?

You stare. Bucky is smaller than usual. Meaning, he wasn’t looming over you – well, he was looming over you – but he wasn’t a giant. He looked, well, normal. Your size.

“Oh, no!” you gasp, your heart clenching in fear and horror. “Bucky – they shrunk you!”

Bucky blinks. “No…they hit you with that…gun thing. Not me.”

The floor is cold against your back, and…your wing pack is gone. Weird. Bucky’s hands were roving over your arms and legs now. Checking for breaks? But…he was your size. Or were you his size?

“Are you okay?” he asks again, returning his gaze to your face. You feel heat rush to your cheeks at once, and you can’t quite tear your eyes away from Bucky. What on earth –

Sometimes, it’s just easier to faint. And so you do.

continue

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sohannabarberaesque · 4 years

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You’ll never guess what explains why Snagglepuss IS Snagglepuss, to begin with--

So let’s begin at the beginning, so to speak: “Heavens to Betsy ... to Murgatroyd, even! I must have to acknowledge that I am what I am because, for the most part, circumstances at a very young age--as in my parents being sold off to some zoo in Cincinnati--or was it Richmond? The which, at any rate, exposed me to considerable risk of exploitation from one Major Minor, who as I understand it was under orders from the Adventurers’ Club to capture and mount my kind at any cost....”

Would it be safe to say that your sophistication, or tendencies thereto, are a sort of release mechanism? “I should say so; after all, it’s been said that if you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull. It’s that simple, need I say more? Although I must admit that fixing a halfway-decent martini on rather limited means can be daunting when the gin you use is rather cheap, and actually tastes as much.”

But at least your experiences with Yogi Bear’s crew were something of a game-changer: “I admit it was just something I played along with at the time ... so was the hosting detail on Laff-a-Lympics alongside a certain Mildew Wolf. That last one, I have to admit, developing into something of an amusing little interrelationship when it comes to producing the documentary film record, you might say, of our several Character Convocations ... which can be especially obvious when we review the finished product, so to speak, in some remarkable simulation of the late lamented Nosseck’s Screening Room.”

Speaking of said Character Convocations-- “I have to admit it all started on a casual little lark with Huckleberry Hound (I assume you’re well-acquainted with him) recalling the salad days, in a way, of the Truth or Consequences Fiesta back when Ralph Edwards would bring emerging Hollywood talent over to the former Hot Springs, New Mexico--renamed Truth or Consequences, remember, in tribute to the radio, and later TV, game show Edwards created--to celebrate the remaning thereof ... and imagining how many of us fellow Funtastic characters would come over in a spirit of good-natured friendship coincident with the actual Fiesta weekend. “Which seems to have worked big time ... and have been repeated several times, coincident with some of the more interesting examples of festivals across America ... such as the Steamboat Springs Winter Carnival ... the Minneapolis Aquatennial ... Wo-Zha-Wa in Wisconsin Dells ... Catalina Island’s Avalon Harbour Underwater Cleanup ... the Moxie Festival in Lisbon, Maine ... even Mardi Gras in Mobile, Alabama, where it first originated in the United States, even before there was New Orleans, mind you! Right down to parade appearences of a largely ‘meet-and-greet’ sort, which is especially the case with the Hair Bear Bunch. That Invisible Motorbike of theirs might be seen as posing a serious problem or two, so what the ursine trio will do is go walkabout and mingle with the audience. Pose for selfies, even!”

Have you any particular festivals that you would consider hosting Character Convocations at, come to think of it? “Have I? Have I?! There seems to be plenty of interesting, though at times predictable, summer and winter festivals as can provide opportunities for us of The Funtastic World of Hanna-Barbera to as much get together for old time’s sake as to cross paths with fans old and new, and this includes The Banana Splits--the Cattanooga Cats, even! “A couple such I can picture us being at for Character Convocation ends would have to be Bridge Day at West Virginia’s New River Gorge Bridge, the highest steel-arch span in the world ... and with quite the drop attracting BASE jumpers, hang gliders even, with a spectacular view into the aforesaid New River Gorge--doesn’t that name sound like quite the double take? “Equally interesting would be the Mackinac Bridge Walk over the Straits of Mackinac on Labour Day ... imagine, all of seven miles between the two parts of Michigan ... maybe even the Clay County Fair in Spencer, Iowa, a typically American county fair, come to think of it....”

So how would you and Huck choose the festivals you’d want to see Character Convocations at? “We try to look for such specimens of community festivals as are esoterically interesting, some of them the sort which would have attracted their share of celebrities in an earlier time--as witness the inspiration of the Truth or Consequences Fiesta for our first such a few years back. Not to mention offering interesting potential for the usual documentary video, if you know whereof I mean.”

Would you say, to use a T-shirt meme, that your tastes are simple, as in choosing only the best? “Guilty as charged. Consider such as part of my defensive mechanism, you might say.”

In deference to the Thanksgiving weekend, next week will see no Fanfic Friday in this space. Look for the next such in two weeks’ time; i.e., December 4th.

@warnerarchive @hanna-barbera-land @warnerbrosentertainment @moonrock1973 @themineralyoucrave @hanna-barberians @cottoncandy-wannabe @wherearethememesonmyplate @hanna-barbera-blog @screamingtoosoftly @jg376

#fanfic friday #hanna barbera #snagglepuss #in his own words #profile #major minor #character convocation #huckleberry hound #hannabarberaforever

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tinyshe · 3 years

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California’s Forced Vaccinations a Violation of Nuremberg Code

Published on November 12, 2018

Written by Roger Landry

Concerns are mounting among scientists that the recent implementation of SB277 making vaccinations mandatory law in California for men, women and children is a chilling step towards universal compulsory vaccination.

Coupled with the fact governments and multi-national pharmaceutical companies are being prosecuted and convicted over poorly-tested and administered vaccines, suggests a crisis is coming.

Vaccine activists are citing the notorious post Second World War Nuremberg Trials in which Nazi doctors were convicted of forced experiments on humans. Fears are that seemingly once benign governments are now resorting to forcing medication into the bodies of the unwilling masses and their children without their consent.

A little recent history …

Here is a short video discussing the ethical questions raised by many concerned parents during the debates leading up to the implementation of SB277 in California. The focus here is the concerns of these educated parents who were very aware of the possibilities of vaccine damage, wanting to know who gets to decide if the (possible) gains outweigh the (known) risks …

Vaccines are scientifically proven to have side-effects ranging from mild to catastrophic. These may include anything from a mild rash, a compromised immune system, sterility, cognitive dysfunction (brain damage), paralysis, cancer, to … death and many more “proven” issues not mentioned here.

We are constantly being told by the healthcare personnel we trust that the chance of vaccine damage is “Less than one in a million”, yet statistics prove over and over again that this is a totally erroneous and massively understated number, with the actual occurrences of harm caused by vaccines being massively higher, and in fact … very common.

Even with the cases reported being well in excess of the laughable quote stated above, we must also consider that the CDC itself states that as few as 1 – 10{154653b9ea5f83bbbf00f55de12e21cba2da5b4b158a426ee0e27ae0c1b44117} of vaccine damage incidents are ever reported as such, making the possible total ‘Magnitudes Higher’ than what we are made aware of via the CDC or the Vaccine Adverse Event Reporting System (VAERS). National Vaccine Information Center (NVIC) is stating Proposed Changes Restrict Vaccine Reaction Reporting, making these incidences of vaccine damage even more difficult to track or tally (intentionally).

Now lets consider that the vaccine court (VICP) in this country has already paid out well over $3 BILLION in damages, and this is to only a very small percentage of possible claimants who actually get their cases heard, and can prove damage to a (known) biased system of supposed justice.

So how rare can vaccine damage actually be … ???

Approximately thirty thousand (30,000) VAERS reports are filed annually, and again the CDC states that only 10{154653b9ea5f83bbbf00f55de12e21cba2da5b4b158a426ee0e27ae0c1b44117} (on the high side) of actual cases are ever reported … Yea do the math (300,000)! Now not all of these are life threatening, but how many are life wrecking? If even 10-20{154653b9ea5f83bbbf00f55de12e21cba2da5b4b158a426ee0e27ae0c1b44117} are life threatening, wrecking, or stealing (30,000 – 60,000 a year), that is still a huge number, and magnitudes above “one in a million.” That would actually equate to less than 320 adverse reactions nation wide if EVERYONE in the country (about 320 million people) is vaccinated in a calendar year … But the fact is only about 25{154653b9ea5f83bbbf00f55de12e21cba2da5b4b158a426ee0e27ae0c1b44117} of the public is vaccinated each year (all vaccinations combined) making the actual number about 80 cases of vaccine damage … if these doctors are correct (BULL SH#T)!

Now take the above numbers and plot probable vaccine damage with 10{154653b9ea5f83bbbf00f55de12e21cba2da5b4b158a426ee0e27ae0c1b44117} reported over just the last decade … 300,000 x 10 = 3,000,000, and if we use 1{154653b9ea5f83bbbf00f55de12e21cba2da5b4b158a426ee0e27ae0c1b44117} reported … 30,000,000! Now try to imagine the damage to the American society, or the entire vaccinated global community over the last century of ever increasing vaccine proliferation, and you will come to understand that vaccines may very well be responsible for more death and human suffering than ANY or maybe ALL wars in human history.

We can easily see, with even the most rudimentary research, the possible incidence of vaccine damage is mind bending and so far above the lies and platitudes fed to us by those we are conditioned to trust, that it is almost inconceivable. Please understand that if the above statement (less than one in a million) were true … Vaccines would be among the safest mechanisms on this planet, but all data points Blatantly to Exactly the Opposite.

When all is said and done We The People (more every day) are becoming painfully aware of the frequency and magnitude of Vaccine damage and we are horrified and angry!

How is this Medical Experimentation?

With the many proven side-effects, and NO long term Proven Efficacy or Harm Study on vaccines (or multiple dose vaccinations) ever accomplished or even commissioned by the CDC, that we are made aware of in a century of use in the USA (try to find one), they can have no scientific or factual claim to being an effective or safe mechanism. Thus by default, HOW can this be considered or categorized as anything more than Medical Experimentation?

Please watch as Dr. Russell Blaylock connects the vaccine industry today to violations of the Nuremberg Code …

The Nuremberg trials where 23 defendants, all medical doctors, were accused of having been involved in the horrors of Nazi human experimentation, procedures and exposures without the consent of those experimented on. The trial lasted eight months, from December 9, 1946, to August 20, 1947. Of the 23 defendants, five were acquitted, seven received death sentences, and the remaining received prison sentences ranging from 10 years to life imprisonment. Those sentenced to death were hanged on June 2, 1948, in Landsberg Prison, Bavaria.

What resulted from this was the ten points of the Nuremberg Code. Of these ten points the following are most germane to this discussion, those being:

Nuremberg Code: Point #1

The voluntary consent of the human subject is absolutely essential. This means that the person involved should have legal capacity to give consent; should be so situated as to be able to exercise free power of choice, without the intervention of any element of force, fraud, deceit, duress, over-reaching, or other ulterior form of constraint or coercion; and should have sufficient knowledge and comprehension of the elements of the subject matter involved as to enable him/her to make an understanding and enlightened decision. This latter element requires that before the acceptance of an affirmative decision by the experimental subject there should be made known to him the nature, duration, and purpose of the experiment; the method and means by which it is to be conducted; all inconveniences and hazards reasonable to be expected; and the effects upon his health or person which may possibly come from his participation in the experiment. The duty and responsibility for ascertaining the quality of the consent rests upon each individual who initiates, directs or engages in the experiment. It is a personal duty and responsibility which may not be delegated to another with impunity.

Nuremberg Code: Point #5

No experiment should be conducted where there is a prior reason to believe that death or disabling injury will occur; except, perhaps, in those experiments where the experimental physicians also serve as subjects.

Nuremberg Code: Point #7

Proper preparations should be made and adequate facilities provided to protect the experimental subject against even remote possibilities of injury, disability, or death.

Nuremberg Code: Point #9

During the course of the experiment the human subject should be at liberty to bring the experiment to an end if he has reached the physical or mental state where continuation of the experiment seems to him to be impossible.

Nuremberg Code: Point #10

During the course of the experiment the scientist in charge must be prepared to terminate the experiment at any stage, if he has probable cause to believe, in the exercise of the good faith, superior skill and careful judgment required of him that a continuation of the experiment is likely to result in injury, disability, or death to the experimental subject.

GUILTY AS CHARGED

With forced or mandated vaccinations, the known side-effects of vaccines, the total lack of consideration (research) of either efficacy or harm, the lack of full (true) disclosure of any of the information stated above prior to application, the total immunity from prosecution of the entire chain from production to administration, and the denial or cover-up of known causality … ALL … of these above (Nuremberg Code) points are Grossly Violated.

If one stops to consider the testimony of individuals such as Dr. Thompson and other learned CDC whistle-blowers, the ethics question is a total and disastrous failure. If one also stops to consider the untold number of high level research scientists globally who have dedicated their lives and staked their professional reputations on proving the harm and danger of vaccines … proof gone unnoticed, ignored, or intentionally buried, by governments and health agencies, the morals question is also a catastrophic failure.