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tropes-and-tales · 8 months

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Sweet Like Candy

Day 5: Sex pollen (Horacio Carrillo x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Dub-con due to sex pollen trope; smut (PiV, unprotected); 18+ only.

Word Count: 4990

AN: This was requested by an anon with an excellent memory who remembered when I mentioned a sex pollen Carrillo piece in passing! Also, not edited. I'm sick and barely ran it through spell-check.

It’s Carrillo’s fault, this entire terrible situation.

If he hadn’t been so severe when he first met you, he could have a genial working relationship with you. You wouldn’t have been afraid of him from the start. You would have been willing to work directly with him, handed off your lab reports directly instead of filtering them through Peña and Murphy, through Trujillo.

He wouldn’t have gotten grief from Peña to try and make peace with you. He wouldn’t have gone to visit you, a play at being a softer, kinder Carrillo who perhaps smiles and says thank you for all of your exemplary work.

He wouldn’t have found himself in your lab on this day—the day you’re running tests on a separate case for the Medellín police, separate from the Search Bloc and its pursuit of Escobar. Not testing cocaine at all: a scatter of innocuous-seeming candy in your workspace. Supercoco—chewy caramel with coconut pieces folded in.

Any Colombian recognizes the green wrapper. Carrillo smiles to see it, slips a couple of pieces into his pocket when you turn away for a moment.

Only this isn’t Supercoco. It’s a version infused with the distillation of a plant found in the Amazon, then wrapped in the familiar green paper. A powerful love drug, an aphrodisiac, passed on the sly in the bars and night clubs of Medellín.

It’s Carrillo’s fault. He’d been so severe when he met you, he tries to make amends now by being casual. You stare at him as though he has two heads as he asks you about your day, how you’re settling into your apartment, if you’ve had a chance to explore the city yet.

You answer his questions with your brows furrowed. Confused. He’s hardly the same man who barked at you on your first day in Colombia. A timer in the lab goes off, and you turn to one of your complicated pieces of lab equipment to read the ticker tape being spit out of the machine.

Your back turned, he snags another piece of candy and eats it. He’s trying to be Casual Carrillo, not the flinty version of himself with a cold gaze and a grim set to his mouth. He takes a second piece, chews it, feels a million memories from his childhood resurface at the taste. But then you turn around, see what he’s eating, and your face—usually guarded and wary when he is around—turns to pure horror.

“No!” You bridge the distance between the two of you, and you’re touching him before he can even register it. Your hands are on his face, pinching the corners of his mouth, trying to force him to spit out the candy. It’s pure instinct, like a mother forcing a toddler to spit out something poisonous. You move on instinct, manhandling his face, and he moves on instinct too.

He spits out the half-chewed candy.

Which doesn’t help with the piece he already ate. The piece already in his stomach, being digested.

“Shit, rinse out your mouth,” you order him, and you dart to the sink, pour him a glass of water. You thrust it into his hand, and his heart starts to hammer at your panicky reaction. What has he eaten? Poison? Some terrible, addictive drug? Something that’ll do permanent damage to him, leave him with a weakened heart or a compromised liver? Something that’ll shave years off of his life?

“What—” he starts to ask, but you gesture at the glass, so he does as he’s told. He takes a mouthful, swishes it around. Spits it out in the sink, then does it again and again.

“It’s some sort of love drug,” you tell him once he’s done. You sag in relief against the counter. “Medellín police found a bunch of it in a bust the other day. The DEA contracts my lab out to the local force, so I’ve been running tests.”

“Love drug?” he asks, his stomach sinking. “What does that mean?”

“Tests reveal organic compounds from a plant. Like maca root, only…times a thousand.”

He swallows hard, and you catch the audible gulp, misunderstand it.

“You’re fine,” you tell him, and you gift him a rare smile. “You didn’t eat it. And anyway, there’s no long-term side effects if you had. It just makes the user really, uh, friendly.”

“How friendly?” he asks, using your cutely prudish American adjective for horny, and you give him the anecdotal evidence from the Medellín police about spontaneous orgies in local clubs, and then he tells you the bad news about how he ate a first piece before spitting out the second, and the way your eyes go wide and your mouth forms a perfect “O” of horror would make him laugh, if he weren’t so nervous about what is about to happen to him.

-----

You drive him home in his own car. There’s no point in taking him to the hospital—the only treatment is to ride it out.

It’s hard to describe the way it feels when the drug starts to affect him. Carrillo has little experience with any drugs beyond the morphine he was prescribed when he was shot and had surgery. He remembers the morphine, even years later: the warm, syrupy calm that spread through his limbs, erasing the pain of his wound.

This…is not that.

Twenty minutes. Half an hour after he eats that fucking laced candy. He feels it in his stomach first, right under his rib cage: warm, but not calm. Warm, but…alert. Aware. If the morphine put his senses to sleep, then this wakes them up.

Wakes all of his senses up, then as the warmth spreads—up into his chest, down into his gut—wakes his senses up even more. Carrillo’s senses dialed up to a thousand.

Not just smelling your delicate perfume, but smelling the soap from your laundry detergent, the shampoo you used that morning. The faintly chemical smell of your lab that clings to your hair and clothing.

Not just hearing you—your cautious questions of how he’s feeling, where you should turn next to get him home. He swears he can hear your heart beating, the pulse and slush of your blood as it moves through your body. Swears he can hear you breathing, can hear the quiet creak of your jaw as you clench it in worry.

Not just seeing you, the mousy little scientist that he managed to scare shitless her first day in Colombia. Put the fear of God in you after the last DEA scientist got caught skimming Escobar’s cocaine from the bricks confiscated by the Search Bloc. His own fault, how he barked at you that first day, and this is his fault too—not following the rules of your lab. Now he’s not himself.

Now he sees you with the drug roaring in his veins. The tight clench of your hands on the steering wheel. The worried set of your jaw, the way you study him out of the corner of your eye. He sees more, now, too: the delicate shell of your ear, the tiny pinprick in the lobe of a piercing but no earring because of your lab protocols. The way the line of your neck disappears into the neckline of your shirt, the curve as it meets your shoulder. The thin silver chain around your neck, a locket, and Carrillo wonders if you’ve got some sweetheart back home who gifted it to you before you left for South America.

The thoughts rise in his head like carbonation, rapid-fire. Usually so logical, so cool-headed: now his thoughts are gummy, sticky. He wants to lean against the seatbelt and put his mouth on your neck, follow the line of it into your shirt, then pull it aside and keep going. Tasting you. Such a sweet, mousy little thing—he wonders if you taste sweet, or if he’d taste the salt of your skin, maybe a bitter spot where you daubed perfume that morning—

“Shit.” It comes out a groan, pained. He lifts a hand and presses it over his eyes, and he feels how hot his palm is. This is bad. It’s so bad. He’s not himself; he’s losing who he is: Horacio Carrillo, the man who is always so staid…that man is fading into the background. That Horacio is going quiet, ceding control to this other Horacio who is ruled only by want, by feeling.

-----

You manage to get him home, and he is still enough of himself to thank you.

He’s also enough of himself to bark out that you need to leave: take his car and go, leave him alone.

But Carrillo never really got to know you. He put the fear of God in you that first day. You’ve been ducking him ever since. He has no way of knowing the type of person you are.

He has no way of knowing that you are the caring sort. You’re soft-hearted. You worry for people when they are hurt or sick; you check in on them. You take care of them.

He has no way of knowing that while you are brilliant at your job and largely level-headed, your heart often drives you and your brain often follows. Which is why you ignore his orders and follow him into his house: your soft heart driving you to help a person in distress, when your brilliant mind is perhaps warning you to stay away.

-----

You follow him into his house, and Carrillo is still enough of himself to try and force you to leave.

“You gotta go,” he says, and his usually-crisp English comes out slurred, slushy and rounded off with his Colombian accent. “Gotta leave.”

He curls his hands on your upper arms, pushes you backwards but not meanly. Pushes you towards the door carefully so you don’t stumble or trip, but it’s another sense dialed up to a thousand—the feel of you under his hands. The warmth of your body underneath the crisp cotton of your blouse, the way his fingertips bite into the surprisingly firm muscles there.

“If you don’t leave, m-might not be able to stop myself.” He pushes you towards the door, but already that driving want is roaring in him, and he doesn’t stop to open the door and push you through it.

He keeps it closed and pushes you against it.

He traps you between the door and his body, so close to touching you. There’s hardly any space separating you. Millimeters. Molecules. Close enough to feel the heat of your body, the magnetism the fucking drug is convincing him is there—

Carrillo stares down at you; you gaze back with those widened eyes. Nervous. As scared as you’d been that first day, and it chastens him just a bit. You probably think he’s a monster.

You take a breath, and the motion makes the locket around your neck move. It catches the light and draws his eye. Carrillo takes a hand from your shoulder and lifts the locket from where it lays against your chest. He holds it between his thumb and forefinger, considering it.

“Your boyfriend give you this?” he asks.

You blink at the question, shake your head faintly. “It was my grandma’s.”

A dumb thing, but the thought of you having a grandmother—of course you have two, as most humans do—reminds him that you’re a person with an entire history. A family back home in the States. Likes and dislikes. And Carrillo knows none of it.

“You need to go,” he says in a low voice, ignoring the wave of lust that sweeps through him. “I can handle this alone.”

You shake your head again. “It was my lab. My responsibility. I can help. I can get a cold shower going and then—”

He silences you. He puts his finger over your lips, stills them. The wrong thing to do: now he knows how your mouth feels, and Carrillo grits his teeth and breathes shallow through his nose.

“If you don’t go, I’m going to want to—Dios, I already…you need to go.”

The last vestige of the sensible, stoic Carrillo wants to open the door, shove you out of it, throw the bolt. That Carrillo wants to stagger deeper into the house, alone, and strip out of his clothes. He wants to lay on the cool tiles and relieve the tension as best he can.

That Carrillo is gone. Silenced, tucked away into a corner of his mind. This Carrillo doesn’t push you away: instead, he shifts his hand, traces his finger over the plump curve of your lower lip, and your eyes widen at his touch—

This Carrillo remembers something. With his other hand, he reaches down. Into his pocket, where a few pieces of the laced candy are. The ones he pocketed on the sly and forgot.

He pulls one out. Unwraps it clumsily with one hand while the other hand remains on your mouth, stilling your words. Once it’s unwrapped, he holds it up for you to see, like a trainer teaching a dog with a treat. Then he removes his hand from you, takes a step back. It takes every single bit of his resolve to stop touching you, but he does.

He’s giving you a choice: leave, as he’s ordered you to do more than once. Or stay and join him.

In this moment, Carrillo still doesn’t know anything about you. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking. He knows so little about you, only knows that you avoid him, are frightened by his tough colonel of the Search Bloc routine.

There will come a time in the future when he will be able to guess, with startling accuracy, what you are thinking. He’ll know you better then. He’ll know that as mousy as you seem, you have sudden surges of bravery. Sudden moments of nerve.

That comes later. Right now, when Colonel Horacio Carrillo gives you a choice, you startle him. You don’t turn and flee.

You shift your eyes from the laced candy in his hand to his own eyes, and you seem to see something there that informs your decision.

You don’t flee. You open your mouth and allow him to lay the laced caramel onto your tongue, a perverse sort of communion. It’s one of your sudden moments of nerviness, and you never blink once, never look away from him while you chew carefully, then swallow.

*****

It’s morally grey, at best. The man is not himself.

It’s utter madness at worst.

There will come a time in the near future when he will ask why you didn’t leave. Why you ate the candy. You’ll tell him a half-truth: that it was professional curiosity, how taking the drug would feel. You’ve never tried the drugs you test in your lab; you always rely on your equipment and anecdotal evidence from those who do inject or smoke or eat the various drugs. But there is always the curious part of you, the most essential part of being a scientist, that wants to know how it feels.

Why not try it? It isn’t cocaine or heroin or LSD.

There will come a time in the further future when he will ask again, and that time, you’ll tell him the whole truth: that yes, you were curious about the drug. But more than that: you were curious about him. You were terrified of him and attracted to him in equal measure (you blamed the fact that he was usually in uniform), which made for a weird combination of emotions every time you had to deal with him. The sinking fear in your gut that he’d turn his flinty gaze on you…paired with the fluttery swooping in your gut of burgeoning infatuation.

That all comes later. Right now, there’s nothing but the sweetness of caramel lingering in your mouth, almost cloying, and Colonel Carrillo staring at you like he wants to devour you. You inch around him, move away from where you’re trapped between him and door.

You make your way deeper into his home, and you sit on his couch and wait. He follows and sits beside you, but he doesn’t touch you. He clenches his hands into fists in his lap, his knuckles white with the effort, but he doesn’t touch you.

That means something, you think. Says something about his character, even when he’s drugged.

Fifteen, twenty minutes after eating the laced candy: you’re ready to be devoured.

*****

Carrillo doesn’t know exactly how the drug works—if it affects men and women differently—but he can guess when you start to feel it.

Your face twists into an expression of concentration, as if you’re surveying how you feel. Like you’re checking in on your pulse, your breathing, your temperature. You narrow your eyes, and he wonders if you’re making mental notes that you’ll later print in your small, neat handwriting in the little notebook you keep.

Carrillo? He’s in hell. Twenty minutes of waiting for you to sink to his level, and every cell of him aches for relief. He’s not in any physical pain—whatever formula the chemists use for their so-called love drug, it’s meant to be fun, not painful. But it’s like pain, the endless want he has, the lust that’s sunk its claws deep into his gut.

The twenty minutes pass like twenty years.

Then you swipe your palms along the thighs of your jeans as if they are sweaty, and you breathe out a shaky, “holy shit,” and he knows you’re finally in the same place as him so he pounces, damned near: a graceless move, quick, that bridges the distance between the two of you. He presses himself against you, cages you against the arm of the couch, and when he bends his head to kiss you, you raise up to meet him more than halfway.

He knows it’s just the drug, but you kiss him with a passion he’s never experienced before: not with his now-ex-wife, not with the handful of girls before her. Every other kiss before pales in comparison to the heat behind your kiss now: the fierce way you slot your mouth over his, how eagerly you slide your tongue against his without an ounce of the shyness he associates with you. He can taste the sickly-sugary laced-candy, but he swears he can taste you too, and when he groans in your mouth, you answer with your own whine.

There’s only a small sliver of him that is still him, and that tiny shred of the sensible Carrillo manages to break away. You’re both tearing at each other’s clothing—your shaky hands fumbling at the buttons on his shirt, his hands tugging the hem of your blouse out of your jeans. But he breaks away with every remaining bit of his inner strength, and he gazes down at where you’re awkwardly splayed across his couch.

“Not here,” he pants. All of this will shame him when he’s sober, he thinks, but he can try to be a gentleman, can claim you on a proper bed and not on an uncomfortable couch.

He stands up, and a wave of dizziness washes through him. He staggers, and you sit up and reach out to steady him. You wrap a hand around his wrist and stare up at him. Your eyes glitter black because your pupils are so wide that the color of your irises is little more than a crescent—but he thinks he sees concern there underneath the lust.

“You okay, Colonel?” you ask, confirming his suspicions. Even now, under the influence of the drug, he’s seeing your caring nature that he’s never been privy to before. It sobers him up just enough.

Carrillo nods. He twists out of your light grip and takes your hand in his. He tugs you to your feet and feels how you sway against him too.

“N-not here,” he repeats. A fresh wave of lust courses through him, nearly knocks him to his knees like the incoming tide. “I don’t…not here, okay? C’mon.”

You nod and allow him to lead you back to his bedroom. He keeps his hold on your hand, unwilling to give up the tame touch, and when you squeeze his hand—maybe you’re nervous—he squeezes yours back in reassurance.

-----

That small, quiet voice that was sensible Carrillo is silenced the minute he gets you in the bedroom. The drug takes him over completely, and he’s almost relieved to cede all control to it. He’s always so tight-laced, so straight-edged.

This Carrillo is nothing but id: driven by desire, chasing pleasure. He feels like little more than an animal, and he finds that he likes it.

Your clothes don’t survive him. He tears at your blouse and the buttons ricochet across the room. He’ll find them for weeks afterwards; he’ll send you home in one of his plain white T-shirts the next morning, and the sight of you in such a tame outfit will make a curling wave of lust course through him, though the drug will have worked itself out of his system by then.

He tugs at the clasp of your bra, fumbles it but then unlatches it, and he pushes it off of your arms to reveal your breasts, and Carrillo sways closer to you. He touches you there first, cups the soft roundness of you, and he feels how diamond-hard your nipples are. He bends his head and puts his mouth to you—suckling, nipping, licking at you, and he feels your hand thread through his hair to hold him there. He hears the keening whine you loose, the throaty way you say his name.

Not his name. You whine out Colonel, his stupid fucking title, and he lifts his head. He stares into your dark, unblinking eyes. He reaches up a hand and grips your chin, firm but not hard, because even underneath the raging animal lust burning through him, he doesn’t want to hurt you.

“Horacio,” he tells you. “Say it.”

You do, and it’s no mousy whisper. Your tongue darts out and lays a wet line on your lower lip.

“Horacio,” you reply. You say it carefully like it’s a new word for you.

“Say it again,” he demands, but you only get the first two syllables out before he’s muttering a curse at hearing his name in your mouth, the intimacy of it, and he seals his mouth over yours in a fierce kiss.

The rest of your clothes—your jeans, your panties—fall away as he strips you. There’s no art to it. No seduction, because you strip him just as fiercely. You tug at his belt and undo it, pull it from the loops of his pants with a snap as the leather whips against the air. You get him out of his uniform shirt and t-shirt underneath it but then he pushes you back against the bed and you fall, naked and gorgeous.

Horacio pounces.

There is a part of him, terribly small and far away, that worries you don’t want this. The straight-edged part of him despairs that this is just the drug, that you’ll be horrified in the morning.

His worrying will be needless. He’ll wake before you in the morning—the consequence of being in the army so long—but when you finally wake too, you’ll only be a little shy. You won’t have any regrets, and you’ll prove it to him by climbing onto him, by riding him slowly in the pre-dawn Medellín morning. And neither of you will be drugged when you do.

Now, he stretches the length of his body over yours, feels the feverish press of his skin to yours. You open your legs to him, but when he settles between your spread thighs, you hook your feet onto his pants, reach down with your hands, and clumsily try to work the rest of his clothing off of him.

“Eager,” he mutters against your mouth, and your lips are slick, swollen from how much he’s already kissed you.

“Please,” you reply. You gaze up at him, blink as if you’re trying to clear your head. “Please, Horacio.”

Then you shift the hand that is already reaching down, and you touch him—your hand slips under the low-slung elastic of his boxers, and your warm hand is on his cock, and the sudden touch makes him jump and twitch in your palm as you grasp him firmer, start stroking him.

“Fuck,” he chokes out. “F-fuck, cariño.”

If he can be grateful for anything, it’s that he got dosed in your lab and managed to get home before this moment. You told him this drug was circulating though Medellín clubs and bars, and Horacio cannot imagine succumbing to this sharp, all-encompassing desire in public. He’s grateful he got you to his bed, where you have privacy.

The first time he fucks you, Horacio gets no further than freeing his cock from the confines of his pants, shoves his uniform slacks and his boxers down just enough for his aching length to spring free. You moan as you stroke him—he’s slick with pre-cum—but he breaks free from your grip and shuffles forward. He pushes forward until he’s touching your slick folds, and then he pushes into you, unable to stop himself, but your hands reach down and grasp his ass and pull him into you, and once he’s buried to the hilt, you wrap your legs around him.

The first time he fucks you, Horacio can’t manage intelligible words. Not in English, not in Spanish. He can only grunt like an animal, can only breathe harsh, ragged breaths as he thrusts into you. You’re unbearably wet, unbearably hot. It’s like fucking some tight, searing thing, and the heat is everywhere—your cunt, your bared skin, your panting mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders. The heat sinks into his skin, into his tense muscles, into the very bones of him. It’s like he’s being unmade at the molecular level, broken down into base elements, and his grunts turn to snarls as he fucks you harder, deeper.

You? You take it. You take it eagerly. You wrap your legs around him. You wrap your arms around him, and even if he wanted to stop, he’d have to untangle himself from your limbs. Each jarring thrust where he’s completely buried in you makes you groan, and even you have an animal quality to the sounds he’s pulling from your perfect lips. When the crown of his cock hits the end of you, you groan, but it’s throaty—almost a growl.

A moment later, he feels a sting of fire on his back where you dig your fingernails into him. Where you scratch long lines of burning into his skin, like a brand. He’ll carry those marks for days, feel how they burn under the spray of his shower.

Then you aren’t just taking it anymore. You start to fuck back against him, lifting your hips an inch off the bed, tilting your pelvis enough to grant him more depth to you. You find his rhythm and meet him thrust for thrust, until you’re moving not as two people but one.

The first time he fucks you, Horacio has no clue how long it lasts. It goes by in a blink. It lasts for hours. It’s nowhere near long enough before he feels the burning tension at the pit of his belly snap and spill over like molten metal poured out of a crucible. He can’t even warn you that he’s about to come because it happens so quickly—a particularly deep thrust where he swears he can feel himself breeching the entrance of your womb, where you hiss in his ear some phrase he won’t remember. The tension snaps, and he breathes out your name, and he comes inside you, brands your perfect cunt with his spend.

But the feeling of him filling you must be the last bit of stimulation you need because you come a beat later too, and the sensation of your cunt rippling against him when he’s already so sensitive nearly makes him cry.

It gives you each a moment of reprieve. Horacio’s burning lust recedes just enough that he gazes down at you. He feels a sting of guilt—you’re disheveled, your hair wild and your eyes leaking tears down into your temples. Your lips are swollen as you struggle to catch your breath, and you look so gorgeously, thoroughly fucked that he leans down and kisses you gently on the corner of your mouth.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod. You reach out a gentle hand too, curl it into a loose fist and run your knuckles lightly over the side of his face. It’s an oddly sweet gesture, soft, and when Horacio tilts his head into your touch, you uncurl your fist and cup his face.

This is the moment, he will realize later, where love takes root. This simple, intimate moment between the two of you. Eye of the storm, where he kisses you sweetly and you cup his face. The love won’t blossom or fruit for a while yet, but this is where it reaches its tender shoots into him.

But the realization won’t come until later. For now, the receding tide of lust reverses, comes rushing back in. He’s still buried in you, still hard as steel, but everything is getting warm again.

“You okay?” he asks again, but he’s already pulling out a fraction, pushing back into you, his hips making small movements.

“Again, Horacio.” Your thumb strokes along his stubbled cheek, and you nod up at him. “Again, please.”

You ask so nicely. He pulls out long enough to finally strip out of his clothes, but then?

Then he obliges.

#horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo x reader #colonel horacio carrillo #horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo imagine #colonel horacio carrillo x reader #narcos #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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corpsebasil · 20 days

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Oooh I’d love an arranged marriage au where the reader hasn’t been married by any other foreign princes (she’s a princess on her grand tour) and she comes to ravka jaded and bitter. (This can be set during the original trilogy in a version where the sun summoner has never come back). She meets Nikolai at a ball during siege and storm and the two of them go from enemies to lovers…. 👀. Along the way it could turn out that she’s the sun summoner but because of her severely internalized trauma, she *cant* show her powers.

Ooooooh Pookie

^^ sorry but this man is so Nikolai coded it’s insane . No offense Patrick Gibson but these blond men are starting to get to me

This one’s gonna be short but I want to get to the point, sorry. Your backstory was good just pretend mine fits. LOL

Warnings: none just fluff

Months on tour. Months. That’s how long you’ve been gallivanting around the continent in search of a future King consort. The only option, it seems, to your chagrin, is the wild, witty, and annoyingly gorgeous Prince Nikolai.

“Come running back?” He asks nonchalantly one evening after he casually burst into your chambers like he owns the place. Your eye twitches from where youre sitting at your vanity, the blond collapsing dramatically on top of your bed. “Miss me too much? I missed you, too.”

“Please keep your shoes off the bed.” You snap, applying moisturizer with violence as he toes off one shoe, then the other, and props his chin on his hands, kicking his feet in the air like a child. “Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”

“Sure, but you’re the most fun.”

“Saints, save me.”

“No Saints here, love. Just me.”

When you turn and throw a makeup brush at his head he dodges, grinning like a fiend as you roll your eyes.

You’ve known Nikolai for years. Since you were children he taunted and teased you, pulling on your pigtails and stealing the last bites of your desserts. Now though, he seems different. Sure he’s still annoying but, after forcing yourself to deal with him courting you, you noticed the changes.

Instead of pulling on your hair, he holds your hands when helping you out of carriages, off horses, and up or down any flights of stairs. He keeps a hand on the small of your back when you move through crowds, his witty remarks kept low so only you can hear them. Instead of stealing your desserts he saves you the last bite, casually sliding his plate an inch or so towards you without even glancing over.

He plays with your hair during meals or boring meetings, wrapping a strand around his finger and tugging twice, gently, as if a signal that he’s thinking of you, that he’s by your side, that he takes this tour seriously.

“Can we end the theatrics and admit you like me?” He asks from the bed, stretching out like a lazy housecat as he watches you finish up your skincare and stand. His serene smile grows as you approach, planting your hands on the bed to peer down over him.

“I do not like you.” You say sweetly, then gasp when he hooks an arm around your waist and tugs you down next to him, practically nose to nose.

“Stop lying.” He groans, amused when you wiggle and squirm (you’re barely trying to escape) before you finally let out a huff and collapse, head propped on his bicep when he tugs you closer. His blue eyes are glittering with something like adoration when he pokes your cheek, marveling at the smoothness. “You look like a snail ran all over your face.”

“How sweet of you.” You scoff, poking his cheek in return. “Your skin is dry. Who’s taking care of you?”

“Hopefully you.” At your raised brow he grins again, rolling you on top of him so he’s lying beneath you, gazing up. Shockingly enough, though his grip has loosened, you don’t move away. “Come on, Y/N. We both know you’ll be happy with me. I make you laugh.”

“You give me stomach pains.”

“That’s love.”

“It might be a tape worm.”

“Y/N.” He sighs and pulls you closer, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “This is no way to treat your future King.”

“Consort. King Consort.”

“So you agree.”

“Nik—”

“Hmm?” He lifts his head a fraction of an inch, touching the tip of his nose to yours. When your breath hitches, he smiles. “There she is..” he murmurs, satisfied, and pulls your mouth down to his.

You melt into the kiss.

He’s mine mine MINE

#nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #shadow and bone imagine #nikolai lantsov fanfic #fluff

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dumbslxtclub · 1 year

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what abt eddie x powered reader , he doesn’t know she has powers and they’re best friends, they are both too scared to admit their feelings and he goes on a date w another girl , so reader and eddie argue and she cries but when she does the lights r flickering and hes so confused but she has to confess eventually

delicate in every way (but one) | e.m

eddie munson x powered!reader

content warnings: fem!reader, adult language, adult themes, angst, hurt/comfort, some canon divergence/au, reader is 19, angst, FLUFFY fluff, no use of y/n, minor themes of anxiety (power related)

word count: 3.3K+

a/n: hi everyone, sorry for the hiatus!! life has been crazy lately, so I'm excited to share this request with you all xx

Shuffling through the chaos you call your locker, worry creeps in that, in your morning rush, you left the assigned Geometry homework in your bedroom. Casting your mind back, you recall having your jacket in one hand while you nudged the front door open, toast jammed in your mouth, and something in your other hand-

A ringed hand slams down on the locker beside you, causing you to jolt at the sound of metal on metal. The Cheshire-cat grin spread across your best friend’s face indicates his satisfaction with your reaction, the brunt of his weight finding the doors.

“T’s not good for you to think that hard. Causes wrinkles, y’know?”

“You’re gonna give me wrinkles, Munson.” Eddie smiles, always up for a banterous exchange between the two of you. He places an unlit cigarette between his plump lips, nestling the white filtered tip between rosy flesh. “Seriously?! Are you trying to get detention for the third time this week? I’m getting you to class if it kills me.”

Snatching it out of his mouth, you shove it into the worn leather adorning his chest. He dramatically falls back into the lockers once again, causing a raucous crash to echo down the depleting hallway. The remaining students turn their head in your direction, muttering indistinctly about the metalhead’s antics. After years of friendship with Eddie, your cheeks no longer burn at the judgemental attention, it’s a hazard of the trade. Besides, you have your ways of leveling the playing field with your best friend when needed.

Closing the locker, Eddie trails behind you like a lost puppy, as if he has no clue where his next class is. To be fair, you don’t doubt that that might be true, given his attendance record. Homework in hand, you trudge along making sure Eddie hasn’t wandered off like an irresponsible child in the grocery store.

“So, wanna hang out after Hellfire tonight? Got the new Iron Maiden tape the other day, but what kind of friend would I be if I listened to it without you?” The scuffling of worn Reebok’s on the linoleum flooring ceases behind you, an exhausted groan leaving your lungs. “Eddie, c’mon-”

“I, uh- I can’t hang out tonight.” Spinning on your heels, you shoot him a look of confusion.

“Okay? That’s cool, dude. But we’ve really gotta get to class so-”

Like trying to drag a stubborn mule, you grasp at Eddie’s wrist in a desperate attempt to move him. Shooting you a shit-eating grin, he plants his feet firmly, relishing in watching you put your back into trying to get him to budge.

“Don’t you wanna know what I’ve got planned?”

“Judging by how much you’re annoying me today, I’d say you’ve got a hot date with your right hand later.”

Eddie’s cheeks flush slightly at the insinuation, shaking his head sheepishly.

“No, well- you’ve got the first part right.”

Releasing his wrist from your tug-of-war, you stumble back slightly before you process this new information.

“Really?”

“Shit, don’t sound so surprised, sweetheart.” Eddie quips, words dripping with teasing sarcasm.

On one hand, you’re not surprised at all. Eddie is indisputably gorgeous. Large chocolate-brown eyes, a jawline that looks like it was carved by the gods themselves, and the kindest heart you’d ever encountered. In your eyes, he was the full package. Key word being your. It was no secret that Eddie’s reputation preceded him around town, he didn’t exactly have girls lined up around the block waiting to date him. But you knew how he could exercise his charm, when given the opportunity and perfect victim.

“With who?” Poker-face on, you try to sound as detached as possible.

“Maggie. You know, the new girl?”

Oh, you knew her alright. You watched as she unpacked her perfect little life from a U-Haul a few months back, moving into the white picket house across from yours. Though you hadn’t had any real interactions with her, you noticed how easily things came to her. Within her first week at Hawkins High, you witnessed her riding her bike home in a brand new cheer uniform, having been quickly indoctrinated. But on the weekends, she’d often help her mother tend to the garden in a band tee before jumping in her second-hand station wagon to make the most of a Saturday night with no curfew. With brown curls somehow perfectly imperfect, sultry eyes to rival Susanna Hoffs and a carefree attitude, it’s not hard to see how she could have any man swooning for her. Eddie, being no exception. Your mind begins racing over how they could have met, Eddie did seem especially cheerful on Monday after going to a concert that weekend. The one you were supposed to go to, if your mom hadn't found the vodka stuffed under your mattress and grounded you. Is that how they met? Fuck, maybe if you’d been there…

“Yeah, I think I know the one. What’re you guys gonna do?”

Eddie joins you side by side, thankful that you can now speed-walk to disperse some of the nervous energy brewing.

“Think we’re gonna go and see Friday the 13th at the drive-in cinema. They’re up to, like, the sixth one now so I imagine it’ll be a bit of a snooze-fest, but it’s all that’s on that late.”

Great. Eddie and a girl, alone in his van. At the drive-in cinema. Cuddled up watching a horror film. Picturing it is enough to make you want to vomit into your backpack.

“Sounds fun.” It does not, in fact, sound fun.

Thankfully, the final bell signifies your impending tardiness, causing the two of you to bolt to Geometry.

It’s hard to focus on what Mr Watts is talking about at the best of times, but your mind is fixated on Eddie. In your heart, you know he deserves to have a good time. He’s a gentleman, any girl would be lucky to date him. But the green-eyed monster had her ugly talons stuck deep into your back long before now. It’s getting harder and harder to suppress your growing feelings for your best friend, stealing glances at him any chance you get. But it’s not worth the risk, not with all you have to lose. He’s your rock, the only person on this planet you can talk to about anything. And you’re not about to jeopardize your friendship over some silly crush. And yet, you also can’t help but feel an unfair notion that Eddie is somehow to blame for this. It could be so easy to misinterpret his naturally flirty nature for romantic intentions. How he opens every door for you, makes you mix-tapes of your favorite bands, picks you up for late-night drives to get the best view of the city. Every action is another addition to a precarious house of cards, doomed to collapse. Glancing over at Eddie, he is absent-mindedly tapping his pencil against the wooden desk. On any other day, it wouldn’t bother you. But today, it’s enough to drive you mad. Honing in all of your attention on the pencil, your gaze remains fixated on the object. All you can hear is the tap, tap, tap flooding your ears, his stupid rings reflecting light across the room. You furrow your brows, take a deep breath, and-

The pencil launches out of Eddie’s hand, clattering to the ground beneath him, drawing the attention of half the class.

“Mr Munson, could you please for once pay attention?” Mr Watts, clearly unimpressed by Eddie’s interruption, earns a few sniggers from students around him.

“Shi- sorry, Sir.” Eddie, completely baffled by what just happened, leans down to pick up the pencil. A smile creeps across your lips, and Eddie follows the pencil beneath your desk. Retrieving it, a worried look washes across his face as he glances up at you.

“Woah, you okay?” His tone is hushed, as not to draw any more attention to himself. You’re now acutely aware of the small stream of blood trickling from your nostril, wetting your upper lip in a metallic maroon. Quickly swiping it away, you pretend to busy yourself in your notebook.

“Yeah. ‘M fine.”

Call me when you get home safely.

The golden rule, never to be broken. Words uttered like gospel every time you and Eddie part ways at the end of a long night, a foundation in your friendship. After Hellfire wrapped up, you elected to drive home separately as Eddie wanted to head straight home to freshen up for his date. With a firm embrace, you muttered the words to him as you had countless times before, him nodding in acknowledgement against the crook of your shoulder.

12:46am.

Eddie would have been due home an hour ago, accounting for time he and Maggie might have spent chatting away in the car after a disappointing slash-fest. Yet the corded phone beside your bed remains neglected, heavy-lidded eyes glancing over at it sporadically as you try to busy yourself in a book.

What is taking him so long? He never forgets to call unless-

Unless he’s still with her. Images flash through your mind's eye, Eddie driving Maggie around town blasting the music you’d shown him. Pulling up to one of your usual hang-out spots, smoke filling the back of the van as the two swap spit on the end of a blunt. Ringed hands slipping under the soft cotton of her shirt, grasping at soft skin as the pair-

Nope, not going there. With a huff, you throw your book haphazardly to the side and flick off the bedside table, praying sleep will come soon.

You allow the phone to ring off the hook all of Saturday. You have no interest in talking to Eddie right now, your social battery drained at the mere thought of feigning interest over how his date went. And so, you keep yourself occupied, willingly cleaning your room just to have something to fill the dead space of time. Rearranging the trinkets on your windowsill, you spot a figure crossing the adjacent lawn. Maggie unlocks her bike from the patio railing, placing a bag in the wicker basket attached to the front. You try to pry your gaze from her, but something catches your eye. A band tee, one you haven’t seen her in before, hangs loosely on her frame, faded and gray from years of love. It’s familiar. Similar to the one that you bought for Eddie last year, thrifting it as a birthday present after scraping pennies together. Probably a coincidence, you tell yourself, bile building in your throat, failing to convince yourself.

The phone rings a handful of times throughout the day, a fragment of the white noise reverberating through your head. Drowning out the voices, the self doubt, only to fuel the fire just as imminently. With your parents out of town for the weekend, the house feels desolate. An echoing chamber of solitude, combated by the unwanted images flooding your brain. You should feel happy for Eddie. He deserves love. But god, why does it have to be her love?

Against all odds, the barrage of thoughts ceases long enough for you to doze off on the couch, granting you a fleeting moment of peace. A moment cut short by a sharp and firm knock at the door. Maybe if you ignore it, they will go away, leaving you to your nest of despair. But it doesn’t. The knocks grow louder, more intense, causing you to groan as you pry yourself off the couch. Curtains ajar, you see the dusky sky outside casting shadows across the faintly lit street. Flicking on the floor lamp as you pass into the entryway, the knocking incessantly continues.

“Alright, I’m coming!” Post-nap grumpiness is in full flight as you swing open the front door. Eddie stands before you, leather jacket hanging off his slim frame, wallet-chain catching the last light of the day. But instead of his usual goofy smile plastered on his face, he looks entirely unimpressed.

“Oh, she lives!” His words are dripping with sarcasm, not waiting for you to invite him in.

“What are you doing here?” You quip back, shutting the door behind you.

“Y’know, just making sure you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere. Forgive me.” Eddie paces straight for the living room, charged up with too much energy.

“Okay, well, as you can see-” You gesture to yourself with a flourish, “-I’m not. So, you didn’t need to waste gas driving out here.”

“Since when do you not pick up the phone? I’ve been trying to call all day!” Eddie’s typical jovial tone is nowhere to be found, instead having been replaced by dourness.

“God, sorry. Didn’t realize you’d only pick up the phone when it suited you.”

Eddie’s eyes squint slightly, incredulous as he absorbs your comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” God, men are thick.

“You never called to let me know that you got home safely. I sat up half the night waiting for you to ring, and nothing! But I’m sure you lost track of time with Maggie-”

Eddie’s eyes narrow, the logical side of his brain working overtime to figure out why you’re being so short with him. But as soon as you drop Maggie’s name, the puzzle pieces click into place.

“Is that what this is about?”

“Is what about?”

“This!” Eddie gestures with his hand in your direction. “This attitude you’ve had going on for days.”

“Oh my god. You’ve woken me up, stormed into my house and accused me of having an attitude. So forgive me if my hospitality is lacking, Eddie!”

“Does it have something to do with Maggie?” His question is point-blank, and it catches you off guard.

“No!” You blurt out a little too quickly, doing little to convince him.

“Do you not like her or something?”

“Why do you care if I like her or not? You like her, and that’s all that matters. So can we just drop this?”

Blood begins boiling beneath the surface, a harbinger of emotions close to spiraling out of control. You need a second of solitude, to bring everything back to baseline. It’s happened with your family, even with bullies at school, but never been in the presence of Eddie for. It scares you, how your powers can lash out before you do, and you don’t want Eddie to be caught in the crossfire.

“We need to talk about this-”

“No, we don’t!”

“I just don’t get why you’re acting like this-”

“Eddie, you need to leave.”

Heart pounding in your chest, breath growing a little too fast for your liking. Pulse racing against the delicate skin of your neck, tears brimming close to the precipice. A quick glance over to the one illuminated lamp in the corner confirms your fears, the bulb flashing indiscriminately behind Eddie’s shoulder. Thankfully, his stern gaze remains fixed on you.

“No! I’m not going anywhere until-”

“Eddie, please-” An unsteady breath betrays you, voice cracking on your last word while a tear escapes your lash line. White noise clouds your brain, a haze forming around logic and control. Even with your eyes pinched shut, the glow of the frantically flickering lamp remains visible behind your lids. Eddie’s voice grows muffled, a scrambling of sound waves assaulting your eardrums and causing you to buckle over. Instinctively, your palms clamp down over your ears as you do your best to count to five. Feel the soft carpet beneath your socked feet. Smell the fresh flowers your mother placed in a vase next in the entranceway. Taste the metallic blood dripping from your nose, finding its way into your parted lips. Anything to bring you back to reality. And it’s not working.

Not until two firm hands grasp your shoulders, and you distantly hear Eddie’s voice calling out to you.

“-Hey! Please, look at me…”

A deep, diaphragmatic breath is required as courage to pry your damp eyes open, and take in the image before you. Eddie is crouched down, level with you, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen. He looks terrified.

“Oh my god-” He quickly throws his arms around you, tucking you in tight to his chest. His familiar musky scent is comforting, grounding you in a sense of safety.

“‘M sorry, Eddie.” Words barely louder than a squeak, Eddie tightens his grip around you and pulls you in closer.

“Fuck, I thought-” His chest rises unsteadily, voice quivering. “- that was, it was just like Chrissy.”

A sharp pang of guilt hits you deep in your gut. The lights. The zoning out. He’s seen it before, a year ago with Chrissy, and you never considered how triggering it might be for him to witness the effects of your powers out of context.

“I’m okay.” It takes everything for you to pull away from him, but you need to offer him the same comfort he’s granted you. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

“Told me?”

You can’t help but chuckle at how weird it is to say out loud.

“You know how El has powers? Well, I kind of do too.” Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing beneath his mess of bangs. “Not like, to the same extent. But sometimes, if I get overwhelmed or experience some sort of strong emotion, shit like that happens.”

Eddie is speechless. Not that you blame him, it’s not every day you learn of your best friend’s superpowers. His eyes dart around your face, as if searching for any indication that this is a joke. But as your expression remains serious, his whole demeanor softens.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Wasn’t safe.” You reply, shaking your head. “I mean, look at El. I just- I didn’t want to put you at risk.”

“No, no. I get it.” Eddie’s hand absent-mindedly brushes some of your hair out of your face. “You said it happens when you feel something strong. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you-”

“No! It wasn’t that, I’ve felt it coming for a while now.” Chuckling sheepishly, you quickly wipe away any remaining tears from your flushed cheeks.

“What, were you like, jealous or something?” Eddie laughs, his signature grin creeping across his face. At his question, you feel your breath catch again, smile faltering minutely. Eddie doesn’t miss this, and he leans in a little closer. “Oh my god, you were, weren’t you?”

“You don’t have to rub it in, asshole.” You give him a small shove to the chest, an embarrassed laugh catching in your throat. His hand catches yours, trapping it in place between his palm and the cotton shirt. Your eyes focus on the shirt. Grey, worn from years of love. The one you’d thrifted for him as a birthday present last year. And your heart swells.

“So, let me get this straight.” Dimples settle deep into his smile lines as his gaze bores into you. “My best friend has powers, and a crush on me?”

Your free hand finds its way to your face, running down the length with exasperation.

“Yep, pretty much. And you can add jealous bitch to that list too.”

“Well, as it turns out, Maggie is a total dud. Ran off half way through the film because she spotted some of her cheer friends in the parking lot.”

“She didn’t!”

“Oh, but she did. Although, it wasn’t all bad, meant I could smoke the rest of my stash to myself. Aaand then I passed out in the back, woke up the next morning and came straight home.” “Sounds like a shit drive-in date.” Eddie chuckles, shaking his head.

“Sure was. Maybe you and I could right some wrongs next Saturday? My treat, think of it as my apology for not calling.”

You can’t contain the grin threatening to spread across your face.

“It’s a date.”

#eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson request #stranger things x you #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #powered!reader #dumbslxtclub

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sister-lucifer · 1 month

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What Do The Magic Items Do?

Did you see this poll? Curious to finally find out what your gift does? The wait is over! Here’s what your mundanely helpful magic items do:

Glass Rose 🥀

You’ve been given a beautiful glass rose! When you set it on the window sill to be displayed, the sun filters through it’s delicate glass petals and shines mysterious runes onto the floor and walls surrounding it. Your home is now imbued with plant magic; never again will a house plant, succulent or flower wilt on your watch, and never again will your fruit trees be barren!

Ancient Tome 📖

You’ve been given a dusty ancient tome! The moment it touches your fingers, you can feel its power coursing through you. The veil between life and death has been lifted in your eyes only. You can now see, communicate with, and sense the spirits all around you, in your home and the earth itself. They aren’t all that interested in most small talk, but they give great advice. Listen to them and spread their wisdom! After all, no one understands life like the dead.

Quill Pen 🪶

You’ve been given an authentic quill pen! When you sit down to use it for the first time, you find yourself working with passion and fervor like never before. It’s as if your hand moves with a mind of its own! Never again will you have to battle art or writer’s block, nor will you be dissatisfied that your creation does not compare to the vision. Go forth, and create!

Sea Glass 🌊

You’ve been given a smooth piece of sea glass! When you take it into your hands, you immediately feel a sense of calm flow through you from the glass itself. The spirit of the ocean soothes you, melting away all of the day’s stress and allowing you to complete that task you’ve been putting off for days. If you listen closely, you may even hear the faint sound of a siren song that has been imprinted on the glass itself!

Blank Scroll 📜

You’ve been given a mysteriously blank scroll! When you take hold of it, it doesn’t immediately do anything, but the next time you wonder aloud where a lost object is, it starts to glow. In a moment an image of the object’s location has formed, and the closer you get to it, the brighter it glows. Never again will you spend hours searching for a hair tie or the cap that fell off your drink bottle or that one specific sweater!

Golden Bracelet 💛

You’ve been gifted a priceless golden bracelet! Never again will you be left without the proper outfit or accessory for an event. This magic piece of jewelry can transform into anything that can be worn; earrings, a dress, shoes, what have you, and it knows exactly what you need for that special night out. You’ll forget what it’s like to feel underdressed!

Bejeweled Dagger 🗡️

You’ve been given a wonderful bejeweled dagger! The impossibly strong metal of its blade can cut through anything except flesh. Duct tape, annoying clothing tags, plastic packaging, none of it will ever slow you down now, and never again will you have to explain the embarrassing story of how you sliced your hand open while trying to get the Amazon box open!

Preserved Moth Wings 🦋

You’ve been given a perfectly preserved pair of moth wings! They’re frozen in their resin case, but their magic is not lost. Clumsiness and a heavy-handed nature are no longer your foes. Never again will you accidentally swipe something off a shelf or make the embarrassing mistake of running directly into a countertop while visiting someone’s house. You’re as light as a moth!

Obsidian Mirror 🪞

You’ve been gifted a spotless obsidian mirror! Do you have memory problems? Do you often forget important objects, events, or tasks? Are you often frustrated because you know you’re forgetting something, but you don’t know what? Not anymore, you don’t! When you hold this mirror in your hands and stare into it, it shows you a vision of what you’re forgetting. It also functions as a regular mirror, which is pretty helpful too!

Vial of Glowing Liquid 🧪

You’ve been given a small vial of glowing liquid! If you often find yourself too indecisive, tired, or short on time to make food, this little bottle is going to be your best friend. Just a drop on a plate will instantly transform into the meal you’ve been craving; steak cooked exactly how you like, a PB&J without that one bite that’s just peanut butter! No more fighting sensory issues or a lack of energy just to have a meal. And don’t worry, it’s magic, the vial will never empty!

Antique Pocket Watch 🕰️

You’ve been given a hand crafted antique pocket watch! If you’re often scrambling to meet a deadline or finish that awful task when there’s just not enough time, this magic watch will take a weight off your shoulders. Just click the button once and instantly circumstances will warp in your favor. Your boss just extended that deadline! Your friend wants to come over for dinner, they’ll help you do the dishes in half the time! Sometimes life just goes too fast, everyone needs a bit more time now and then!

20 Sided Die 🎲

You’ve been gifted an ornate 20 sided die! Except…all the sides are blank? That is, until you ask a question and give it a good roll. In an instant the die will come up with advice to aid you in your endeavors! Whether you need to choose between two amazing outfits or figure out how to gently reject that guy from the supply store, this little roller always has just the thing.

What object did you get? How will you use it? And most importantly, will you use it wisely?

#magic #fantasy

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bestfictionalplant · 2 months

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Round 2 Group 6

Propaganda and spoilers under cut

Jumpkin:

It's a little guy :D More seriously, it's a monster. All monsters in Cassette Beasts can be "recorded" so you can turn into them! "A Jumpkin is a special monster created by smearing the goo from another monster, Jellyton, on a normal pumpkin. It's pretty much the only monster with this kind of capture method. Jumpkins are just funny little guys that, as their name implies, jump around! They have such zest for life. A jumpkin tape can be ""remastered"" into two other monsters, Beanstalker and Draculeaf."

Karzahni:

in the time before time, when the evil mayor impersonator makuta was planning his plan to get the little robot meat guys in their little memory-erasing containers and before he'd impersonated the mayor (i think; don't quote me; i am Not Good at the timeline) he was like "hey i should make a plant that will force these four-foot fuckers towards the big sports and politics stadium under threat of murder so i can easily get my bastard robot cops to force them into the amnesia balls" and then he made karzahni. who was too smart and cool and powerful. so he did not get deployed. he is named after the legendary Lego Hell and Lego Satan where Bad And Naughty Disabled Robots Go For "Repairs" And Never Return. it's expensive to copyright names. they had to double up on occasion. or triple up. or quadruple up. anyway so evil mayor impersonator who is also ANOTHER Lego Satan but that's besides the point, creates this plant. but the plant is too smart. so he puts it somewhere and forgets about it and makes the morbuzakh NEW PARAGRAPH anyway so basically most creatures in this universe are immortal bar murder and fucked-up circumstances. no old age, basically. but this plant has one, because Bionicle Satan (Not Karzahni) makes his shit with limited lifespans so they can't wait for ten thousand years gathering their power and then kill-murder him to death. six big robot meat superheroes fight a fucking big monster in a tunnel. the cool smart one who used to be a teacher gets poisoned. but because karzahni (plant) is so fucking cool it can make an antidote. and it holds the antidote hostage in exchange for Cool Oil, which is oil from the apocalypse planet where the robot meat guys' creators are from, but they fracked too hard and split the planet into three pieces so that's a bit fucked-up and yet besides the point. anyway they get the magic juice and give it to karzahni (plant). previously in the story (but later in the timeline; this is a TWO-YEAR FLASHBACK EPISODE BABY) some other robot meat superheroes took a dunk in this cool fucking water and got mega-boosted powers. super-superheroes. but that's because god exists and has predetermined what can happen in each individual's life. those guys got Good Results From Applied Goo. karzahni (plant) does not. it just fucking. dies. it is then chopped up to make some lorries float so they can take the amnesiac sphere guys up to a cool new island they found, because their old island got FUCKING WRECKED NEW PARAGRAPH anyway a cutting of karzahni survived (known as karzahni ii) with all the memories and shit of the real one and just sort of goes. FINE. i will join you, Lego Satan (not karzahni but the evil mayor impersonator) in gaslighting this mentally ill man into thinking he's short and his life is a lie in order to get the time travel device he made out of some magic fucking frisbees. karzahni took on the role of the morbuzakh. then the guy's like "this is bullshit" and gets thrown off a cliff but Karzahni II catches him and goes "hey. everything's alright. i tortured and killed a guy and he said you're doing good and everything is gonna be okay" and then the evil mayor impersonator (who by this point has not been impersonating the mayor for like. at least a week?) kills it. again. for real this time

#round 2 #cassette beasts #bionicle #gif

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iaminsideyourwalls · 1 year

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talk about Reactor please i want to know her🥺

she's a silly little guy. a rap scallion.

bkgd: she's from the Netherlands and worked in Friesland for the last years of her old career in a (fictional) nuclear power plant as a physicist. When the plant suffered a catastrophic meltdown she happened to be on duty right at the core and was exposed to such high amounts of radiation the recovery teams assumed there was no way she could have survived. Because this is a silly cartoonish tf2 universe, she did survive, with only minor ill effects. While the immediate area was evacuated and too radioactive to live in, she lived there alone for a decade until she was discovered by trespassers. Her only entertainment during those years was music and radio. She broadcast her own radio show that consisted of bad covers of her favorite songs and rambly theories about the state of the world she couldn't see. Her inexplicable resistance to radiation made her valuable to the team.

about her: her time alone made her inclined to talk to herself as well as objects and dolls as if they were real people. She's not used to talking at a normal volume anymore. She is comfortable being alone all the time but when she gets attached to someone she gets extremely attached and follows them around at all times like a duckling. She is highly obsessive, paranoid about the state of the world, and has very little concept of theft anymore considering she was free to take any objects in the abandoned highly irradiated ghost town. She considers all metal that isn't actively being used free scrap metal (she is banned from Engineer's workshop). She still broadcasts on the radio (average podcaster smh). it's dangerous to stand next to her for too long. Her room is lined with 2 inch lead panels and she wears disposable gloves duct taped on so she doesn't leave radioactive skin cells everywhere and keeps her hair up so she doesn't drop radioactive hairs. also, because she's cool and sexy, of course she's trans.

in game: my vague concept for her gameplay would be a little like playing Pyro for those who prefer support roles. Her goal is to irradiate the enemy team by blasting them with radioactive dust, by setting off nuclear explosions, or by letting them pick up radioactive items. I like the idea of irradiated enemy team members then contaminating the rest of their own team. It's also fun to come up with themed weapons, taunts and cosmetics she could have.

anyway yeah i like talking about my silly little guy! I didn't come up with a real name for her yet, thinking Irene but only maybe. I think it's fine to just go by her class name since the 9 mercs weren't even created with real names to begin with.

#I'm bad at coming up with well thought out info about ocs so I'm just improvising. how do people do this??#tf2 #tf2 fanart #tf2 art #team fortess 2 #team fortress 2 fanart #tf2 oc #tenth class #tenth class oc #10th class #10th class oc #tf2 10th class #tf2 reactor

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deth-of-a-junkie · 5 months

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i have a lot of postal dude headcanons, so ive split them up.

so heres my postal 1 dude headcanons

p1 dude has a special interest on the jets and weaponry used in ww2 and the vietnam war, but also the U.S military as a whole. he specifically likes to collect vintage U.S military memorabilia and propaganda. he can go on for hours about the faults of the government and government greed and corruption, he hates the system. he also knows a lot about JFK assassination theories and will go on for hours about them.

oh yeah. postal 1 dude is autistic.

he also has a spin on guns. he knows them all by name and loves to learn about different manufacturers and how each one are built. he knows how to deconstruct them and put them back together. he even has some guns he's made himself. legal? probably not. he doesnt care.

p1 dude also prefers reading in books for information instead of searching the web for them, so amongst the mess of his house is just piles upon piles of books.

p1 dude also is great at poetry. he loves writing too, which is why i think he started his diaries.

he also loves drawing! he loves going out and drawing scenery the most, he also likes drawing nude figures. he finds the human body to be interesting.

p1 dude is religious. im divided on if i see him as someone whos spiritually aligned closer to catholics (though i wouldnt call him a straight up catholic, he doesn't like the church.) or pagen.

talking about pagen dude, correct me if im wrong, i dont know much about pagenism (but ive been trying to learn more as of recent), but he specifically worships greek gods. out of the gods, his favorite is ares.

he hangs around poostall dude a lot. they arent really friends, they're kinda opposites of each other, but poostall looks up to him as a mentor in philosophy among other things.

he used to be active in his local punk scene when he was younger. he has a lot of cds and tapes of obscure bands that almost no one has heard of.

he loves metal more then anything though, and he also has a large collection of horror films (all on vhs, a few of dvd. he doesnt have his dvd player plugged in so he only uses it if he has too. also refused to buy blueray. if its the only option he burns it onto a disk himself.).

his favorite genres of metal are melodic death metal and prog metal. i would also say dsbm but i feel like thats too corny. he loves opeth. also death.

he's non-speaking most of the time by choice. the older he's gotten the more he started to isolate himself, and he usually chooses to ignore people when theyre talking and not respond at all, mainly just people who ask for directions and stuff on the street he'll just ignore. he just doesnt feel the need too, he likes to stay invisible.

talking about that, he hates leaving his house. it used to be because of anxiety but it slowly became due to his other mental health issues getting worse, especially his fear of everyone being out to get him/everyone else being demons/whatever your interpretation of his reasonings behind postal 1 is.

3 in one shampoo. also uses hand soap to shave instead of shaving cream. also uses hand soap to wash his face...

he needs glasses. his sunglasses also has his normal prescription lenses in them, his eyes are sensitive to light so he chose to make them sunglasses too (i believe this is possible. if its not, well it is now). he also has a 2nd pair that are just normal glasses, he uses them only to read or when he's walking around his house at night. (this is totally not me self reflecting with the realization that i just found out i need glasses..../s)

I DONT KNOW HOW I FORGOT TO MENTION but also has a special interest on nuclear disasters, nuclear power plants, and radiation. theyre not separate theyre all apart of one fixation that branches off the core idea of nuclear power. like he cant have one without the other. if that makes sense.

also uses he/they. he doesnt out right say it, he doesnt use social media so its not like, in a bio or anything. he just naturally picked it up. will also accept she being used to refer to himself, but is not something he states publicly or asks people to do. he was surrounded by the queer community growing up as most of his highschool friends were apart of the community so he just one day realized he wasnt opposed to it being used in reference to himself.

he is an ASSHOLE. he used to be more considerate in his youth but the older he got the grumpier he got. he is SCARY when he insults someone. like he will have an entire ass speech of him just degrading someone until they literally have nothing left to say for themselves.

doesnt get angry though. he's calm when hes upset and frustrated, or will straight up just make fun of and make harsh jokes about the situation (i mean that like. if he gets into a disagreement with someone on the street he will laugh at them and mock them by teasing them. thats what i mean.)

#sorry i love p1 dude so much. like so much.#i think about him way too much.#im so not normal about him #please correct any incorrect info in here crying emoji #postal #postal dude #postal headcanons #postal dude headcanons #postal 1 #rws #running with scissors #p1 dude #postal 1 dude

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irondiotallica · 2 months

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Magpie

Man, I forgot how much I actually like to write. Here's a little blurb because I am on a roll. I might write more later, who knows? I'm feeling a bit creative today. I hope you enjoy this little blurb. -Silas

[Steddie]

Steve looked at the eclectic, overflowing arrangements of knickknacks and collections. It was overwhelming in one of the best ways possible. For as long as he could remember he was surrounded by blank, beige, boring interiors and horrific floral wallpaper. Yet, here he stood surrounded by loud, lived-in, and utterly comforting chaos.

Brick walls were mixed with pops of burgundy and black. The sofa was loved and worn; already having been used before it made its home here. The hand-crafted coffee table was lovingly covered with metal magazines, ashtrays, lighters, and law cases that served as precedent. A pair of reading glasses lay next to a copy of The Hobbit. VHS tapes lined the walls with Top Gun front and center.

Swimming medals were lovingly hung on the wall and Steve grinned. He hadn’t hung them up and was still struck with love at the precision it took to make the frames as ornate as they were. Metal posters signed by different bands hung on the wall as well, framed with less precision and finesse, but solid enough. Steve wasn’t the best at using power tools for more than surprisingly effective improvised weapons. Besides, he had waited the hours it took to get the signatures.

Steve felt his eyes water a little at the space before he shook his head a little and wiped the tears before they could fall. He was happy. He sat back down at the thrifted table and mismatched chairs that accompanied it continuing the work he had started. His hands remained steady as he used the small, thin brush to paint the features on the little figures. They were figures of monsters that he didn’t know the name of, but he could follow the way they looked in the books surrounding him. He took a break from the monsters to work on another little figure. He grinned as he painted the little fangs white before adding the appropriate shading. He heard the front door open and a voice call out in a joking tone.

“Oh honey, I’m home.”

Steve turned to the voice, making sure to hide the vampire figure before trodding to the kitchen to plant a kiss on the curly-haired man. He kissed Eddie with fervor before reluctantly pulling away. He couldn’t get too carried away, they were having dinner with the group later today. Eddie pouted at the loss of plush lips against his own, but he grinned as Steve’s chuckle filled his ears. Steve planted a kiss on the tip of Eddie’s nose before dragging him to the couch.

“How was your day, Eds?”

Eddie fidgeted with Steve’s hands and grinned.

“It was good,” he answered, smirking as he continued,” even better now that I'm here with you.”

Steve flushed and knocked Eddie slightly with his shoulder.

“Oh hush you.”

Steve gave Eddie one more kiss. He grabbed his waist as Eddie’s fingers tangled in his hair and around his neck.

Steve was more than glad to be living with Eddie in this Chicago apartment than in that big house back in Hawkins, alone, with sterile loneliness polluting the air.

#steddie #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #blurb #fluff #im bored

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pruechaosbracket · 9 months

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ROUND 3: Taako, Magnus and Merle VS Giovanni Potage

About Taako, Magnus, and Merle: A trio of adventurers, who's in-universe group name is Tres Horny Boys. Their antics come in both group ways; such as when they jumped down a well when none of them can levitate, and individual ways; such as when Taako brought and item that can be traded for someone's most valuable item and then sold it back to the same person for a Flaming Raging Poisoning Sword of Doom which he use as an accessory. When Magnus and Merle stole from a Bank while stopping an actual Bank Robbery, Taako threaten to rat them out to the officer outside. Merle chased someone into a quarry; which Magnus had just told him to not enter, to persuade them into following Pan via the Extreme Teen Bible, which he introduced with a song. When they group was blocked by a mass of vines, Merle flirted with the plant which caused it to be infatuated and grossed Magnus and Taako. Taako threaten his student for if he ever became more powerful then Taako, and he then brushed it off as him practicing for a play.

About Giovanni: An former captain of the Banzai Blasters that left to form his own villain group (which is currently made of other Ex-Banzai Blasters he used to lead) with a villain persona called Vincent Murder. He refers to his minions as "My Boys" which he uses gender-neutrally (but will stop if one of them said they don't want to be called that), he makes a grandiose entrance when breaking into the museum and gives every single on of his attacks descriptively-dramatic names such as "Lav-Acid", "Fog of Lost Souls", "Soup That is Too Hot", and "Teleports Behind You", he uses the "Soul Slugger Doom Bat of Maximum Destruction" which is literally just a baseball bat with his mom's knife taped to it (with him technically stealing said knife).

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nancys4gf · 2 years

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knowing me, knowing you | steve harrington, jonathan byers

— knowing me, knowing you, there is nothing we can do. knowing me, knowing you, we just have to face it, this time we're through. Abba, Knowing Me, Knowing You.

summary: you get cursed by vecna, but your boyfriend doesn’t know your favorite song. someone else saves you instead.

pairing: steve harrington x female reader | jonathan byers x female reader

warnings: angst

note: i couldn't sleep and i kept thinking of jonathan being painfully in love with his best friend, so i wrote this to break my own heart. also, the reader's favorite song implies something about the story 👀 and there's a little ambiguity about the interpretation of the last scene. maybe i'll write a part two?? idk. anyways, i hope you enjoy!!!

̟ ̇.˚︵‿୨♡୧‿︵˚.✩

“stay with me, please, stay with me,” steve urged, shaking your shoulders, wanting nothing more than the color to come back to your eyes, now white and rolled back into your head.

“what’s her favorite song?” dustin shouted. “steve, what’s her favorite song?!”

“i don’t–” steve screamed back, exasperated. “i don’t know!”

“think!” robin chimed in.

but he couldn’t. the only thing he could do was shake you and scream for you to wake up, even though he knew it was no use at all. he looked at his friends, a silent plea in his desperate, wide eyes.

“i don’t…”

“knowing me, knowing you. abba.” it was jonathan who spoke.

“are you sure?” steve demanded.

“i’m sure.” jonathan snapped. “she always used to dance to it with her mom when she was a kid.”

steve nodded frantically, but it was dustin and lucas who started searching through the different tapes, while max screamed at them to hurry up.

“here!” lucas cried out, and jonathan put the headphones in your ears.

right after abba started playing, you suddenly got off the ground, hovering in the air with open arms. all of your friends backed away in horror, but jonathan couldn’t move, only being able to scream your name.

“no, no, please,” steve cried from the ground. “come back to me, come back.”

seeing you up there, hanging in the air as if your body was merely a lifeless doll that looked too much like you, but wasn’t really you, jonathan byers had never felt more scared.

you couldn’t leave him. not when you still hadn’t formed your crappy band with a crappy name and crappy songs. not when he still hadn’t taken pictures of you graduating, on your first day of college, getting your first apartment. not when he still had so many things to say to you.

jonathan knew you were loved by many. he saw it in your friends' terrified faces, who would do anything in their power to save you. and he knew you deserved all of that and more. but recognizing his own raw pain in steve harrington’s screams and in the way he prayed for your life, made jonathan feel venomous.

he didn’t even know your favorite song. or the reason why it was so special to you. he was sure steve didn’t know the way you liked to eat your ice cream (mixed-up until it was almost melted, and then with cereal on top). nor your favorite poem, which he had once memorized for your birthday, and still couldn’t forget.

he knew steve loved you. but jonathan also knew he loved you better.

abba was playing as if from far, far away, when you opened your eyes and fell to the ground, gasping for air. steve already had his arms wrapped around you when jonathan got to your side.

“i’ve got you." he heard steve whisper in your ear, over and over again as he cradled you, hugging and touching every part of you he could reach.

jonathan held on tight to your shaking hand, wrapping it up with both his hands so you knew he was there. so you knew he would always be there.

your voice was weak and broken as you muttered, “don’t let go.”

“never.” steve replied, planting a kiss on your forehead. “never.”

jonathan was used to the ever-present ache in his chest when he saw you with him. but the way you had begged steve not to let go, with pure fear and love in your voice, destroyed him. you were looking for solace and protection in someone that wasn’t him. someone that would never be him.

#jonathan byers #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers imagines #jonathan byers au #jonathan byers angst #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington au #steve harrington angst #stranger things imagines #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things angst #stranger things 4 #vecna #vecna's curse

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third-arch · 7 days

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Law Rambling-The First Time

A messy and incomplete rambling about “the first time” Trafalgar Law saw Kanna’s body.

NSFW, Trauma, Comfort, Really Sweet, Fluff

In my writing, my OC Kanna goes through a tumultuous two year-ish and mostly one sided relationship. Throughout it all, she endured all kinds of abuse from her multifaceted ex lover, Doflamingo.

“You drew stars around my scars But now I’m bleedin’”

Cardigan-Taylor Swift (Folklore, 2020)

Coming out of the traumatic experience, she was scarred both physically and emotionally. She was scared to talk to people. She hated enclosed spaces and when others locked the doors. Her responses were reactive and defensive.

Physically, her body was a wreck. Scars of all shapes and sizes ran all over her appendages and torso. Her nose had been broken and deformed, too, hence the crookedness.

Similarly to Law, in those moments, she needed trust more than anything else.

She needed someone who would make her feel safe.

Both being pretty much medical nerds, learning to separate their emotions when needed is key to their profession.

So, one of the most beautiful things about Kanna and Law is their respect for their bodies.

Under his care, Law was stern with Kanna. He was quiet and reserved, a complete contrast to her abuser.

When he saw her bare body for the first time, he saw a body.

He saw the abuse, the torment, the demons, all the battles she’d fought.

He truly saw all of her in that moment.

Her breasts, her back, her pelvis, he treated her kindly.

He’d carefully wash Kanna’s body in warm water, his fingers massaging her scalp with soapy water. The sponge would soak up all the dirt and dried blood from her skin as she’d wince in pain.

Law would let her dry off with a clean towel before sterilizing her injuries.

He’d ask her behind the door if she had any allergies or any sort of replacements he’d need to keep in mind.

As he’d examine her, his eyes would be stern and gray. Not a hint of vulnerability.

Law was gentle, carefully studying her reactions for any sign of pain.

He let Kanna know what he was going to do, and would ask each time if she was okay with it.

He’d pause the moment her face tensed up, his hands never faltering or lingering.

Law treated Kanna’s chest with respect. Her arms, her legs, he sewed, stitched, and carefully worked to fix the damage done to her.

He’d take adhesive tape and gauze, pressing them to her wounds and wrapping them with latex bandages.

Throughout his check ups and exams, I don’t think he’d use his Room around her. He knew that Doflamingo must have abused his powers with Kanna, and wanted to let her know that they were equals. No power dynamic, and that his life was just as fragile as hers.

He had initially done this to build trust more than anything. He’s a doctor.

But, Law’s still human, capable of love and full of emotions.

As he cared for Kanna and helped her both physically and emotionally, strange and uncomfortable feelings welled within him.

The more he fell in love with Kanna, the more he fell in love with her beauty.

Her smile, her laughter, that of bells chiming, her kindness, her warmth.

Yet, he was never particularly picky on looks.

Being judged throughout his childhood, he knew very well what it felt like to be seen as “different”.

Beauty was much more complicated in the eyes of Trafalgar Law.

Yet, despite this, all his convictions and fears vanished the moment they made love for the first time.

“I love you. Most ardently.”

Fitzwilliam Darcy-Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen, 1813)

When he saw Kanna’s body again, he saw the woman he loved.

Her breasts were perfect for him. The small of her back was adorable, and her bare shoulders were beautiful.

He didn’t look beyond her scars. They made Kanna even more beautiful.

He’d plant gentle kisses all over them, telling her how beautiful she is.

He’d press his mouth to hers, biting her earlobe as a mischevious smirk would tug at his lips.

Kanna would trace gentle circles along his dimples, calling him beautiful all the while.

Her cheeks flushed, the moonlight kissing her mousy blonde hair, her lips and legs parted for her lover.

The gentle soul of a lonely traveling musician and the longing heart of the Surgeon of Death, making love under a full moon.

He’d cage over her and hold her close, letting her nimble fingers trail over his chest and run along his tattoos.

He wanted her to feel safe and sound.

He wanted to show her just how much he loved her, and just how deeply his feelings ran.

He’d massage her breasts, squeezing and biting them in just the right spots to hear her soft gasps and breathless whispers.

He’d spoil Kanna’s body, kissing and nibbling up and down her appendages, exploring her inner thighs and burying his face in her shoulder.

As he’d press into her, he’d carefully study her reactions. His eyes would be a soft yellow, showing all of his emotions and tenderness in that moment.

He’d carefully study Kanna’s expressions for any pain, begging her to not hide herself or feel scared.

He wouldn’t pressure her, he’d hold her hands, intertwining their fingers together.

Their hot breaths would mingle as they held eachother close, the soft candlelight illuminating their bodies in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

He’d suck on her collarbone, leaving behind small dark markings as he’d mumble to her to take her cranberry supplement.

He’d treat her like he treated the body the first time, a sense of nostalgia filling the room.

The soft white sheets of his bed now wrinkled as they cuddle.

It was like he was falling in love with Kanna all over again.

#one piece #op #trafalgar law #trafalgar one piece #trafalgardwaterlaw #one piece art #one piece imagine #op imagines #trafalgar law x oc #oc one piece #op oc #one piece oc #law x oc

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mirohtron · 10 months

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the villain jumped at the sound of a twig snapping.

and then, immediately, felt faint. they pressed their palm to the bleeding wound on their side and tried to pay no mind to the white-hot pain, instead focusing on where the sound had come--from the bushes of this park, long forgotten by the city, along with this little neighbourhood. they peered, blinked hazily. light played from a dim little lamppost onto a figure, a pair of eyes peering back.

oh, how close the villain was to home. and yet, look at how close danger was to them. they drew their knife from their boot with a shaking, blood-slicked hand. they willed their voice not to shake as the lamppost flickered. "out," they called. "now."

from the bushes came a soft gasp, and then rustling. it wouldn't be smart to throw their knife at whoever was there and hope it landed on the target. the villain found themselves considering that option either way.

this park was unkempt, uncared for, the grass going up to their knees. this was where teenagers came to smoke or have unhygienic trysts. the trees, old and heavy with their branches and planted too close, formed canopies. benches lay half-covered in weeds and moss. the lampposts were dim, flickering, with weak bulbs and creaky poles. this was not the best place to fight, especially considering their state. going to the blocks would be much safer.

the villain forced themselves to step away from the rusty lamppost they'd been leaning on and winced when it creaked. they kept their eyes trained on the bushes. they stepped backwards and closer to the gates, knife before them. they ignored every terrible ache in their body, gritted their teeth.

they heard a pained groan. tilted their head to the side.

out, with impossible speed, came something red. the villain could barely comprehend it before a human-shaped weight partially slammed them against one of the stone pillars lining the metal fence, and their shoulder went white with bruising pain when corded muscle hit one of the anti-climb metal spikes. oh, this was so uncomfortable. the corner of the pillar dug into their muscle.

suddenly their entire skin stung, and the villain's body contracted and jumped at a spike of electricity. their vision was hazy, and then quickly the weight shifted, and an annoyingly high nasal voice screeched in their ear.

"oh my god! oh my god, shit, i'm so sorry, i--"

the villain groaned, starting to slide down, but hands caught them by their sides and forced them to lean against the pillar. they blinked spots out of their vision, and a pair of worried, flickering amber-yellow eyes came into their view, along with a nose, slightly bruised, taped with white medical tape.

ah. that explained the terrible voice.

"i'm so sorry," said the person who had slammed them into a fence at light speed. the villain could barely think, barely manage another groan. "holy shit, you're bleeding. i mean, i knew you were bleeding, but not so much--"

no shit, sherlock, the villain wanted to say. but they were stung with another bout of electricity. the speedster yelped and let go, allowing the villain to sink into the knee-high grass. they kneeled and pushed grass away from the villain's body. where did their knife go?

amber-yellow electricity flickered around the speedster's body. the villain glanced up and now saw brown eyes, the amber gone.

"you..." they said, and wanted to hiss it, but ended up sounding just croaky.

"i'm sorry, i don't know how to control it yet," the speedster said, speaking swiftly. but it was unnatural; they enunciated each word properly, but their tongue seemed to move unnaturally fast, like a sped up recording. "i don't know anyone who can help me except you, i mean, you have powers too, right?"

no. the villain merely faked that with tech. but they nodded either way, because they didn't trust themselves to have the mind to omit vital information should they explain that right now.

"so you're not here to kill me," they said in a croaky voice. nonetheless, it sounded pretty all right.

"no! no, i just--i don't trust those heroes."

the villain laughed at that, and then hissed when it sent pain to their side. "good kiddo."

the speedster hovered their hands over the villain's wound, awkward, unsure of what to do, but still eager to help. "i'm not a kid." the speedster said.

"think you'll shock me again?" the villain asked, ignoring the speedster.

"n-no? it only happens when i'm nervous."

"do i make you nervous?"

the speedster frowned. "i dunno, do you like getting electrocuted?"

that almost made the villain laugh again, but instead they just settled for a grin. they held out their bloody hand. "get me up."

the speedster pulled their arm around their neck. "ew," they complained, queasy about the sticky blood. but they lifted the villain up and apologised when the villain groaned and led them out of the park.

"tell me about your powers," the villain said, so that they'd have a distraction from their pain.

relief spread over the speedster's face, like they'd been eager to share their story. "oh, it was a mess how i got it. i, like, visited the rich part of the city for a university interview. i got lost, and, like, i had money. i thought i'd get something to ease up, you know?"

the villain chuckled and bit down on the pain that bloomed from it. the speedster huffed but righted their body and went on. their voice fluctuated between nasal and normal, like they were putting care to incorporate their stomach into their breathing.

"so i walked into this shady place. fuck, dude, it was this horribly surveillanced lab. i touched something i shouldn't have—i didn't even need weed to be that stupid!—and spilled some chemicals i didn't know about. it was raining that day too, and, like, it blew out the electricity. i stumbled into something, turned something on. i got shocked so hard that i should've died, but i woke up surrounded by these scary, suited-up people. and i got scared, and i started, like, vibrating and electrocuting these guys. i saw a window to escape, so i ran. i ran back home. slammed into a couple walls on the way." they pointed to their broken, bandaged nose. "i don't know how to control this."

for the first time, the villain peered more closely into their face and saw how badly their nose had been taken care of. there was too much stuffing in one nostril, too little in the other. it was not going to heal in a straight line. "i can tell."

the speedster moved their face back, and the villain's knees gave out at yet another electrical shock, pulling the speedster down with them. they gasped.

"i'm so sorry!"

"s'fine." the villain gasped. "you got a medkit at your place?"

"uh-huh."

"take me there."

the speedster blinked. "are you sure?"

"yes."

"aren't you scared i'll hurt you?"

"scared you'll do it on accident."

the speedster frowned, but they lugged the villain on.

their place was small, the paint slightly cracked. outside, their complex appeared run down, the balconies rusted and old, graffiti at the entrance and more on the walls which bordered the complex. but the speedster had made their apartment look as cozy as possible, with warm lights and little trinkets and large posters of bands and movies and television shows plastered to the wall.

"it's not much," the speedster said as they came out of the bathroom, medkit and damp towel in hand. they handed the towl to the villain, who cleaned off the blood from their face and hands.

"it's cute," said the villain. the speedster's twin-sized bed, on which the villain sat, was beside the window that led to one of the balconies, slide up to allow cold night air in. not all buildings in this part of the city had balconies, and for the ones that did, they were too old to safely stand on. the villain noted that the speedster's balcony was tipped slightly downwards.

the speedster placed the medkit down beside their desk, and the villain pulled it towards their body, opening it and pulling out the hydrogen peroxide. the villain eyed their torn suit and their wound and sighed and pulled the top off, neck first so it wouldn't stretch unnecessarily.

electricity flickered, and the villain looked up to see the speedster decidedly not looking at them, standing awkwardly. they smiled. "i don't make you nervous, you said?"

"didn't say shit."

the villain directed their smile to the bottle and pulled out the cotton, wetting it. they hissed as they dabbed at the wound. the speedster shifted on their feet. "how long since you've had these powers?"

"...three days."

"hm."

"what?"

the villain took out the gauze and bandage with one hand and made a come hither motion with the other. the speedster bent to their level, and the villain ripped off their bandage.

"ah!" the speedster yelped, jumping back in a flash of electricity, covering their nose. they glared up at the villain, eyes amber-yellow, electricity in their pupils. "what the hell, man!"

"look at your nose," the villain murmured. "it's getting better already." that bruising from earlier was completely gone.

the speedster blinked, removing the cotton from their nostrils, half-bloody. they breathed in through their nose. "holy shit."

the villain raised their eyebrows. "super healing. electricity. super speed." they leaned back on an arm, tilting their head. "aren't you something."

the speedster pinched their nose. "it only aches."

"come here."

at that the speedster's attention came to them again. they stood straight, eyes accusing. "don't do something like that again."

"it's nothing like that." the villain gestured towards them with the gauze and bandage. "dress my wound."

the speedster blinked once more, but they came to the villain's side and kneeled, happy to help, and obediently dressed the wound.

the villain looked down at them with dark eyes, legs spread. "how eager you are," they murmured, "to get between my thighs."

the speedster made a flustered noise and flashed with electricity, prepared to run back, but this time the villain was fast enough to yank them onto bed. the speedster yelped, cheeks red. the villain came close. the speedster scooted back.

"uhm," the speedster said, wide-eyed. their hair was floating up now, static electricity buzzing around their body. the villain felt the hair on their arms rise, but they pushed forward regardless. "aren't you worried i'll, like, shock you?"

"aren't you worried," the villain murmured, and placed a hand on their heaving chest, "that i'll do bad things to you? i'm a villain, after all."

the speedster made a funny noise. "like--" they cleared their throat. "like what?"

the villain leaned in, breath brushing delicately against the shell of their ear. "like this," they whispered, and shoved the speedster out onto the balcony.

the speedster yelped, and then sat up, looking at them in shock.

the balcony creaked on rusted hinges. the villain yanked the window down just as the speedster moved to climb back inside.

they stared at the villain in hopeless dread.

the balcony gave. the speedster plunged. and then the balcony underneath their's fell under their weight, and so on and so forth, a horrible cacophony of rusted, creaking metal giving way over and over again, the result of the city's municipality forgetting this run-down neighbourhood.

when there was no more sound the villain opened the window and peered down to look at the speedster lying in bloody metal. they groaned like a wounded animal.

in the low light of the streetlights the villain watched the speedster's body heal, the bones mending, the skin stitching itself.

delicately, they perched their chin over their palm. "i'll help," they said. "but i'll help as bad guys do. and if i ask for favours, consider it a chance to pay off this debt." they checked their nails idly, and picked at the grime underneath. god, this new development was making them feel better already.

the speedster wailed.

"don't worry, darling!" they called. "i'll fashion a nice suit for you as a gift." wound and aching body forgotten, they fished out one of the speedster's clothes and tugged it on, and headed down to help their new...sidekick? apprentice? whatever the speedster had just become to them, the villain was glad they were their problem to handle.

this was going to be one hell of a ride.

#yeah i watch justice league. yeah this is blatant flash plagiarism. idc #speedster #villain #superheroes #supervillains #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #speedster x villain #speedster/villain #if you squint #spilled ink #writeblr #writers on tumblr #kyles.writing #abr te speedsterxvillain tag. i changed the ending . i suppose even squinting will not help now #but i will leave that on there for the girlies who skipped their wp phase and went straight for c0h0 #i suppose u deserve an outlet....a space to grow....also it wouod be funny if they ended up together even after this stunt #just fucking hilarious imo #leaving that there. for the bit

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training4theapocalypse-backup · 1 year

Text

On Her Majesty’s Supersonic Service (Adrian Chase x Reader)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7K

Warnings: SMUT, Descriptions of murder, Descriptions of violence, Verbal Humiliation, Light bondage, Duct tape, Tent sex, Accidental voyeurism, Bodily fluids, Dubious consent, Characters mistakenly assume non-consent

Summary: Immediately after the attack on the Glan Tai bottling plant, Task Force X sets up camp overnight to rest before the road trip home. Vigilante offers to help you, an MI6 agent working under Amanda Waller, find creative ways to navigate drawbacks of your new superpowers.

A/N: Not a fan of Y/N so there's an original character with powers sort of similar to the DC comics Black Canary

Masterlist

Chapter 1: For Your Ears Only

“Pretty please do it again?”

Vigilante is cross-legged opposite you on the other side of the bonfire. He eagerly lines up empty beer bottles and looks at you expectantly. You don’t hate him exactly but you do find literally every single aspect of his personality annoying. He is so irritatingly enthusiastic and let's face it, a psychopath. Your poor eyes have never rolled so much or so often when you spend time with Vigilante.

He’s like a golden retriever puppy personified- if puppies were armed to the hilt and trained to kill with zero regard for human life. And despite your alias, you’re more like a black cat than a Blackbird. Cautious, quiet, sometimes deadly- you possess a distinct lack of tolerance for dogs like Vigilante.

Tonight though… tonight you have a little more patience for him than usual. Perhaps it’s the fact that he saved your life just hours earlier. Or maybe it’s just the beer you’ve been sinking since your very close brush with death. Normally you’d turn your nose up at American beer, but you definitely needed a drink after today’s mission.

He is waiting expectantly and even though you’ve never seen his face before, you can tell that he has a goofy grin under his mask.

“Will you leave her alone for five minutes?” Harcourt finishes the bottle she’s been sipping and tosses it into the rubbish pile. But she’s less stern than usual, the massacre today brought your team closer together and the mood is still light.

“Yeah, Blackbird, if you need me to kick his ass just yell,” says Adebayo

You smile and raise your eyebrows.

“Uhhh, right. The supersonic scream thing. Well, come bang on the side of my tent if you need me.”

She strains as she tries to stand up with difficulty. Adebayo had had a narrow escape inside Glan Tai - a giant gorilla had knocked her aside and she severely sprained her ankle.

“You won’t be kicking any ass tonight Adebayo, not with that injury.” says Economos, pulling her up. She wraps one arm around Economos’ shoulders and her other around Harcourt’s. “G’night you three,” he says. You lift your hand to give them a short wave in return. They help her limp to her tent before retiring to their own respective ones.

You hope she’s okay. Out of this team of Americans that Waller has ordered you to team up with, you find Adebayo to be the least grating.

You, Vigilante and Chris remain by the campfire. Vigilante rests his face on his cupped hands and looks at you. Like a psychopathic masked cherub.

“C’mon Birdie, just these three bottles? Please?”

You roll your eyes again- you’re going to pull an eye muscle if you spend any more time around Vigilante- his incessant chatting makes you grind your teeth. Mostly because it’s extremely irritating but also because you’re a little bit jealous. Your fellow MI6 agents used to complain that you talked too much and gave each other significant looks whenever you went on and on.

But of course, that was before your accident. Who would have guessed that stealing a prototype supersonic jet on behalf of Her Majesty’s Secret Service would end up with you being royally fucked? You woke up weeks later with the world’s most deadly sonic vocal cords. The icing on the cake was MI6 ordering you to join Amanda Waller’s investigation into the butterflies, probably as punishment for failing your previous mission.

You take a deep breath and quietly murmur a gentle, low note. The ground vibrates and the first empty bottle of Budweiser shatters. You concentrate hard and hum a second note and the next bottle cracks in a perfect straight line down the middle, the two halves fall apart. Another inhale and you let out a soft whisper- the third beer bottle is blasted backwards into the air by a sonic wave.

Vigilante leans back to rest on his elbows and looks at you appreciatively. “Never gets old.”

There is a moment’s pause as the three of you stare into the fire. “I never asked anyone at Corto Maltese but what does it feel like, having… abilities?” asks Chris “My sonic boom helmet is pretty cool but it must be scary as fuck having it inside your head.”

You shrug. You preferred life before your powers. Before MI6 had sent you here as punishment for failing to retrieve that jet and nearly getting yourself killed. You miss when you could sing Natasha Bedingfield on karaoke and laugh ‘til you cried without shattering every window in your flat.

“She misses not being able to talk. I get it Birdie, it feels good to open up and get your feelings out.”

“Vij, stop making shit up. You don’t know that she misses talking.”

“Uh- I think I know how my second best friend forever is feeling. I can read her body language.”

Second best friend forever? Is that sarcasm? As far as you could tell, Vigilante doesn’t really understand sarcasm, nevermind make sarcastic quips himself. So does he actually think you’re friends?

He may be a borderline stalker that follows you around like a little puppy but the fact that he is super observant comes in handy. It’s probably why you work so well together- even if you don’t like to admit it. In combat, he watches your every move and responds and adapts so quickly that it feels like you’re in sync.

“Tell me he’s talking out his ass,” says Chris

You give a small shake of your head and Chris still looks confused. You pull out your phone and open the notes app.

‘He’s right.’ You type and hold up your screen reluctantly.

“See!” Vigilante points at you enthusiastically. “I can but she hates to admit it! I’m a mind-reader, baby. No wait, better than a mind-reader, a body-reader! And damn, I love to read that body.”

You exhale through your nose, scoffing silently but you take a much longer swig of beer. You really do hate admitting that he’s right. What does it say about you that the only person in the team who can’t pick up on most normal social cues can read you like a book? You remind yourself that his body-reading really did save your backside when you were fighting the butterflies earlier.

One of them had snuck up on you from behind and clamped his hand over your mouth, stopping you from emitting your sonic scream. He had a blade against your throat, ready to sever your vocal cords to stop you from killing any more of his comrades. But Vigilante threw a knife at his head with precision, the blade inches from your face, leaving you soaked in blood, breathless and lying on your back staring up at him, blinking in disbelief, adrenaline coursing through your veins. His towering figure hoisted you back up to your feet with such ease… it actually looked kind of hot. Not that you could ever tell him that.

“Hey Birdie,” you look up at Vigilante and can tell by his sing-song voice that he’s still smirking under his mask “Have you ever been fucked so hard that you brought down an apartment building?”

“Jesus Christ, Vij!” scolds Chris

This time you don’t make a sour face or give him an eye roll. You flush involuntarily and end up looking down at your crossed legs, praying that neither Vigilante nor Chris can read your expression. Your domino mask only covers part of your face so you hope the bonfire makes the heat rising in your cheeks less noticeable.

He’s touched a nerve. Yes, you miss laughing and singing but there’s something you miss even more. You haven’t even touched yourself in over a year, nevermind had sex, just in case you make any noise. You’ve had sex dreams that turn into nightmares, always ending the same way- a moan of pleasure that becomes a horrified scream as your sonic waves blow the brains out of the faceless lover in your dreams.

You look up and they’re still staring at you expectantly. You shake your head.

“Shit,” exhales Chris “I thought I had it bad in prison but a vow of silence and abstinence? You’re for sure getting into heaven.”

You smirk. You’ve killed way too many people to get into heaven.

“Say the word and I’ll help you out, Birdie,” says Vigilante.

“Come on Vij, I said cut it out,” Chris interjects.

Your eyes don’t leave Vigilante, your heart dropping into the pit of your stomach. But you wait for him to finish.

“I saw how that butterfly left you defenceless earlier when he had his hand over your mouth. Just blink twice and I’ll do the same thing, babe. One hand over your mouth and the other deep in your-”

“Okay - that’s enough!” Chris gets up and hoists Vigilante to his feet by the scruff of his suit. “Blackbird is just trying to fuckin’ have a beer and you think you can harass her?”

You sit in stunned silence, momentarily distracted by Chris’ profound moment of self-growth. It was only last week that he was sexually harassing your waitress in Fennel Fields, and according to Harcourt, harassing her in a bar just days ago. You bite your lip, your gaze returning to Vigilante and you can feel the flush on your face spreading down your neck and to your chest. You’re grateful that your leather suit doesn’t leave any skin below your neck exposed.

“I’ll take first shift. I’m supposed to be watching for butterflies,” says Chris and he roughly lets go of Vigilante. He points two fingers at his eyes and points them at Vigilante. “But I’ll be watching you too.”

“Aww come on! I’m not a creep.” Vigilante holds up his hands in protest and you find yourself noticing how large his hands actually are. “But I do have duct tape,” he adds, glancing over at you. You’re glad when he turns 180 degrees and positively skips off towards his tent so he doesn’t notice your chest heaving as you try to steady your breath. Calm down.

You continue to watch him on his way to the far side of the camp as you finish your drink. You throw the empty bottle in with the others in the bin. You nod to Chris and point your thumb at your tent.

“Sleep tight Birdie. I’ll keep an eye on Vij for you.”

You smile and wave your hand away, It’s fine don’t worry about me, but Chris totally misreads your body language.

“Yeah, I’ll push him away like that-“ he mimics your hand wave “Read you loud and clear.”

You thought your signing and expressions were obvious but Chris reminds you again that Vigilante is the only person you’ve met who can read your movements like he’s reading your mind.

In your tent, you begin to peel off your skintight black leather suit. The dried blood from earlier cracks and flakes as you peel it off. You’re thankfully uninjured. Just a few aches and bruises, and a small scratch where the butterfly held his blade against your neck but you’re grateful you got off lightly. You strip to your plain black cotton underwear and sports bra and use a bottle of water and washcloth to get rid of the remaining blood and sweat from your body, trying your best to get it out of your hair. You need a real shower but this will do for now.

You crawl into your sleeping bag and as you had expected, you can’t get comfortable. Almost immediately you start to toss and turn. It’s unreasonably hot in here, despite the cool night air outside. Your skin feels like it’s on fire and when you lie still you can hear your heartbeat.

You unzip your sleeping back, exposing your skin to the cool air and lie on your back, hands resting on your tummy. You trace your hand upwards, imagining Vigilante’s much bigger hand moving up past your throat to cover your mouth. You press your knees shut, trying to ignore the low hum of frequency buzzing between them. Your other hand seems to have a mind of its own and reaches down to lightly graze your swollen clit over the fabric of your underwear. You accidentally let out a single agonising groan. The hard ground vibrates and the fabric of the tent whooshes. Pausing, you hold your breath to see if anyone is stirring.

Nope.

You sit bolt upright. Fuck, it is so fucking frustrating being worked up with no release- ever.

Breathe.

Come on, you think, you can do this. You’ve gone over a year without this. Self-preservation. World preservation. You’ve taken down a group of five butterflies with a single, ear-splitting scream- who knows what sonic shockwaves would occur if you orgasmed?

And yet.

Could Vigilante be right? The butterfly had rendered you helpless with one hand. Could the solution to your frustration be as simple as a strong hand over your mouth?

“I do have duct tape.”

Heat sears between your legs. You kneel in front of the canvas entrance of your tent. You reach out tentatively to unzip your tent. Your hand hesitates. What if Chris or one of the others sees you?

On second thoughts, you sit back onto your heels, acutely aware of the way your underwear has felt increasingly hot and sticky since Vigilante skipped off to his tent. You place one hand over your mouth and slide the other one into your underwear.

When you close your eyes, the memory of Vigilante standing over you to retrieve his knife from the butterfly's skull enters your mind. The way his strong arms practically scooped you up and out of your stupor. How he firmly placed his hands on each of your shoulders and looked you over to make sure you were uninjured.

“I’ll do the same thing babe. One hand over your mouth and the other deep in your-”

Oh for God’s sake. You’re furious with your own lack of self-control as you decide you need to find out how that sentence ends. You unzip the door slowly, quietly and poke your head out into the dark night air. To your left, Chris is still beside the fire, looking out towards the horizon, his back facing the small group of tents. You look towards the right- at Vigilante’s tent. It’s the furthest away from the rest of the group- about thirty or so metres away from yours.

You’ve never moved so quickly and so cat-like in your life. You tiptoe barefoot and half-naked out of your tent and creep silently towards Vigilante’s. You unzip his tent door and hastily climb in.

“Fuck!” Vigilante scrambles around and sits up in his sleeping bag, he shines both a torch and a gun in your face, blinding you. You furiously press a finger to your lips to try and get him to shush. “What the-?” He blurts. Looking at the torch, you make a barely audible “Shh” and the bulb cracks. Everything in the tent goes dark.

“Birdie?” he whispers “I nearly shot you- I thought you were a butterfly.” You both look at the tent opening with bated breath, waiting to see if anyone has noticed the commotion. They don’t. The only sound is the canvas door moving gently in the cool night breeze.

With each blink, bright spots appear in front of your eyelids as your sight adjusts after being hit with the torch light. The dim moonlight barely penetrates the green canvas of the tent. You turn and see that Vigilante is only wearing a pair of teal boxer briefs- he is unsuited and unmasked. He’s no longer faceless and your eyes widen with the realisation that he is the busboy from Fennel Fields. Chris’ friend's brother- Adrian Chase. Adrian’s mouth opens in realisation as he brings a hand to feel his face, reading the recognition crossing yours.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers and tries to jam the mask back over his head but it gets caught on his glasses. “I can’t sleep with my mask on. I knew it would come back to bite me in the ass.” You reach out and grasp his arms firmly to stop his panicked movements. You let go and hold up your arms in an exaggerated shrug. He stops. “You’re right B bird. You were the only one left in the group who didn’t know my secret identity and you’ve seen me now.” And he tosses the mask aside.

Your stomach does a little flip as your still-adjusting eyes take him in. Wow- he’s handsome. Thank God. Thick wavy black hair, green eyes, glasses and a muscular, lean body littered with scars.

His glasses are askew and he adjusts them- you can’t help but look at the veins on his muscular forearms as he does it. He halts and looks back at you, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion “What are you doing here? Shit- did Chris spot something on his watch?”

Fuck.

You pause. He doesn’t know why you’re here. He was joking. Of course, he was- he never stops joking. He was probably just making fun of you.

You try to make your expression blank and unreadable and all sorts of wild excuses flash through your mind. You hold up a finger, signalling for him to wait and bring up the notes app on your phone.

‘I heard a wolf’ you type and show him the phone screen.

“And you came in here rather than deal with it yourself? Alright-” he cocks his gun and starts crawling towards the open tent door. You wave your hands, telling him to stop and you zip the tent door blocking his exit. You quickly type on your phone again

‘Gone now. Can I sleep here in case it comes back?’

He looks up from your phone screen. “Birdie? Scared of a wolf? Damn, I thought you weren’t scared of anything!” He laughs quietly and you scowl. “Okay, okay- I won’t tell the rest of them you’re scared of wolves. Pinky swear.” He extends his pinky and you grasp it with your own. You wonder if he knows that there aren’t any wolves in these woods.

“Make yourself at home- Casa de Vigilante.” He waves across the surprisingly tidy tent and you’re secretly pleased that he’s scrubbed himself clean of (most of) the blood and dirt from earlier. He looks around the tent and his eyes land back on you and for the first time, he realises you’re wearing underwear and a sports bra. It’s not your sexiest lingerie but you feel a jolt of satisfaction as his gaze lingers a fraction too long.

“Jeez, you must be freezing,” he says. Oh. Were his eyes just looking over your goosebump-covered skin? “You take the sleeping bag”

You can’t believe that after his comments earlier he is actually being a gentleman. This is not going to plan at all. He has no idea that his throwaway flirtatious remark momentarily shattered your worldview.

Maybe this is why you find him so maddening. He is everything you aren’t. Everything you can’t be. He’s loud, he’s openly flirtatious and he’s unserious. The quieter you are, the more you recede into your shell. You can’t flirt anymore because you need to suppress all your sexual desires. You can’t even let out a sigh of laughter without causing a serious injury so you feel like you’re gradually losing your sense of humour.

“Hey, Birdie? Are you okay?” He looks into your face, concerned.

That motherfucker. Of course, he’s caring too. You can’t stand it. You grasp his worried face and wrestle him into a kiss.

Take that, you think as you bite his bottom lip.

It takes him a beat to realise what is happening but when he does he surges forward hungrily, his hand curls a fistful of your hair. He smells like the 5th of November. The bonfire smoke lingers on his skin and underneath the burnt gunpowder scent, there’s something fresh and citrusy- like bergamot.

You taste his warm tongue as it enters your mouth and you trace your hand down his chest. He makes a noise low in his throat in response and using his hand to hold your jaw open he kisses you deeply, exploring your mouth with his tongue. You pull apart to get some air. Your masked eyes meet his bright green ones. His glasses are askew again and his cheeks are flushed.

“Holy fuck- I’ve thought about kissing you every day since the moment I first saw you Birdie but I thought you hated me?”

You shrug and he laughs.

“Aw, I get it. Poor B bird, you’re just mean to me because you’re all frustrated. But I know deep down you like me. ”

You scrunch your nose, mockingly and your fingers continue downwards to graze his cock. But- wait a minute. Your eyes widen as you get a better feel for what you’re dealing with. Your hand grips round his thick cock through the fabric of his underwear. You rip your gaze away from his green eyes to look down and almost do a double-take. You thought they called him ‘ Thimble ’.

“Oh,” he says “Chris gives everyone a dick-based nickname. He gave me mine when I was 12.”

You continue to look at him incredulously.

“It was in a locker room, it’s a lot less weird than it sounds. Alright… maybe it is as weird as it sounds.” He pauses “Fuck is it also weird that your surprised reaction to my dick is making me even harder? The ol’ bait and switch.”

You’re trying very, very hard to keep your eyes unrolled. Your hands travel back up to his pecs and he lets you push him back so that he’s lying on his sleeping bag. You swing your leg over his body to straddle his hips and pull your sports bra off in one swift movement.

“Holy fuck.” He groans like he can’t believe his eyes, grabbing your tits lecherously. “Your tits look even better than they do in that little black suit.”

Perv.

The scars on his body practically beg you to kiss them and so you start working your way down, slowly planting kisses on a healed shrapnel wound on his neck, a small scar on his sternum, following a trail of scratches down his abdomen and your lips meet the trail of dark hair below his belly button. You tug his boxers down, revealing his cock. You feel a rush of heat between your legs as you see it’s hard, leaking and desperate to be sucked.

He adjusts his glasses and looks down in anticipation. You slowly lick the underside of his cock and he lets out a quiet whimper as you circle your tongue over his head. You open your mouth ready to take him in when he sits up on his elbows. “Wait-”

You pause and look at him, eyes wide and mouth open, your tongue resting on his frenulum.

“Is it safe?” he asks. There’s a glint of something in his eye. Fear? Is Vigilante actually afraid of something- you? You nod reassuringly in answer to his question. “You’re sure you can do it without making any noise?” You nod again, your tongue still on him and his cock bobs with your head movement. “Okay” he acquiesces but he remains on his elbows, looking down at you as you open your jaw as wide as you can and try to take all of him in.

It’s been at least 18 months since you did this but you don’t remember it being this difficult. Your lips feel stretched as you take in as much of his length as you can. Your tongue slides up and down the underside of his penis and you feel his head hit the back of your throat but your lips aren’t even close to the base.

“Fuck, you were so mean before. And now you’re being such a good girl for me- what happened to you Birdie?”

Good girl. Ugh, why does that make you melt?

You concentrate hard and you desperately want to moan but you can’t make any noise with your vocal cords. The only sound is the obscenely wet slurping of your saliva as you swirl your tongue around his length.

You look up at him again and see he has the same glint in his eyes as before. And you realise it isn’t just fear, it’s excitement.

Sick fuck.

He’s excited at the danger - that you might accidentally blow him to smithereens while, well, blowing him.

“Wait… wait…” he groans and cups your chin. Oh no- maybe he’s realised the life-threatening position he’s in? “I’m gonna blow my load if you keep doing that.”

Yes! You think with satisfaction.

“Just looking at your pretty mouth- oh fuck- that dangerous little mouth that just killed an entire swarm of butterflies. Fuck- it makes me wanna cum.”

He’s deranged. But you’re desperate to please him, give him that release he deserves for saving your life earlier. You nod with your mouth still full, giving him permission to cum down your throat.

“I can’t,” he genuinely looks anguished “Because I still wanna fuck you. And I really wanna taste your pussy… will you let me?”

You reluctantly remove his cock from your mouth and purse your lips with worry. You shake your head.

“You don’t want me to go down on you? Isn’t that why you came in here B?” You crawl up towards him and lie on your side, facing him. Adrian turns on his side and looks into your eyes. Your eyes are wide, pleading that he understands.

“You think it’s too dangerous for me to go down on you?” You give a small embarrassed nod.

“Hey, what did I promise you?” He tilts your head up. “I promised you I’d put one hand over your mouth…” He covers your mouth with his left hand and you’re forced by the sudden weight of him onto your back “... and the other…” His right hand pulls your underwear off and he gently glides over your wet folds with his fingers. The pads of his fingers lightly graze your throbbing clit and you fight not to buck your hips greedily. He leans in to whisper, his lips touching your ear and his breath hot “...deep in your cunt.”

Adrian sucks two of his fingers and then sinks them deep into your aching pussy, curling up and hitting the spot you crave, his palm rubbing your clit. You arch your back as he presses his fingers inside you.

“Oh man, you are so fucking wet already. Is that just from sucking my cock? Or is it from when you were in your tent coming up with that wolf story?”

Fuck - he did know.

“Just look at you- squirming and totally fucking defenceless. I could do whatever I wanted to you and you couldn’t even stop me because my hand is stopping your one power.” Your eyes roll back in your head- for once not in exasperation but in pleasure.

Please, Adrian, do whatever you want with me.

You feel your pussy getting wetter thinking about how he’ll split you in half with his fat cock after this. Your head is already spinning and he’s only using two fingers.

“I never thought you’d be like this. I never thought you’d be a little slut that creeps into my tent in the middle of the night. I thought you were stuck up but here you are, getting off on being held down and finger fucked by the guy you hate.”

Fuck, he really can talk.

Adrian’s theory is put to the test as you feel a soft moan try to escape your throat. You’re worried that your own head might explode. But nothing happens. The sound is dampened against the palm of his hand. He feels the vibrations against his palm and realises that he was right. It spurs him on to go faster and he lowers his head to your pussy. You feel his hot tongue lick between your folds. He finds your clit and starts moving his tongue in quick firm circles. His fingers continue to curl and press upwards, tapping a beautiful rhythm as your muscles squeeze round his thick digits.

“Oh, Birdie I’m gonna make you cum all over my fingers then I’m going to fuck this tight, wet little pussy.” His mouth returns to your clit but you’re already past the point of no return. His words, God damn his words, sneak up on you and push you over the edge, your first orgasm in over a year and it arrives quicker than it ever has before. Blinding, searing heat rips you apart from inside out as you’re hurled headfirst into your release. The walls of your pussy flare and contract around his fingers, you see stars as your chest heaves and you give another muffled desperate moan into Adrian’s hand.

Fuck, you can’t believe you’re cumming for Vigilante.

He gives a few slow licks up the entire length of your slit, releases his hand from your mouth and crawls up towards you. His arms on either side of your head, he gives you another slow, deep kiss.

“Did you like that, B?” Even if you could use your vocal cords, you’re not sure you’d be able to speak. He laughs as you gaze at him through heavy lids. “You are so adorable when you’re satisfied” he gently pinches your cheek “But I’m not done with you yet.”

He clambers off you and rummages around in his duffel bag and your abdomen clenches with delight when you see he’s holding duct tape. “I need to warn you that this might hurt when you take it off.” He regularly kills people for doing graffiti but looks genuinely concerned at the idea of duct tape causing you discomfort. Maniac. You nod and point to your mouth, encouraging him to seal your lips.

He straddles you, peels a short length of duct tape and rips it off the roll with his teeth. “Ready?” Using his large, gentle hands he firmly presses the duct tape over your lips. Fuck, you feel constricted but it’s turning you on even more. A wicked idea flashes across your mind. You put your wrists together and eagerly extend your arms towards him.

He gasps in mock dismay, and then a wild smile crosses his face. “You are such a little slut for me, pretty Birdie. Are you normally this kinky?”

You flush bright pink. You’re not. But tonight you want to give Adrian total control, so you wait with your arms out, eyes pleading, and he obliges. He wraps the duct tape around your wrists and once again uses his teeth to detach the length from the roll of tape.

“Holy fucking shit” he tosses the roll back into his bag and looks at you hungrily. He takes your tied arms and moves them above your head to give him a better view of your tits. “All those times I’ve dreamed about you naked in my bed, I never thought you’d be gift-wrapped.”

You look up at him and feel truly helpless. Adrian’s head drops down to give the contour of your neck a long drag of his tongue, slow and hot and gentle. He trails kisses along your jaw and stops when his lips are almost touching your ear. “If there’s anything you don’t like, baby, just let me know. Hit me or something.” He whispers.

This brief shift in tenderness and his consideration for your enthusiastic consent simply leaves you in a puddle. You nod and hold your breath waiting for his next move.

He starts to work down, kissing your neck, your collarbone and then you feel your blood burning fire through your veins as his lips envelop your left nipple. He squeezes your tits, cupping them with both hands and his teeth gently graze your sensitive skin. Your back arches and he lifts his head up, watching you writhe. His calloused fingers pinch both of your nipples and he plants sloppy, wet kisses across your chest. Adrian’s kisses then land on your ribs and trail down your stomach.

You’re already soaking fucking wet again. You try to move your legs apart, eager to let him see how ready you are but his knees on either side of yours block the way. Your pussy is slick, swollen and desperate for him to fill you up again.

“Patience, Birdie.” He kisses just below your belly button and when his eyes close and he moves back up to suck your other nipple you let out a muffled whine.

“Fuck, your skin is so soft,” He buries his face into the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent “And how do you smell so good after kicking ass all day? Like leather…and lavender..”

You wriggle out from underneath him impatiently, pulling your legs up to your chest and wrapping your ankles behind his waist. He pulls his head away from your neck and looks at you with impish delight. You bring your tied wrists over his head and behind his neck so you can better leverage your body into his. He kisses the duct tape across your lips.

“So demanding.” His whisper chastises you with a cocky smile.

He moves back, untangling himself from you so he can get a better look at you lying flushed and naked on his sleeping bag. You draw your knees up to your chest so he can see how desperate and soaking your pussy is and he holds your legs above you by the calves. Adrian surveys the sight before him appraisingly and slaps the meat of your thigh with an open palm.

You whine into the sticky covering on your mouth and in response, he traces his fingers gently up and down your soaking-wet entrance.

“God, you have a beautiful pussy. It’s like it was fucking made for me to be in it.”

He puts two fingers inside your leaking cunt and slowly draws them back out. You look down and blush at how wet you are as he takes himself in his now wet hand and strokes his length with your slick.

Adrian lets go of your calves, catches the backs of your knees, and spreads your legs, pulling you towards him. He kneels in front of you and runs the blunt head of his cock through your folds. A jolt of panic sears through you when you feel his thick head at your entrance. You grab a fistful of Adrian’s wavy hair, and force him to look in your eyes. Be gentle, your eyes plead. It’s been a long time since you’ve had sex and you hope he has the sense not to fucking destroy you with his cock.

“I’ll go slow” Adrian presses his forehead against your head and stares deeply into your eyes as if reading your mind. He pulls back and tenderly brushes your hair away from your masked face then he returns his hand to guide himself into your pussy.

And then- pressure. Blunt and thick as he breaks you open over his cock.

Your hand grabs his hair as if by instinct and Adrian watches your face intently as you squeeze your eyes shut. Come on, you think to yourself, you’ve literally been stabbed multiple times- you can take a fucking cock.

“This okay B?” You nod determinedly as he pushes deeper. “Fuck, you’re so warm. And so… fucking…tight.” His words are as slow as the incredibly controlled way he pushes himself into you and you feel like your insides are being rearranged. Fuck, you’re know you’re going to ache for days after this.

You let out a deep exhale and at the same time, he groans as he fully sheathes himself into you. You’re grateful for the respite when he pauses and you can tell from his furrowed brow and shaking arms that he’s struggling not to cum already.

He’s only paused for seconds but his self-restraint sends waves of arousal washing over you. You wriggle again, this time moving your hips in tiny circles, feeling him throb as you squeeze around him as hard as you can.

“Such an impatient little Birdie,” he says, gritting his teeth as you squirm underneath him. “Trying to make me cum first.” Your wriggling has given him newfound determination to make you cum again- before he does.

He starts to ramp up his pace so in return you squeeze your muscles tightly and move your hips, attempting to fuck yourself back into him, even though the stretch of him feels searing.

“Is this what you needed? Needed the fucking you’ve dreamed of - since even before you got your powers?”

His words do something to you. You let out an involuntary whine into the duct tape and he laughs. “Yeah, this is what you needed baby.”

How does he switch like this? So sweet and then just so, so filthy, so degrading . You remind yourself again that Vigilante is probably a psychopath. But you can’t deny that the way he talks is really, really turning you on - and he knows it.

Adrian’s hands thread through your hair and his biceps are at either side of your face. For the first time, you wish your mouth wasn’t covered with duct tape so you could kiss his arms and feel his tongue in your mouth again. You plant your tape-covered mouth into his neck anyway, inhaling the scent of smoke and his bergamot fragrance.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since I met you Birdie. The way you roll those pretty eyes at me. I knew I could make you like me. And I know you really, really like how my cock is filling you up. The others would never believe how much you fucking like me now.”

The sound of his thrusts become shamefully wetter in response to his words.

“Fuck, I felt that. Who knew you’d get so wet hearing me talk. You. Pretty. Little. Slut.”

Your toes curl as he punctuates the last four words with brutal thrusts. He takes your tied wrists and pins them above your head, they brush the zips on the tent door. The silhouette of his broad shoulders and outstretched arm makes you notice the size difference between you. His head drops down to your throat and he sucks on your neck as his fingers dig bruises into your forearms.

“Thank God your mouth is covered or the whole team would know that you’ll be spending tonight cumming all over my cock.”

He moves his other hand down between your bodies and you exhale pitifully at the canvas ceiling when the tip of his finger starts rubbing small firm circles on your clit. Oh fuck, this is it. The same flicker of warning from earlier as he continues to thrust inside you.

“Y’know I’d gladly let you fucking decimate my entire apartment building if it meant I could hear you cumming for me.”

From anyone else, this would be a joke but Vigilante is a fucking lunatic and you know he’s being sincere. Is there anyone you could be with who would honestly let you do that? You feel tears swimming in your eyes and you start to see stars. You’d be audibly sobbing with lust and relief if you could.

“Fuck yeah, come on, fucking cum on my cock,” He whispers in your ear, his tone becomes gentle. “Come on, pretty Birdie, do it again for me.”

Everything surges hot and molten while he keeps pounding himself into you. You cum and the moan that escapes you is so fierce that the masking tape on your face vibrates. Your fingers search wildly behind your head and grab onto the nearest thing- the tent zipper - as your walls convulse and squeeze around his cock in pleasure.

Adrians hips stutter “Holy shit you get so tight when you cum.” You give him another squeeze “Oh fuck, I’m gonna— I’m- wh-where? Do you want me to cum on your stomach?”

You don’t have time to grab your phone and tell him on your notes app about how your supersonic accident was permanent birth control. So instead you shake your head, wrap your legs even more tightly around his waist and lift your hips off the ground pressing yourself to him tightly.

Inside. Please cum inside me, Adrian.

He understands, like you knew he would, and the desperate pull of your legs makes him plow his hips deep into yours. His whispered moans jump up to a fortissimo as he buries his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder and he empties his load inside you. “Fuckfuckfuck” his curses turn into an incomprehensible stream of consciousness. His hips shudder, he gives a final loud groan and you feel his cock throbbing as the hot ropes of his release coat your insides.

He’s heavy on top of you but comfortable. Like a muscular weighted blanket. You could lie here forever, he breathes heavily into the crook of your neck and his warm cum leaks out of you, making a mess of his sleeping bag.

Your masked face is damp- tears have been streaming down your cheeks. A build-up of emotions passes over you like a wave. You’re just honestly grateful that you met someone as reckless as Vigilante. How many people could say they had someone willing to risk their life just to please them?

Suddenly- footsteps. Fuck, Adrian had been loud.

“Blackbird? Fuck! Her tent is open and she’s not here!” Shit- that’s Chris’ voice.

“Peacemaker, over here!” yells Harcourt and you can hear her voice only feet from your head. Damn she was stealthy.

You and Adrian barely have time to look at each other before the tent door is wrenched open, and Agent Harcourt is pointing a gun inside.

Chris and Harcourt stare open mouthed in shock. Adrian on top of you, flushed, sweating, glasses askew. You with tears in your eyes, masking tape over your mouth and your hands bound and stretching for the tent door. You and Adrian come to the same realisation as you lock eyes.

You wave your hands at Chris and Harcourt wildly, in a ‘Stop!” motion. Chris, as usual, misreads your meaning entirely and seems to think your waving means ‘Help!’ .

“God damnit Vij!”

Adrian looks up, horrified “No, no, no, no. This is so not what it looks like!”

“I’m not gonna enjoy kicking your ass,” says Chris, putting his helmet on “But someone has to do it.”

Fuck.

You rip the duct tape off of your mouth- your eyes squeeze shut in pain as you feel your top lip split. “Chris, stop!” you whisper urgently and Chris is hit by the sonic wave, sending him flying into the air and landing on his back over ten feet away. You all watch as he sits up slowly, dazed but uninjured.

“Holy shit,” laughs Adrian in amazement “I didn’t know you had a British accent.”

Idiot.

Chapter 2: Bird After Reading

#adrian chase #Adrian Chase x reader #vigilante x you #vigilante x reader #Adrian Chase x you #peacemaker #freddie stroma #fanfic

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cu-taibhseil · 1 year

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i think a lot of people who are working on their grimoire / book of shadows or what have you forget is that it's supposed to be unique. your book of shadows isn't supposed to be filled with generalized information that just any witch can open up and use. you're not marketing your practice to the masses to consume. it's supposed to be unique, and weird, and messy, and filled with information so unique to your own practice that it's borderline gibberish to someone else.

here are some ideas on how to make your grimoire / book of shadows less accessible to other people and more accessible to yourself.

you can have as many books of shadows as your heart desires. you can have one for divination, one for spells, one for mushroom hunting, one you only use in the summer or the winter, etc. you don't have to shove all of your information into one notebook. separating the information will give you more room to go more in-depth for certain subjects. and it will make it harder for people to know exactly what you've got going on, if that's something you're into.

forget about aesthetics. forget about looking cool or legitimate or neat or organized. forget about how someone else would perceive your BoS/grimoire if they found it. if you're a new witch, and especially if you came from tiktok, you need to unlearn that witchcraft requires aesthetics and certain tools in order to be "legitimate." you can use a spiral bound notebook, you can use scraps of paper put in a manila folder, you can use a tumblr blog, you can print out pages from images on Google and put them in a 3 ring binder and call it day, you can use multiple bulletin boards hung up in your kitchen - ALL OF THOSE ARE LEGITIMATE MEDIUMS FOR A BOS! it's not about what looks the best, it's about what's the most functional for you - the term "book" is just a jumping off point.

come up with a written code that only you have the key to. get one from online, take one from history, or make up your own. write your grimoire or just the important pages, or even just the even or odd pages in code. make it so people cannot physically read your BoS. sigils and protections are great, but keeping people physically out is even better. mine is written partially in Scottish Gaelic and partially in a written code that i invented when i was 11. can anyone else read it? no. because that's the point.

go to the craft store and buy a journal lock. put a lock on it. wear the key around your neck. it'll make you feel so powerful, trust me.

include sketches and drawings of plants, animals, your altar, your house, you, your pets, stones, nature, etc. pretend like you're being paid to illustrate a children's book and go nuts. adding little drawings and sketches of the things you use in your practice, or things you see all of the time, or places you go is a great way to set the mood of your grimoire.

along the same lines, use crayons and colored pencils and markers not just black ink. use glitter. use ribbons. use bias tape. go to the craft store and get stickers. put those in there. whatever you think is cute or you like the best.

tape in more pages! if your notebook is only 100 pages long and you know you're going to need more pages, tape some more in! the limit is only how far the rubber band holding your grimoire closed will stretch before snapping (and even then you can just tie it with ribbon or twine or something)

you can also do taped in fold outs for maps, drawings, recipes, etc

why not add polaroid pictures or pictures you printed off google or pictures you got printed at walmart?

you can add stickers and sequins and glitter to the outside too. it doesnt need to look ancient and serious. we dont live in ancient and serious times. get funky with it.

if you've been struggling with your BoS or grimoire i hope this post helps you!

#personal #my craft #witchcraft #witchblr #book of shadows #grimoire #traditional witchcraft #nontraditional witchcraft

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demifiendrsa · 7 months

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Valve has released a 25th anniversary update for Half-Life.

Half-Life is free to own on Steam until November 20, 2023 10AM PT / 1PM ET.

Overview

BRAND NEW INTERVIEWS WITH THE HL1 DEV TEAM!

youtube

We got the band back together to celebrate this anniversary, and we invited the fine people at Secret Tape to film it all happening. Getting together after all this time was the perfect opportunity to revisit the game as it existed in its earliest forms, and to talk about how and why it eventually took shape the way it did. Check out the film to see what it was like to be a part of the team, way back then.

THE 25TH ANNIVERSARY UPDATE FOR HALF-LIFE INCLUDES:

HALF-LIFE UPLINK

Originally released as a CD exclusive for magazines and hardware manufacturers, this mini-campaign was built by the Half-Life team right after the game went gold. As this was many people's first experience with Half-Life, we thought it was finally time to bundle it with the main game—no sound card purchase necessary.

4 NEW MULTIPLAYER MAPS

Built by Valve level designers, these new maps push the limits of what's possible in the Half-Life engine.

CONTAMINATION

Two-foot-thick steel doors block off access to this contaminated waste facility, which has questionable scientific goals at best. Strap on a gluon gun and roast all intruders.

POOL PARTY

Enjoy a relaxing stay at this abandoned Xen outpost built around a cluster of soothing healing pools free-floating in space. How do you breathe here? It doesn't matter!

DISPOSAL

Processing Area 3, a massive radioactive waste plant gone quiet. Tons of room for you and your colleagues to do experiments with a Tau Cannon or some hand grenades.

ROCKET FRENZY

The creaking weight of this decaying orbital satellite launch facility somehow feels familiar… If we could switch on the oxygen lines, power, and fuel, we might just be able to light this candle.

UPDATED GRAPHICS SETTINGS

Play the game the way it looked in 1998, but on a modern monitor.

Widescreen field of view!

Option to disable texture smoothing on the GL renderer!

Lighting fixes including the long-lost GL Overbright support!

Software rendering on Linux! Crisp colors, animated water, and unfiltered textures!

CONTROLLER AND STEAM NETWORKING SUPPORT

A proper gamepad config out of the box!

Added support for Steam Networking! Invite your friends or join games instantly with no fuss.

STEAM DECK SUPPORT!

We finally put our game through our own “Verified” tests, and... we failed super hard. So we fixed it! After re-testing the game, Half-Life gets to officially wear the green checkmark.

Now you can play Half-Life on the best handheld gaming computer in the world in glorious 800p with improved controls and UI.

UI SCALING SUPPORT FOR HIGHER RESOLUTIONS

The entire UI has been reworked to scale at larger screen sizes. We built most of this stuff for 640x480 CRTs and apparently some of you have upgraded since then.

RESTORED CONTENT

We brought back the classic Valve logo video with its iconic music and reskinned the menu to match the 1998 build.

IVAN THE SPACE BIKER AND PROTO-BARNEY

After all this time we finally shipped the original heroes from the alpha builds of Half-Life, available as multiplayer skins!

AS WELL AS THESE RARELY-SEEN EXTRAS!

In 1999, Valve released a CD called Half-Life: Further Data at retail stores, and we're finally including much of that content.

THREE MULTIPLAYER MAPS

Double Cross

Rust Mill

Xen DM

TWO MP PLAYER MODELS

The Half-Life: Further Data CD also included some multiplayer skins made by the original team; we've brought back this incredible skeleton (now with tintable eyes!) and fan-favorite Too Much Coffee Man.

DOZENS OF SPRAYS

While playing a bunch of multiplayer matches we kept wanting more sprays... So we grabbed several megabytes of them from the Further Data release!

BUG FIXES AND CHANGE NOTES

New Content

Now Verified on the Steam Deck (and our native Linux runtime has been set as the default).

Half-Life: Uplink — the original standalone Half-Life demo — has been added to the game, and is accessible through the "New Game" menu.

Added four all-new Half-Life Deathmatch maps: contamination, pool_party, disposal, and rocket_frenzy

Added three old Half-Life Deathmatch maps formerly available only on the "Half-Life: Further Data" CD: doublecross, rust_mill, xen_dm.

Added Ivan the Space Biker, Prototype Barney, Skeleton, and Too Much Coffee Man as player models to Half-Life Deathmatch.

Added dozens of new sprays formerly available only on the "Half-Life: Further Data" CD.

Added support for Steam Networking, allowing easy multiplayer via Steam's Join Game and Invite features.

Added support for Steam Friends Rich Presence, allowing your friends to follow your journey through Black Mesa.

Nostalgia

Brought back the original Valve Intro video. Can be skipped with the "-novid" launch command.

Updated main menu to a design inspired by the game's original 1998 main menu.

Changed the default models to the original (non "HD") models.

Gameplay Changes

Improved physics for throwing grenades.

Improved randomness for initial spawn points in multiplayer.

Improved satchel charge controls: primary fire now always throws a new satchel, and secondary fire always detonates.

Fixed push-able entity movement being based on framerate.

Fixed players with high framerates freezing in place on death in multiplayer.

Fixed some cases where the player could get stuck in place on level transitions.

Fixed some cases where characters would interrupt important dialogue with their "greetings" dialogue.

Fixed weapon view-bob angles.

Fixed red barrels at the start of Surface Tension not launching as intended.

Fixed Snarks attacking FL_WORLDBRUSH entities (such as func_walls).

Fixed players sometimes failing to deploy a snark while crouching and looking down.

Fixed certain convars ("pausable" and "sv_maxspeed") being set to incorrect values when entering a singleplayer game after a multiplayer game.

Fixed singleplayer auto-aim setting being changed when entering a multiplayer game that disallows auto-aim.

Fixed the flashlight HUD showing empty after loading a savegame.

Fixed rockets in CONTENTS_SKY not always detonating.

Fixed incorrect bullet impact sounds for NPCs.

Fixed gauss gun making a loud static noise if it was charged across level transitions.

Fixed a crash in mods that display keybinds in their UI.

Fixed singleplayer weapons not auto-switching away when exhausted (grenades / snarks / satchels / etc)

Fixed interpolation artifacts when animated models are moved by other entities.

Fixed some buffer overflow exploits.

UI Changes

Main-menu background and buttons have been reskinned, and now scale based upon screen resolution without stretching, supporting background image layouts up to 3840x1600.

In-Game HUD now uses double or triple sized sprites when playing at higher resolutions.

UI dialogs and in-game fonts now scale to improve readability at high screen resolutions.

In-Game HUD HEV suit display has been shifted to the left of the screen, and no longer changes position at larger screen resolutions.

Added an "Enable texture filtering" setting.

Added an "Allow widescreen Field of View" setting to correct non-anamorphic FOVs, for widescreen and ultrawide displays.

Re-organized all the Settings screens to improve legibility, and support controller navigation.

Updated the Pause menu to be aware of the current gameplay mode.

The default server name and multiplayer player name are now based on the player's Steam Persona.

The Steam platform menu has been removed, now that all its features are in Steam itself.

Fixed application icon rendering incorrectly when using the software renderer.

Fixed player and spray images not updating their coloring on the settings screen.

Removed the now very unnecessary "Low video quality. Helps with slower video cards." setting.

Input Changes

Improved support for keyboard and controller navigation everywhere.

Added "Lower Input Latency" option: Synchronizes the CPU and GPU to reduce the time between input and display output.

Fixed issues that caused jerky mouse / joystick input.

(We basically rewrote it all - if you've got a custom Steam Input controller configuration, you should rebuild it from our newly published Official Configuration).

Multiplayer Balancing

Increased the 357 damage from 40 → 50.

Hive Hand reload time has been reduced from 0.5s → 0.3s per shot, and it will be selected at higher priority than the pistol on pickup.

MP5 now always starts it with full ammo when picked up.

Players no longer drop empty weapons, and any that are dropped are reloaded by what's in the dying player's backpack.

Improved client-side prediction to reduce "ghost shots". Like Counter-Strike, consider hitboxes and not just bounding boxes for hits on the client.

Fixed network predicted crowbar swing damage being incorrect.

Rendering

Added supported for UI Sprites and Texture files larger than 256x256.

Added support for UI Font special render modes: "blur" and "additive".

Added setting to turn off texture filtering when using the OpenGL renderer.

Default resolution is now based on the resolution of the desktop, instead of a 640x480 window.

Default gamma has been decreased from 2.5 → 2.2, now that we aren't all playing on CRTs.

Software renderer will now correctly filter out incompatible resolutions, unless there is only 1 resolution available on the display.

Restored OpenGL overbright support.

Fixed fullscreen software renderer crashing on systems that don't support 16-bit color.

Fixed software renderer being stretched when using widescreen resolutions.

Fixed skyboxes and sky color incorrectly carrying over when transitioning maps in multiplayer.

Fixed the game appearing too dark after modifying video settings.

Fixed MSAA in windowed mode.

Fixed mipmap rendering on studio models.

Fixed gluon gun sprite rendering in multiplayer.

Fixed gluon gun sinusoidal noise being incorrect.

Various optimizations to support the newly increased engine limits.

OpenGL optimizations for the Steam Deck.

Engine Improvements for Mod Makers

Increased maximum limit of dynamic sound channels from 8 → 32.

Increased maximum limit of sentences in the sentences.txt file from 1536 → 2048.

Increased maximum number of entities (MAX_EDICTS) from 900 → 1200.

Increased MAX_PACKET_ENTITIES increased from 256 → 1024.

Increased MAX_GLTEXTURES from 4800 → 10000.

Increased software renderer geometry limits: max spans 3000 → 6000, max surfaces 2000 → 4000, and max edges 7200 → 14400.

Cycler and func_button entities can now be the entity target for scripted_sentence entities, and are allowed to speak in multiplayer.

Incorporated func_vehicle entity support from Counter-Strike, for mod-makers to use. Full SDK update will come later, but level designers can use it now.

Native Linux Build

Added support for the software renderer.

Improved font rendering.

Many stability and behavior fixes.

Other

Localization files updated.

Miscellaneous security fixes.

Notes

The previous version of the game has been archived to a publicly visible Beta branch named "steam_legacy", with the description "Pre-25th Anniversary Build." If a mod or feature is behaving in an unexpected way, you may need to run this archived build until the issue is resolved in the default build.

We now consider this anniversary version of Half Life to be the definitive version, and the one we'll continue to support going forward. Therefore, we'll be reducing the visibility of Half Life: Source on the Steam Store. We know Half-Life: Source's assets are still being used by the Source engine community, so it'll remain available, but we'll be encouraging new Half-Life players to play this version instead.

WALLPAPERS

Celebrate 25 years of Half-life by decorating your desktop and mobile phone.

#Half Life #Half Life 1 #Valve #Valve Corporation #PC #Steam #video game #long post

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