#mercenary eddie

[hawkinsbnbg]

Dragon!Steve and mercenary!Eddie.

Steve Harrington was a dragon.

Once upon a time, he would kidnap a princess, imprison her in his tower, guard the said tower, and await his doom delivered by a knight in shining armor.

But this wasn't that kind of fairy tale. No, in this story, Steve and the princess were friends. Her lover was a fae who was his platonic soulmate, and the knight in shining armor was his brother in arms.

Still, no one, even Steve himself, foreseen it when a handsome mercenary arrived at his tower and stole his heart.

Steve never felt so adored in his long and boring life, but Edwyn "Eddie" Munson managed to do the impossible.

The man was good with his words, even better with his fingers when he scratched the itchy spots beneath Steve's scales and drew runes of protection and love on Steve's human body.

Eddie was also an attentive lover who brought Steve sparkly gifts every time he visited the tower.

In turn, Steve let the mercenary ride on his back in their adventures, let the man guide him to wherever he was pleased, and let himself be consumed in the amorous looks Eddie would give him when the man thought he didn't notice.

Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan had been suspicious at first about Eddie's true motive. They worried that the mercenary would betray Steve because, despite his peaceful nature, Steve was the most powerful of his kind. And frankly, many had hunted him throughout his life given that even a piece of his scales cost a fortune in black markets.

Their concern was warranted, Steve supposed, but he trusted Eddie to not do him harm. Yet, sometimes, when Steve couldn't sleep at night, he would think about the worst and decide that if Eddie asked, he would give the man everything.

After all, Eddie already had his heart.

In the end, Eddie only asked of him a vial of his blood to cure Wayne's illness.

The day the truth came out was when Eddie approached him and stated that his uncle couldn't wait any longer.

Steve could see the desperation and hope in those chocolate eyes that he so loved, and knew for certain that Eddie wouldn't fight him but would be on his knees and beg until he agreed to help.

Before things could go any worse, Steve decided to take the matter into his own hands. Literally.

"So you had approached me because of my blood," Steve smiled wryly at the sting of the betrayal as he let Eddie dress the gash on his forearm. They both knew the cut would heal in a few minutes, but Steve didn't turn down Eddie's help. Couldn't.

"You should know that I didn't only have your blood in mind," Eddie fastened the bandage's knot securely.

"What? Are you asking for my organs next?" Steve huffed out a bitter laugh. "I heard they're quite useful ingredients for rituals and potions."

"No," Eddie met his eyes calmly and guided Steve's hand to rest on his chest. "Please listen to the song of my heart and do know that it is never a lie when I say this: I've been wanting all of you for myself since I first laid eyes on you."

Steve blinked rapidly in bewilderment and awe. Every dragon had an innate talent, and Steve's was the ability to see only the truth.

Thus, when Eddie opened himself up so freely like that, Steve could also see the man's deepest desire. And what he saw made him blush terribly. This man was truly hopeless.

"You never do anything in half, do you?" Steve snorted.

"Once Uncle Wayne gets better, I will return to the tower and never leave your side again," Eddie held his hand tightly as if fearing he would take it back and peppered feathery kisses on his knuckles.

Those words sung true to Steve's heart. Yet, he also sensed the wordless yearning from his lover. There was only one way, wasn't it?

"I'll go with you, then. I think it's time for you to introduce me to your family."

"Are you sure?"

Looking at Eddie's hopeful eyes, Steve leaned in to kiss the love of his life soundly.

"As sure as gold."

They both chuckled fondly at the memory together. After all, the first thing Eddie had given him upon their meeting was a sparkling bar of gold.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #dragon steve #mercenary eddie #princess nancy #fae robin #knight jonathan #steve: *sniffs disdainfully at the mercenary standing below* what are you doing here at my tower? #eddie: i'm edwyn munson and i'd like to be friends with you. #steve: as if I would– #eddie: *takes out a bar of gold* is this enough? #steve: *already mesmerized by the sparkly thing* ... well it's not so bad. i can see we're going to be good friends sir munson. #robin & nancy & jonathan: *gasps* what a cunning man! #sionewrites

[courseyoulovemeyoudontknowme]

Black Death (2010, Christopher Smith)

30/01/2024

Black Death is a 2010 film directed by Christopher Smith.

The film, set in the mid-14th century, tells the story of a group of mercenaries in an England devastated by the Black Death, the great plague epidemic of 1346; it was released in Italy directly on DVD on 13 April 2011, thanks to a distribution partnership between One Movie and 01 Distribution.

Osmund is a novice in a monastery devasted by the plague. Secretly in love, he makes his woman run away from the monastery to try to save her from the epidemic.

#black death #film #2010 #christopher smith #14th century #Mercenary #england #Plague #1346 #One Movie #RAI #novitiate #monastery #epidemic #action film #sean bean #eddie redmayne #carice van houten #England in the Middle Ages #necromancy #crucifixion #disembowelment #Dismemberment #john lynch #tim mcinnerny #Kimberley Nixon #Andy Nyman #david warner #johnny harris #emun elliott

[tylermcnamer]

Star Fox Dreams

#Star Fox #Fox McCloud #Peppy Hare #Slippy Toad #Falco Lombardi #Miiverse #Van Halen #Eddy Van Halen #5150 #Corneria #Arwing #General Pepper #Andross #Great Fox #Space #Galaxy #Lylat System #Pilot #Mission #Mercenary #Wii U #Warner Brothers Records #Warner Brothers Records Incorporated #Nintendo #tumblr.com #tumblr. #Tumblr #Pretendo #Pretendo Network #Love

[theladycarpathia]

The Ballad of Starcourt

Hellcheer AU prompt: In space

“Are you taking passengers?”

Chrissy jerks her head up. She wasn’t expecting anyone to ask her anything, not when Robin is the one to the front of the ship, twirling her parasol, and chatting to anyone who might be wandering by looking for safe passage. They’ve been left behind to watch the ship and pull in anyone able to pay a fee to go as far as Auburn. They’d been hired on Persephone to transport some medical goods to one of the outer rim planets and everyone else went off on the buggy to make the delivery. An actual honest job that will get them paid without being shot at. A rarity for the crew of Starcourt.

“We are,” she says, taking in the long, lean gentleman in front of her, guitar case strapped to his back. His trousers are dusty at the hems, practically standard for the outskirts of Hess. It’s not the worst of the outer rim planets but it’s far from the civilized Alliance ruled planet of Obsidian where Chrissy was born. He’s not from one of the inner rim planets, she’d bet money on it. He has dirt underneath his fingernails, thick silver rings on every long finger. His boots are hefty and black, the solid kind that you can walk an entire planet in. They’re unattractive as hell but they last. His long, dark coat looks like a cheaper version of the one Steve favors. There’s patches sewn into it, careful stitching where there were once rips. All of this says someone without any consistent income who takes care of what they have.

“Do you charge much?” he asks anxiously, taking in the dark mass of Starcourt behind her. Chrissy wonders if he just sees a clunky and outdated transport ship, like everyone else.

She remembers standing in front of the ship, clutching her suitcase, and wondering if answering an ad on the cortex was perhaps the dumbest thing she’d ever done. Judging by the ship’s appearance, she was about to be kidnapped and fed to Reavers.

She’d been wrong, thankfully. In the five months since she joined their crew, the chaotic and noisy ship has become her home. She knows the hiss of the kettle in the morning, the best seat at the dining table, every inch of the shuttle that is now her’s. She appreciates that Steve offered it to her, instead of one of the crew bunks. It offers her a bit of space and quiet from everyone else when she needs it. She’s new to the ship and the rest of the crew have such a tight bond that occasionally she feels a little like she’s intruding. Nancy and Jonathan are a couple, and Steve and Robin have been best friends since forever. They even all come from the same planet and her limited time aboard just doesn't feel like they can compare.

“We’re reasonably priced,” she says, because she’s already seen the fraying of his clothes, the angles of his cheekbones. “And my captain might be amenable if you can offer other payment. We had someone fix our microwave for us once so he could get to Crow.”

“I’m good at wiring and stuff,” the man says, looking hopeful. “If that helps.”

Chrissy thinks wryly to the flickering lights in the galley, the hissing of the radio and that their video occasionally flickers green. Somehow she thinks that Steve won’t mind. Robin spends so long making sure that the engine keeps running that she doesn’t have time for the smaller issues.

“It helps,” she says, and watches the dimples appear in his cheeks.

Oh. That also helps.

“I’m Eddie,” he says, offering her a hand. “I need to get to Sierra and I’m kind of broke.”

“We’re so broke that we take payment in baked bread and menial labor,” Chrissy says frankly. Their life aboard Starcourt is far from plush. They eat cheap noodles more often than not, and take illegal jobs because they pay. Some times are better than others, and all the crew do get paid, but the past few months have been tough. Too many parts that needed fixing in one go and if they get grounded, they’re done for. So the parts had to be fixed and they all just made do. “I’m Chrissy. I’m the medic here.” To her interest, he doesn’t do that usual thing people do when they find out that she’s the medic – which is flick their eyes doubtfully up and down her tiny frame. But she was trained at the best school on Obsidian, under Dr Kelly herself and she’s more than capable.

She could have had a glittering career on Obsidian. Everyone said so.

Right up until they didn’t. When the possibility of passage off the planet - and a paying job - presented itself, she’d taken it. And Steve had merely offered her a shuttle to have as her own space, and a fairly well stocked med-bay, and asked no questions about her former life. She’s so grateful for that, and she’ll patch up the crew until the time that someone asks her to leave.

“Nice to meet you, Chrissy,” he says, and his fingers linger a little on hers. “How is a medic required on a transport ship?”

“You’d be surprised,” Robin interrupts, and Chrissy looks past Eddie’s shoulder to see the small group of people standing behind their engineer.

Robin never looks like an engineer, not with her freckled face and wavy brown hair. But Chrissy learned very quickly that Robin does three things very well - talk very fast, make the best stew out of not many ingredients, and fix any spaceship you could mention.

“We have more guests,” Robin says, catching the direction of Chrissy’s eyes. If she thinks that Chrissy found an odd outsider, then Robin’s group is full of the strangest individuals she’s ever seen. There’s two guys about Chrissy’s age: one with brown hair and a smirk that she doesn’t like. The other one with long dark hair is wearing a strange green jacket and a baseball cap. Next to him is an older gentleman, with glasses and a curious expression as he stares up at the very top of Starcourt. He has curls and a friendly face, a backpack dangling from one wrist.

Behind them is another man her own age with a black leather jacket and the most piercing blue eyes that Chrissy’s ever seen. There are two girls standing with him, one with red pigtails and a furious expression and a dark-haired girl with wide, dark eyes.

“Right,” Chrissy says, thrown. “That’s a lot. How did you manage that?”

“I can talk to people,” Robin says, which is true so long as they’re not cute girls. It certainly explains how they ended up with these random guys and two kids. “People can be persuaded if they’re looking for cheap passage.”

“Can they be persuaded to not murder us in our beds?” Chrissy asks, because she has doubts about that. The blonde definitely looks like he might rob you without any issues, and even the two girls look like they might be capable of stabbing someone, given the right circumstances.

There’s a distant familiar rumble and the bright yellow buggy they use for short journeys appears, weaving its way through the crowds of people. Jonathan sits at the front, Steve and Nancy perched behind.

“Thank God,” Robin sighs, raising an arm to wave at them. “I hate doing the welcome speech.”

When the buggy pulls to a halt, Chrissy can see Steve’s eyes flick over their strange assortment of potential customers. None of them look like much but Steve is usually flexible so long as they can pay. And they obey his strict rules. Starcourt is his ship and he doesn’t make exceptions.

“Morning,” Steve says easily, climbing down from the buggy. He looks impressive, in his waistcoat and dramatic coat, hair swept back from his face by the wind. Chrissy sees both of the teen girls look a little stunned, because Steve has that effect on people. No one carries off ‘daring ship captain’ like Steve Harrington.

She doesn’t know much about their illustrious leader, only what she’s been told or can infer. He comes from money - fact. A lot of money - also fact. He has a bad relationship with his parents - hinted at by the stiff way he mentions his home world and upbringing. He’s been a playboy and used to bed a lot of people - she’s been told this by just about everyone.

What she doesn’t know is what causes the only son and heir of one of the richest families in the whole ‘verse to buy a hunk of junk like Starcourt, hire a crew, and disappear into the stars.

Given her own secrets, she’s not about to ask.

“I’m the captain and I have a few rules if you wish to use my ship to get where you need to go,” Steve says frankly to the group. “You obey the crew if they tell you something, you do not wander around the ship, you stay in the communal areas unless told otherwise and I do not accept anything illegal, explosive, or generally hallucinogenic aboard. Understood?”

There’s a general mumbling but the guy with the long hair looks a little sheepish. He raises a hand and Steve sighs.

“Nancy will check anything you may have, just in case,” he says, waving a hand and Nancy hops off the back of the buggy. Jonathan shoots off, hitting the ramp and climbing back onto Starcourt. Chrissy doesn’t miss the fact that there are new boxes on the back. They must have gotten another job while they were out.

“What is it now?” Chrissy asks quietly, once Nancy has commanded the attention of the passengers, fully intent on peering into their bags. Steve follows the line of her eyes to the vanishing buggy as it disappears into the depths of Starcourt.

“Oh,” he says flatly, running a hand through his hair. He looks stressed more and more these days, trying to keep them all afloat. Times are hard and sometimes Chrissy worries how long they can keep flying. She’s not sure what she’ll do if they get stranded on some planet and have to go their separate ways.

“Potato vodka,” Steve explains. “From Murray. We don’t get paid much to deliver it but I figure it helps.”

“Are we in trouble again?” Chrissy asks, because she thought maybe they were through the worst. With Starcourt having had a flurry of emergency fixes, they’d all hoped that they’d finally be able to stop spending every spare coin they had on keeping them going.

“Robin said we need a new…I don’t know, some doodad or we’ll break down in the middle of space,” Steve continues, a worried line appearing in his brow. No one ever doubts Robin when it comes to the workings of Starcourt. “Which I don’t really want and the only way to afford it is to take on passengers.”

“Which you hate doing,” Nancy chimes in as she passes by, intent on following her boyfriend back to the ship. Steve’s first mate, and his oldest friend, doesn’t look like much but Chrissy has learned that appearances are deceptive. She can take down men twice her size, wield just about any gun and hides more knives on her person than you’d expect of someone who’s five foot six.

“Which I hate doing because it involves babysitting a bunch of strangers aboard my ship,” Steve says in frustration. “Is that everything?”

Chrissy spins around to find that the boxes and all of their new guests have disappeared. Robin is folding up the umbrella and deckchair she uses when they’re docked, and just Chrissy and Steve remain on the dusty floor of Hess market.

“That’s it,” she sighs and slides her arm through Steve’s so they can wander up the ramp together.

“That’s a strange bunch you managed to find,” Steve comments, as Robin bounds ahead of them. They step over the threshold to find a flurry of activity, Jonathan and Nancy loading up the storage unit, their guests piling their belongings in the designated lockers. Robin skips between all of them, nearly whacking the blonde guy on the head with her umbrella. He glares at her, having only just missed the collision with his head, and goes back to putting his stuff away. She wonders if the two girls with him are his sisters, even though she’s not sure of any resemblance between the three. Unlike the others, their little group keeps to themselves, nervously eyeing the people around them.

Chrissy spots Eddie across the room, piling just about everything into another locker except for his guitar. He starts to smile at her when he sees her but it freezes on his face when he sees how she’s linked with Steve.

“Something wrong?” Steve asks, as he hits the button that will close up the ship. Chrissy watches Eddie turn away, a flicker of disappointment in her gut. No matter. They have five days until they reach Eddie’s desired port and that’s plenty of time for him to know that it’s just a misunderstanding.

“Just that there’s a lot of interesting people this time around,” Chrissy says instead. Because this does worry her - she’s not sure that they’ve ever had such a strange collection of passengers. Anything could happen with the ship this full. After all, it’s hard to have secrets when you live so close together. And Chrissy would know.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, squeezing her hand. “Who knows how this could turn out?”

#hellcheer #edissy #hellcheer au week #hellcheer bingo #background jancy #harringrove if you squint #prompt: in space #firefly au #captain steve #medic chrissy #mechanic robin #pilot jonathan #mercenary nancy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #steve harrington #billly hargrove

[reaperlight]

*innocently writing fic in the notepad app*

*goes online*

Uh... Google ads? I'm not actually looking to start a mercenary business.

#fanfic #fanfiction #writing #writing problems #venom au #mercenary au #venom #carnage #cletus kasady #eddie brock

[nonomives]

Some Vampire Wally AU lore I did today

(Dont judge a book by its cover btw, this isnt how Howdy and Eddie usually act in this au)

So a lil bit of infordump below:

In this AU mythical creatures interact with regular peeps on a daily basis. Theyre just people you'd see in your day to day life, but they are under extreme scrutiny due to how dangerous some mythics can get.

For this very reason, the Hunters Association was made. It's an international company that collects data about various kinds of mythics, and comissions mercenaries to either capture or kill dangerous mythics (a.k.a. monsters). While H.A. assists more on intel, and weaponry, they also, sometimes, provide manpower with their own trained soldiers, Eddie is one of them. These soldiers often work as support for mercenaries who need the extra hand in taking out monsters.

The Pillars (Howdy lmao) is one of the Association's longest standing collaborators, aiding in capturing and killing many, well known as heroes to many. Its a generational thing for family members to become monster hunters or work inside H.A. itself.

Oh! And another thing, a mythic is only labeled a monster if they commit any sort of crime, could be a single major crime (i.e. genocide) or multiple small crimes (petty theft and shuff). So yeah, mythical creatures can walk around in broad daylight and not get shot at so long as they dont have a criminal record in H.A's eyes lol--

#i may or may not have gotten carried away while thinking up the worldbuilding #and also drawing eddie and howdy lmao #got the itch to create khagigejgakgd #welcome home #welcome home fanart #welcome home au #welcome home vampire wally au #vampire wally au #babe im hyperacting today-- #hyperactive #yeh-- #digital art #my art #eeart #plus im gonna be introducing some ocs i made for this au-- #soon-- #gonna also finish the actual designs for the rest of the cast-- #no howdy doesnt actually look like that--at least not all the time #welcome home howdy #howdy pillar #welcome home eddie #eddie dear

[apomaro-mellow]

He was a stray, essentially. A stray taken in by the king because his own parents didn't want him. And Eddie was no stranger to taking in the unwanted.

Tensions had risen between two powers and what better way to show he meant business than by taking the crown prince of his enemy? Eddie had been prepared for retaliation; for a strike back. He was ready to go to war. But the current ruler of the Harrington dynasty had basically told him to go fuck himself. 'Good riddance', 'thank you for taking that burden off our hands'.

They hadn't said those words exactly. But they might as well have. Eddie had actually felt bad about breaking the news to the prince that no one was coming for him. He felt even worse when Steve showed little surprise.

As the months passed, though, the guilty feeling went away. Steve went from prisoner to guest, then from guest to companion, then finally to lover. To Eddie, Steve Harrington was a goddamn treasure. And if anyone dared to take him away they'd have more than a war on their hands. They'd have a massacre.

Most of the court saw only the smallest evolution in Steve. From pampered prince to spoiled pet. It wasn't uncommon for Steve to walk into a room, any room, and settle himself onto Eddie's lap. A few of those that felt pity for the abandoned prince found themselves still sympathizing with his parents. To spend all that time raising and educating a son only for him to be so useless and unambitious.

Only Eddie's inner circle knew Steve's true depths. And that was just fine with both of them. When he woke up and got to awaken his love with kisses, he got to see a view that was only for him.

Steve slowly came back to the conscious world as lips pressed softly to his skin.

"You're up early", Steve noted as he turned from his side to his back to give Eddie more access.

"Busy day", Eddie murmured. "You gonna be here?"

Steve played with a lock of Eddie's hair. "I'll be waiting."

And wait he did. While Eddie did his job of running the kingdom, Steve had a lazy day, mostly lounging in the bed naked. A few hours later, he knew Eddie would be coming soon, finished with a meeting. He had wrapped himself in a robe but was very languid with it, allowing it to fall almost completely open.

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

Tobias had been employed in the household only for a month, but he figured he knew everything he needed to know about this place. Eddie was a king but a rather casual one. He didn't even have that many guards. Probably came with the territory of having a covenant with darkness.

He had been given a task, to relay a message to a member of the king's inner circle, specifically to his right hand Jeff. But Tobias thought, why not cut out the middle man? He had spoken to the king before. And it was said if he wasn't out and about, he was usually in his quarters, enjoying the prince he had stolen.

And if he got to take a peek at said prince in a state of undress, well...

He opened the door to the king's quarters, not a single knock or otherwise announcement of his presence. Not until the door closed behind him and he started towards the doors that led to the bedroom since Eddie wasn't present in the frontroom.

"My lord? A message for you-"

He was cut off when the tip of a sword met his neck. And there he was, the pretty, pretty gem of Eddie's crown. Right now though he looked more like a fierce mercenary than a sweet-faced lap dog.

"You're not Eddie", he growled.

"I uh, uh I-"

"Stand down, sweet thing", Eddie said as he entered the room.

Steve gave Tobias a glare before pulling the sword away. He then gave his full attention to his kingly lover and it was like Tobias had disappeared. Eddie kissed him deep and without a lick of shame.

"I heard someone come in, and it wasn't you", Steve said, his voice soft. Quite the picture when he still had a weapon.

Eddie twisted his fingers in Steve's hair, combing through the tresses. "Forgive him love, he's a new addition." He gave Steve's forehead a kiss and then shot a very punishing look at Tobias. "He hasn't quite learned his manners yet."

Steve only hummed in response, like Tobias was only the slightest nuisance. A slight nuisance he was willing to kill. Tobias was frozen on the spot. Had been since the sword had been on his throat.

But then Eddie wordlessly dismissed him with a wave of his hand and Tobias high tailed it out of there.

"You've got a hair trigger temper, sweetheart", Eddie said.

Steve pouted. "He was trespassing."

"True. Can't argue with that. But I think he's learned his lesson."

"Have you learned your lesson? You were late", Steve said.

Eddie's thumb brushed against Steve's bottom lip. "I know. Had to take care of something. Forgive me?"

Petulant, Steve bit his finger and then pulled away from him completely. He fell backward onto the bed, robe completely open now.

"Make it up to me."

Eddie smirked. "Can do, my darling."

Part B

#stranger things #steddie #apo writes #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #just a random idea i had in my head

[foundtherightwords]

The Hollow Heart - Chapter 1

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

A/N: This was inspired by the moodboard for "Vecna's Bride" by @a-strange-inkling. I saw the title and the Gothic imagery and my imagination just ran wild.

I changed the names to differentiate them from my Regency AU and better fit the Gothic vibe, so Chrissy is now Christabel (after the poem by Coleridge; the fic title and chapter titles are also quotes from the poem) and Eddie is Kas, because I took some inspiration from the D&D lore of Vecna and Kas (big thanks to @waterfallsilverberrywrites for helping me with that!) When I did a poll, the consensus was that Eddie's Gothic name should be Edmund, but... I prefer Kas :P (I already have plans to use Edmund for another AU.)

Chapter warnings: none (but Eddie doesn't appear in this chapter yet... please bear with me)

Chapter word count: 3.9k

Chapter 1 - At the Old Oak Tree

Christabel ran.

In the distance, she could hear the shouts and cheers of the hunting party, the excited barking of the dogs, and the occasional gunshots, cracking sharply in the crisp autumn air. She was not far enough. Lifting her heavy wool skirt above her knees, she pushed deeper into the bushes. The dead leaves from years past formed a soft carpet under her feet, muffling the sound of her steps, while the leaves of this year, despite having turned all shades of gold and crimson on the trees, had not yet fallen, so she need not worry about being discovered from their crunch underfoot. She hoped the party was not headed this way. After all her endeavors to snatch a moment alone, she intended to savor it to its fullest.

Christabel Cunningham hadn't had many opportunities to be alone in her twenty-three years on Earth. The only daughter of a wealthy New York businessman, she had been since birth surrounded by nurses and governesses and servants, who took care of her under the watchful eyes of her mother. Her father had died, quite suddenly, of a heart attack, when Christabel was only a child. Christabel did not miss him. To her, he was but a dim, distant figure, always away on business trips, or holed up in his study when at home, hiding from his wife, leaving Christabel to bear the brunt of her mother's nagging. The sole mark he'd left on Christabel's life was her name, given to her by him in a fit of romanticism, much to the disapproval of Mrs. Cunningham, who preferred classic names like Elizabeth or Catherine or Amelia. His death didn't leave much of a void behind.

Her mother, an ambitious and exacting woman, embittered by her failure to have a son and by becoming a widow so young, had poured all her affection and thwarted dreams upon her daughter, smothering the girl with them. She dictated everything Christabel wore and ate and read and play, and all the friends Christabel made and all the parties Christabel attended had to be approved by her. And so Christabel had grown up with her books and her dolls, lonely but never alone.

In truth, she hadn't been allowed to attend a lot of parties. As she grew up and learned more about her father's will, Christabel discovered a more mercenary side to what she'd once thought was her mother's overprotectiveness. As the trustee of her daughter's inheritance, Mrs. Cunningham could enjoy a lavish lifestyle, a townhouse on Fifth Avenue, a summer cottage in Newport, the latest fashion in her wardrobe and the most luxurious dishes on her table. But as soon as Christabel was married, she would be in charge of her own fortune, and Mrs. Cunningham would be left with half of what she was used to. Christabel believed that to prevent this, her mother would have locked her away forever, like Rapunzel in her tower.

But social standing has its advantages. Afraid of the wagging tongues of the town, the whispers behind closed doors that she was keeping her daughter from society to hold on to her money, Mrs. Cunningham had reluctantly allowed Christabel to make her debut when she came of age. Since then, her days had been filled with balls and theater trips in the winter, tennis matches and yacht races in the summer, giggling friends and fawning suitors, still under the watchful eyes of her mother. It was tedious, but Christabel had endured it because it was better than staying at home, surrounding by the dark walls of her room and feeling her mother's disapproving stare on her at all times. Besides, that was what was expected of all the debutantes. Smile, dance, flirt, ride, sketch or sing a little, play a little piano, speak a bit of French, a bit of German, be amusing but not sarcastic, be vivacious but not feisty, be modest but not withdrawn, and hopefully make an advantageous match, and then have daughters and watch them go through the same thing, over and over again.

Christabel knew she would not break free of this cycle. Her whole life she had been taught to do what she was told, to never question, to never put a foot out of line. But as her own, feeble form of rebellion, she made it a point to refuse every proposal she'd ever received—and there had been plenty of them. With her delicate features, dewy skin, wide blue eyes, and strawberry blonde hair, Christabel always turned heads in every room she walked in. It was true that her nose was slightly upturned and her front teeth were slightly crooked, but these flaws were seen as charming, not defective. And if her manners were at times rather listless and uninterested, well, her inheritance could more than make up for it. So a lot of men had fallen in love with her, or at least with her beauty, or with her money, and had proposed, but she had refused them all.

When Mrs. Cunningham found out about these refusals, Christabel always had a believable reason to convince her mother of her decision—the family had an unpleasant reputation, their fortunes were not equal, or the boy himself did not have a promising enough prospect. Mrs. Cunningham was appeased, for a while, but after two seasons and Christabel remained unmarried, she began to grow uneasy and warned her daughter of the perils of spinsterhood.

To all her admonishment, Christabel said nothing. It wasn't that she wanted to be an old maid for the rest of her life, far from it. But unlike other young women, who dreamed of marriage as a celebration of love or even as a way to further their social connections, Christabel saw it as a means to freedom. And none of the men in her circle could give her that freedom she so thirsted. They all grew from the same stocks, the same root. If she married one of them, she would move in the same circle, lead the same life, beating a tired circle from Manhattan to Newport and back again, perhaps with the occasional trip to Europe, but still seeing the same faces, doing the same thing as everybody else, and never be free of her mother.

For that summer season, Christabel had tried to convince her mother to go to London or Paris, or, if they had to stay, then she was secretly hoping—as hateful as it sounded—to catch the eyes of a European aristocrat, many of whom were flocking to America in search of an heiress to restore their family fortune. Europe would be the ultimate escape. However, her mother disliked traveling, and although Christabel's inheritance was sizeable, it was not large enough to draw the attention of an impoverish earl or baronet.

At least her mother had accepted Mrs. Carver's invitation to their summer mansion in Tuxedo Park for two weeks of English-style country party. There were to be riding and shooting and picnics in the woods, all culminating in a costume ball on All Hallows' Eve. They had just come back from Newport, worn out and looking forward to some quiet days to recover before the winter season, so Christabel had been afraid her mother would refuse, knowing her dislike of the outdoors. But an invitation to the exclusive Tuxedo Park was hard to come by, and when Mrs. Cunningham learned the party was thrown for Mrs. Carver's eldest, Jason, who had just come back from Yale, nothing could have kept her away.

Jason Carver. Christabel sighed. All the debutantes were in love with him, though to Christabel, he had always been just a good friend, nothing more. She'd never imagined he would set his sight on her, not when he was always surrounded by so many other girls. So it had come as a complete shock when, after a dinner party at the Carvers' mansion, Jason had asked to speak to her alone in the gazebo overlooking Tuxedo Lake. There, while the moonlight rippled over the water, turning the surface of the lake into a broken mirror, he had taken Christabel's hands in his and, tremblingly, haltingly, asked her to marry him.

For the first time, Christabel had hesitated.

Jason was one of her few childhood friends her mother had approved of, as the Carvers' Manhattan residence was not far from the Cunninghams'. He had always been kind and attentive to her, and unlike some men, she knew he cared not a jot for her inheritance, since the Carvers was one of the richest and most prominent families in the city. A marriage between her and Jason would send her mother to Heaven.

That was the problem, of course. Christabel never wanted to do anything her mother wished.

"If we are to marry, can we live here?" she'd asked. It sounded as though she had accepted him already, but she didn't care. She looked around at the untamed parkland of the mansion, with the woods surrounding it on all sides and the sparkling lake in the distance. It may not be far enough from her mother, but it would be something.

"Of course!" Jason had said, squeezing her hands. "We'll come here for the summer, and—"

"No, you mistook me. I don't mean for the summer. I mean permanently."

Jason had laughed at that, thinking it was a joke. "We can't possibly live here! I have my business in town, and there's nobody here for half of the year anyway. Why would you want to live here?"

Christabel had tried to say that she wanted to live in Tuxedo Park precisely because there was nobody there for half of the year, but one look at Jason and she knew he wouldn't understand. Nobody would.

"I'm sorry, I can't," she'd said and withdrawn her hands.

She'd half-hoped Jason would try to get her to change her mind, that he would say they could live anywhere as long as they were together, but he had only shaken his head, said, "It's not meant to be then," bowed, and gone back inside, leaving her alone on the shore of that moonlit lake. Of course. No amount of love could be enough to compel a man to throw away his whole life like that, and even if he had made the offer, she couldn't possibly have accepted such a sacrifice. Perhaps it was for the best.

Still, that hadn't stopped things from being rather tense and awkward between them when they set out for the hunt that morning. Christabel had never enjoyed hunting, but she jumped at any chance to be outdoors, to be able to walk and run and move freely without being criticized for not acting ladylike enough. And another reason—her mother, having no interest in hunting and riding, always stayed behind on such occasions. That morning, though, Christabel could feel Jason's mournful eyes on her whenever she turned. She'd only wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but it was difficult when she was surrounded by the hunting party with their guns and dogs and servants. It was only when they came across a flock of partridges and the others' attention was diverted that she managed to slip into the woods.

Now, as she walked through the trees, Christabel pondered her situation. Would it be so bad, being married to Jason? It would at least let her be mistress of her own life... except that life would still be tied to another's. No, if she simply wanted to claim her inheritance, she would've married the first man that proposed and had done with it. This regret was simply because she had started to feel anxious about her future. Could she go on like this until her mother died? Could she live as a spinster, becoming brittle and bitter in her old age, facing the pity and contempt of others? Christabel felt the old, helpless anger toward her father blaze up inside her once more when she thought about the predicament he'd placed her in. What was the use of ensuring no one could touch her inheritance, if she had to saddle herself to a man to claim it?

She passed through the line of trees and came to a clearing on the side of a hill, gently sloping toward a small glen, where an old oak tree spread its cape of gold leaves over a murmuring brook. It seemed something straight out of a Washington Irving story—all that was missing was a covered bridge. Tucking her skirt into the top of her gaiters, Christabel threw her arms over her head and sprinted down the slope, letting the cool air fill her lungs and clear her head.

Near the bottom of the slope, her skirt slipped out of the gaiters and tangled around her legs. Her ankles twisted under her and sent her tumbling down. She rolled head over heels the last few feet before skidding to a stop right by the oak. Luckily, the hill wasn't steep, and her fall had been more embarrassing than painful. She cursed under her breath. When they received Mrs. Carver's invitation, Christabel had begged and begged her mother to let her have a split skirt for the occasion so she could move about with more ease and perhaps even learn to ride a bicycle, as some of her friends had, but Mrs. Cunningham had insisted that her old riding habit, with its long trailing skirt, would do just fine. Christabel shouldn't do much walking or moving about anyway, Mrs. Cunningham had argued. Men wouldn't be interested in overly energetic girls. And as for riding a bicycle, showing off her legs in those newfangled bloomers, like some common hoyden? Forget about it.

"Are you all right, miss?" a voice said somewhere over her head.

Christabel looked up and saw a pair of blue eyes. A man had stepped out from the other side of the oak tree and was looking down at her. She suddenly became aware that she was sprawled on the ground with her skirt hiked up over her knees. She bolted up and pulled her skirt down, face burning crimson.

"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly fine, thank you," she sputtered, struggling to her feet.

Her ankle turned painfully. The man reached out a hand to help her. His grip was firm and strong.

"Thank you." Christabel peered at him more closely. He was dressed for a day out in tweed and stout boots, but with a walking stick, not a gun. "Are you with the Carver hunting party?" she asked, for she did not remember seeing him. He was a little older than Jason and her circle of friends, in his late twenties or early thirties perhaps, tall, with a fine-boned, elegant-looking face. But what startled her the most was his eyes, as clear and blue as the sky above, fixed upon her with an expression of fascination and interest quite unlike anything she'd received from her suitors. She reached a self-conscious hand to her hair, trying to dislodge any dry leaf that may have gotten stuck there.

"Carver? No, no, I'm a guest of Dr. Brenner."

Christabel's eyebrows shot up. Dr. Brenner was an eccentric who had inherited one of the largest fortunes in New York, but rather than continuing to run the family business, he had devoted his time to studies of the occult and other esoteric sciences. Unlike most of the residents of Tuxedo Park, who only kept their mansions here as holiday homes, he lived in a cottage deep in the woods year round, engaging in all sorts of obscure experiments, never interacting much with his neighbors. They tolerated him out of respect for his family name; some saw him as a harmless old fool and even invited him to some of their parties to show him off to their out-of-town friends, much like the ornamental hermits that the English aristocrats of old often kept on their grounds. Unfortunately, the Carvers were not one of these open-minded people, so Christabel had never met Dr. Brenner. She had to admit that she sometimes felt envious of him and the male privileges that allowed him to give up his family business, but not his wealth, and pursue his true passion. Alas, no such luck for her.

And here was this man, claiming to be a guest of the mysterious doctor! Her curiosity was pique immediately.

"Are you?" she asked, with interest. "I didn't know he ever invited anyone here. You must be a man of science or some sort of scholar, for him to allow you to encroach on his solitude. What is your business with him?" Then she colored again, realizing how intrusive her question was. Usually she never allowed herself to behave so casually with a gentleman, but there was something about this man that freed her from the confines of propriety. Or perhaps it was the scene around them, the wild woods and the open sky that had no use for etiquette. Still, the habits of upbringing were hard to shake off, so she cast her eyes downward and murmured, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to pry."

"Not at all," the man said with a friendly smile. "As a matter of fact, my family came from this area before it was developed, and Dr. Brenner is helping me to research our history. I'm just looking for the ruins of their village."

"Oh. That sounds very interesting."

"And if there's anyone who must be pardoned," the man continued, "it should be me, for I have been so presumptuous in talking to you without so much as an introduction. You must allow me to make amends, Miss—"

"Cunningham. Christabel Cunningham," she said.

"What an unusual and beautiful name." The man looked into the distance. "The lovely lady, Christabel, whom her father loves so well. What makes her in the wood so late, a furlong from the castle gate?" he recited in his rich, musical voice whose reverberation seemed to reach Christabel's very core.

She laughed to hide her blush. "A very fitting quote. Only it's not so very late, and while the Carver mansion is grand, it is far from a castle," she said. "And I'm simply taking a walk, not praying for my betrothed. In fact"—the noise from the hunting party had ceased, and she realized it must be nearly time for luncheon—"I'm just heading back now."

"And alas, I am no Geraldine," the man said. "But may I accompany you anyway?" He extended an arm toward her.

Christabel hesitated, thinking what her mother would say about walking in the woods with a stranger. But surely, there was no harm in it. The hunting party was not so far away, and she could always tell the truth—that she had gotten hurt, and this man was helping her. She took the proffered arm, and they started walking toward the Carver mansion, not following the route Christabel had, but taking the longer way, along the lakeshore, Christabel hobbling to keep up with the man's long strides. There was a dull ache in her ankle, but she bit her tongue, not wanting to complain.

"I see that you are an admirer of Coleridge, like my father," Christabel said.

"Your father must be a man of great taste then."

Her smile disappeared. "I wouldn't know. He died when I was very little." She caught herself again. Why was she telling this man, whom she met not five minutes ago and whose name she still didn't know, all these things about herself?

"Oh, I am so very sorry." The man took off his cap, revealing longish blonde hair that fell over his forehead in soft curls. His eyes were full of sympathy. "I know how difficult it is, losing one's parents. My own parents—" His voice hitched. "They died when I was very young as well. An earthquake, in San Francisco."

Christabel's heart panged with sympathy. "That must be horrible."

Those brilliant blue eyes dimmed for a moment. "It was."

"So you live in San Francisco?"

"I do, yes."

"What is it like?" she asked eagerly. Outside of Newport and occasionally the Catskills, she had never been anywhere. She had never even left the state of New York.

Before the man could answer, she put her weight on the sore ankle by mistake and let out an involuntary yelp. He turned to her, all solicitous concern. "Have you hurt yourself in the fall?" he asked.

"I must have," she replied reluctantly.

Tucking his cap into a pocket, he knelt down, took her ankle in his hand, and gently turned it this way and that. "Does this hurt?"

"Only a little," she said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, that won't do." He put one arm around her and the other under her knees, scooping her up easily as though she weighed no more than a feather. "I should have noticed sooner," he said. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right." Christabel was feeling a little dazed. None of her suitors had ever picked her up like that—indeed, none of them ever touched so much as the hem of her skirt without asking for permission first. She found that she didn't mind being handled, didn't mind the lack of permission-seeking. Nestling against his chest, she glanced shyly up at her gallant rescuer. Despite his slender frame, he was carrying her across the uneven terrain with no effort at all. The sun was shining upon his blonde hair, turning it into a gold helmet, and his blue eyes sparkled as he smiled down at her. She was glad they were taking the longer route.

But all too soon, the shingled walls of the Carver mansion appeared behind the trees, and the hunting party came into view. Christabel was afraid her rescuer would put her down the moment they came upon the others, but if anything, his hold around her seemed to tighten.

"There you are, Christabel," Jason said, stepping forward. "We were about to send out a search party—" His countenance changed upon seeing her in the arms of the stranger. "What happened?"

"Miss Cunningham had a bit of an accident," the man said. "I happened to come across her and took the liberty of escorting her home."

"How fortunate," Jason said, his voice icy. He all but yanked Christabel out of the other man's arms, as though she was a child, or worse, a doll, a toy to be fought over.

"I'm perfectly all right, Jason," Christabel said, fighting to put her feet on the ground. "It's just a sprain."

Jason relented and put her down. Christabel turned to her rescuer, who was replacing his cap on his hat, preparing to go. "Thank you so much," she said. "I hope I haven't delayed you from your quest."

"It was my pleasure. It's not every day a beautiful lady fell from the sky and landed at your feet, is it?"

She couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her face. "I still don't know your name."

"Haven't I told you?" He looked confused.

Christabel frowned, trying to recall. "No, I don't think so."

"Ah." He tipped his cap at her. "Henry Creel, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Will I see you again, Mr. Creel?"

He flashed her another of his dazzling smiles. "You can count upon it." Then, with a bow in the general direction of the hunting party, who was staring at him, he turned and disappeared into the woods.

Chapter 2

As usual, if you want to be tagged, drop me a line! Any likes/reblogs/comments will be greatly appreciated, thank you!

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #hellcheer au #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #henry creel #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #kas!eddie #vampire!eddie munson

[racefortheironthrone]

So the F4 cast announcement got me thinking about what comics to read if I get around to that and then about Doom and then I got me thinking... where exactly is Latveria supposed to be? The name makes me think of the Baltic states but I could be wrong.

So yeah, great announcement!

Pedro Pascal is a bit typecast as playing the Dad character (although that's become "one of those good problems"), but I'm thrilled that Cousin Ritchie is going to be playing Ben Grimm.

Obviously, they won't let Ebon Moss-Bachrach swear as much as he does in the Bear, but he's a fantastic actor and I cannot wait to see him bringing that mix of temper and soulfulness to the part.

I haven't seen much of Vanessa Kirby's work, but I'm looking forward to seeing what she can do with a better script than Napoleon.

And Joseph Quinn is excellent and I look forward to seeing some of "Eddie" Munson's energy in Johnny Storm.

In terms of recommendations for FF comics, I've got you there:

Read the Kirby/Lee run. It's a work of art from beginning to end.

Read the Walt Simonson's run.

This is going to be controversial, but you might want to skip the Byrne run.

Read the Jonathan Hickman run. A serious tour de force.

Alongside the Hickman run, Fraction/Allred is quite good too.

As for where Latveria is, it is indeed Balkan:

As you can see from the map, Central/Eastern Europe in Earth 616 is quite different and significantly more Balkanized (forgive the pun) compared to Earth 1218 (also known as our universe).

In addition to Doom's Latveria, we have Symkaria (the dysfunctional micro-kingdom whose economy is largely supported by Silver Sable's mercenary company), Transia (birthplace of Wanda and Pietro Maximoff and home to the High Evolutionary's Island of Doctor Moreau Wundagore Mountain), and a bunch of minor ones like Ruritania (from The Prisoner of Zenda), Carnelia (a post-Soviet state that Tony Stark and Justin Hammer fight over), Belgriun (a totalitarian monarchy that was overthrown by a bunch of Spider-Men villains), Draburg (which showed up in some Sabra comics), and some other small ones that I couldn't find on the wiki.

#marvel #marvel meta #fantastic four #book recommendations #latveria #doctor doom #the world outside your window #mcu #pedro pascal #vanessa kirby #ebon moss bachrach #joseph quinn

[royboyfanpage]

I have only recently gotten into reading GA comics, but i see his character every now and then and have no idea who he is; who is eddie fryers??

Eddie is an asshole, a bastard, an absolute twat, the bane of my existence and I love him with all my heart.

Okok though seriously. Eddie Fyers was first introduced in Green Arrow: The Longbow Hunters #3 as a freelance... mercenary, I guess? He's most commonly associated with the CIA, but he's worked for a lot of people. His initial description was that he was apolitical, which meant that depending on the circumstances he was either friend or foe to Ollie. He was a recurring character who showed up every 10-20 issues to make Ollie's bad days worse. Their relationship was honestly so fucking funny because it varies drastically from sharing chilli

To literally shooting each other

And while for the most part the hostility is in his earlier appearances and the friendship is his later ones, it's still can go either way at any given moment. Connor was quite concerned when he first met Ollie and Eddie for this exact reason.

(@/gretahayes described this scene as "local monk discovers toxic homosexual relationships" and I could not agree more.)

But Eddie actually became a much more consistent character after Ollie died, appearing as the main supporting cast member of Connor's run, which caused Connor some internal conflict early on over the morality of keeping Eddie as company.

He was also Connor's "I know a guy", which was really fun.

Eddie was really Connor's best friend throughout his run, and they also had a really fun dynamic that was similar to Eddie and Ollie's but also distinctly different. Sometimes Eddie acted as I guess a grizzled mentor, other times an annoying friend, but he was pretty consistently a big supporter in Connor's life

Eddie pretty much followed Connor everywhere, and they practically became inseparable throughout Connor's run, to the point that when Connor went to rejoin the ashram at the end of the run, Eddie came with.

Connor briefly left Eddie to go find Ollie when Ollie came back from the dead in Quiver-

-but they weren't seperated for very long.

If you wanna see him I'd recommend reading Connor's Green Arrow run most of all (Green Arrow (1988) #101 onwards), but here's a pretty good reading guide of all his appearances :)

#thank you for the ask anon! #I'm not very good at doing character overviews #i hope this is okay #not roy #eddie fyers #connor hawke #green arrow #oliver queen

[entropic-saudade]

Title: Do Angels Dream of Electric Sheep?

Author: entropic_saudade

Artist: BasketcaseBetty

Link to Fic | Link to Art

Rating: M

Tags: Alternate Universe, Inspired by Cyberpunk 2077, Mercenary Dean Winchester, Sex Worker Castiel, Aftermath and Recovery from Mind Control, Body Modifications, Canon-Typical Violence, Communication Issues, Families of Choice, Happy Ending

Summary: 

Night City, California, 2077.

After Dad’s death leaves Dean a clan of one, Dean puts life on the road in his rearview mirror and follows in his little brother’s footsteps to the so-called City of Dreams. Unlike Sam, who went the corpo route, Dean becomes a merc-of-all-trades, doing anything it takes to make enough eddies to survive and make a name for himself before the lights go out.

When offered a lucrative job to locate some missing property from Cloud 9, a dollhouse deep in the megabuildings of Westbrook, Dean takes it with little hesitation— only to find that the ‘property’ in question is one of Naomi’s ‘angels’, a doll named Castiel.

Finding the wayward doll is just the beginning, as the job spirals far beyond a simple bounty hunt, and Dean is reminded of what matters most as he discovers a corporate conspiracy lurking beneath all the shiny chrome and neon lights of Night City.

For the @cdrcrossoverbang.

Thank you to @basketcasebetty for the art and prompt which inspired the fic! It was such a complex and interesting world to delve into and translate into an SPN story. I hope you enjoy it!

#supernatural #deancas #destiel #my fic #artist: basketcasebetty #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk #tech noir #mercenary dean #sex worker castiel #AU #cyberpunk AU #casdeanreversecrossoverbang #cdrcrossoverbang #spn fic #spn fanfic #destiel fic #deancas fic #supernatural x cyberpunk 2077

[buryustogether]

-> HEATSTROKES AND OTHER MEET CUTES

saul bright x f!reader (not v)

wc: 5.3k

summary: after suffering a severe heatstroke and the beatdown of your life, you stumble across a nomad camp in the badlands. their leader is willing to offer a helping hand.

warnings/tags: heatstrokes, getting mugged, guns, blood, swearing, vomiting, mentions of rape/noncon, undressing in front of a stranger, strangers to lovers, thigh riding, smut, use of good girl, running away

author’s note: come get y’all’s bullshit

You had heard the same phrase over and over again.

You’d heard it at bars from truckers who had driven through the deserts all day and all night to avoid stopping out in the open. Their eyes were stamped with purple half-moons, expressions slack with exhaustion and fatigue they barely fought off. Their clothes were dusty despite never once stepping out of their cabs, and they spoke as if they’d seen the rapture itself out in those barren wastelands.

You’d heard it from ex-nomads who had sought to give up their lives in the deserts, too scarred from what they’d seen and endured to carry on out in the open. Their hands were calloused and their lips dry, always carrying around bits and traces of their old life, no matter how far they ran or how hard they tried to scrub all the dust off.

You’d heard it from mercenaries who’d had the misfortune of working jobs out there in the flat, dry banks and plains. They shook their heads when asked about it, said that some things just needed to lay down and fuckin’ die. Their gazes danced with ravens and scavenger birds picking at something unseen in the brush, and their footsteps were a little lighter than they once had been, as if they were scared of leaving footprints in sand that wasn’t even there.

You had heard the same phrase over and over again.

“If you think Night City is bad, wait until you get out to the Badlands.”

You had always thought they were being dramatic. Silly. Ridiculous. It was all just a bunch of desert, nothing but rocky mountain ridges and a brutal, unforgiving sun that found a way through the clouds even if the heavens themselves refused to part.

You had been wrong. So very, horribly, awfully wrong.

Sand clinging to your pants, your hair, your shoes - everything - weighed you down as you slowly trudged your way through the nothingness of the Badlands back toward the city. The tops of the skyscrapers and the holo-ads just barely prodded at the horizon, teasing you in a mirage of sorts. Miles. Miles upon miles left until you reached salvation, safety, relief.

You couldn’t help but pant with parted lips as you feebly stepped up a ridge and forced your legs to move along - one after the other. That’s all. That’s all that it was. And yet, the simple act of walking felt as though it were the most impossible thing you’d ever done.

Nothing in your parched, sun-fried brain could tell you what the hell you had even been thinking coming all the way out here. You’d struck up a deal with a wastelander over the net abour buying a bike that looked preem enough to have come straight from the dealer’s website. Now, you were sure that’s where it had been from.

By the time you’d parked your car in the middle of the abandoned lot you and the seller had agreed to meet at, it had been too late. You’d been met with a tap on your window from the end of a pistol barrel, and on the other side had been a man wearing a mask over his face and goggles over his eyes to shield himself from the sand blowing in the breeze.

The was a blur in the forefront of your mind, too fast and miserable and beige-tinted to remember much.

The scavengers had pulled you from your car and stripped you of anything useful you had - your pieces, the tools from your trunk, hell - they’d even taken your belt buckle, thinking it to be worth anything more than a few dozen eddies. You had cried out, screamed for help as they backed you against your car and beat the living sense out of you, but of course no one had come. Your yells had been noting more than a few whispers on the wind, as far as anyone else was concerned. They had left you in that lot, staring up at the blinding sky, feeling blood slip from your mouth and trickle down the side of your face. Gasping for air in your bruised lungs.

Wondering how you had been so fucking stupid.

You’d been walking for what felt like hours now - the sun was beginning to set over the jagged tops of the mountains, threatening to drench you in the everlasting darkness of the Badlands. If you could get scammed, jacked, and hacked in broad daylight, you were terrified to think of what could happen when not even the light was there to guide you.

Water was merely a dream, an illusion, as was any hope of making it back to the city in one piece. Your feet dragged behind you and your heart thundered in your ears. A migraine like you’d never felt before was pounding like a jackhammer at the front of your skull, blurring your vision at the edges, and for every five steps you took forward, you stumbled back three to keep your balance. You knew if you fell to the grainy, unforgiving ground now, you’d never be getting back up again.

A low, exhausted moan escaped your lips as you half-collapsed, rocks and sharp-edged pebbles digging into your palms as you fought to keep yourself upright. You had no one back home - no significant other, no family, hardly many people you knew well enough to call friends. If you died out here, no one would come looking for you. You’d become another statistic of the missing persons files, forever lost out here to the uneven dunes and hungry landscape.

Just when you were about to finally keel over and call it quits, finally acknowledge that you weren’t going to ever touch the paved tarmac of the Night City streets again, you created a small ridge and laid eyes upon light. A small, grouped number of glowing lights, illuminating the faint shapes of trucks, and bikes, and makeshift tents and lean-tos.

Nomads.

It was a nomad camp.

Your heart surged in your hollow chest and you picked up your pace, ignoring the aching in your legs and the dry, grainy feeling scratching at your lungs.

“Hey,” you said softly, then covered your mouth with a fist as you coughed and hacked. Each spasm was as painful as pins dancing along your throat. You stumbled forward, approaching the camp slowly, watching as the shapes grew more clear and the lights became brighter. You could see the silhouettes of people wandering about their business, gathered around campfires and discussing lazy topics over bottles of beer. You ached for just a sip - just a single drop to roll down your tongue.

You had just reached the perimeter of the nomad camp when, like a star falling from the sky, a miniature explosion detonated just inches from your feet. As you helped and tipped sideways, collapsing in the sand, you realized it had not been an explosion, but a bullet landing before you in a warning. Your ears rang like bells as you feebly rolled onto all fours, your head spinning. The nomads were blurs of motion as they moved, shouting and calling commands, racing to and fro. They were preparing - for what? It was only you here.

Only parched, fried, dying you.

A croaked gasp was pulled from your cracked lips when a boot shoved you over, sending you onto your back. Not a moment later, the barrel of a rifle was shoved against your throat. The metal was cool. You fought against the instinct to wrap your hand around the barrel and pull it closer.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” spat the young woman at the other end of the rifle. “Pretty stupid to try and sneak up on us all by yourself. Tell me how many of you there are, and I might think about letting you keep your head.”

You blinked tiredly, the world going in and out of focus like a video with bad resolution, as two more men skidded to a stop beside the woman to peer down at you.

“Good shot, Panam,” said one.

“Mm,” agreed the other on her right. He brandished a slick pistol and aimed it at your middle, ignoring the way you gasped and cried silently for air, for water, for anything. “I wouldn’t have been so kind.”

You heaved in a dry breath, your tongue refusing to work. You would have cried out of pain, out of frustration and exasperation, but no tears were able to crawl into the corners of your eyes. You were sucked dry, with nothing left to give except the sweat rolling down your back and neck.

“How many of you are there?” the woman called Panam demanded again. She placed a heavy boot on your chest, restricting a bit of whatever airflow you had left, and your eyes widened. Scrabbling at her ankle, you kicked aimlessly as you battled to inhale. “Tell me!” The boot pressed further, and you sputtered out a dry squawk. You heard her pull the bolt of her rifle, felt the used cartridge bounce off your arm. “Last chance, you scav scum.”

“Panam!” There came a loud, booming voice that seemed to shake the ground beneath you, commanding respect and authority over all else surrounding you - even nature itself. The boot was lifted off your chest and you raised a trembling hand to your throat, taking a short, shaky breath in. Through the dizzying spinning of the world and the hammer-like thundering in your skull, you turned your head slightly and caught the hazy figure of a man striding toward the scene with broad, level shoulders and boots that were scuffed with years wear and tear. That was all you were able to catch before you covered your eyes with your hands and moaned for a breath, for a drink, for anything that would bring you from this dry hell.

“What was that shot?” asked the new man as he approached the others. “What’s going on here?”

“Stopped a scav from sneaking under our noses.” The toe of Panam’s boot nudged your leg. “Pretty lousy, scav, at that.”

You listened to that heavy pair of footsteps come closer until they were right beside your head. A hand, large and rough with calluses from hard work and manual labor, took your wrist and pulled it away from your face. Through your haze you could only just make out an arm lined with tattoos, a head full of hair like chestnut that draped over shoulders, and a well-kept beard. You opened your mouth to babble out an apology, to beg that they let you go, but all that came out was a raspy groan.

“Dammit, Panam, she’s not a scav.” The man released your arm, turned away from you. “She’s from the city. Look at her clothes. She’s not from out here.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” came the reply, almost childlike in its nature. “I see someone trying to get the jump on us, I take them out. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Protect each other?”

“Go back to your hut. No more guard duty for the rest of the night.”

“Saul-“

“Now, Panam.”

You listened to a hiss of fury and the sound of fading footsteps before slowly attempting to roll over onto your hands and knees. That unreasonable, delusional part of you was beginning to take over. Maybe if you were quick, you could sneak away…

Your feeble escape attempt was halted when that same hand as before grabbed your shoulder and rolled you back around onto your backside. You weren’t able to put up much of a fight, only gasp and paw at clothes and skin, as those hands wrapped under your shoulders to lift you up off the rocky, sweltering ground.

“Mitch,” said the man above you. Saul? “Grab her feet. Help me bring her up.”

Another pair of hands wrapped around your calves and suddenly you were lifted off the desert floor, being carried through the nomad camp like a prize from the latest hunt. You couldn’t do much but moan and gasp in short breaths, watching with dazed eyes as the sun finally disappeared behind the range.

“Where to? The doc’s?” said the man at your feet.

“My space,” said the other at your head. “She’s dehydrated to all hell and back. I’ve got the keys to our reserves in my truck.”

What could have been either seconds or hours later - you’d all but lost track of all meaning of time - the men carried you up a set of stairs leading into a hollowed-out semi truck. You saw the shapes and frames of a couch and a tool bench, a bed and a little folding table in the corner. They set you down on the bed, carefully lifting your feet comfortably out in front of you.

Then Saul, who had saved you from the young woman with a rifle, who had carried you all the way up into this truck, pulled a ring of keys from a space beneath the table and tossed them to his partner. “Go and fetch a whole jug,” he instructed, and within just a moment, Mitch was gone.

Saul disappeared, too. You watched as he exited the truck, shouting to his people, and attempted to sit up in the bed. You’d heard things about nomads - that they kidnapped people from the city and held them for ransom, that they ran with the coyotes and ate what they left behind. You’d never seen any evidence of these claims, but you weren’t about to find out.

You had just managed to swing one leg over the edge of the bed before Saul, hulking and sinewy in the doorway of the semi, reappeared. He gently, but firmly, pushed you back down onto the mattress and lifted your leg to where it had been.

“Easy, girl,” he said and leaned over you. You shut your eyes when he draped a cold, wet cloth over your forehead. “Keep still, hear? Don’t need you collapsing again on us.”

Mitch entered the truck lugging a large, clear jug of water at his side. At the sight of it, of what you’d been thinking of for hours, you pushed against Saul and attempted to tumble out of the bed yourself.

“Good to see she’s still got some fight in her,” Mitch joked as he popped the tab of the jug and handed it to Saul. “At least she ain’t gone mad to the heat.”

“Not yet, anyway.” The muscles in his bare arms flexing beneath the ink of his tattoos, Saul lifted the jug’s tab to your lips and tipped it back. When you weren’t able to lift yourself to meet it, he nestled a hand beneath your sweaty head and raised it himself.

The moment the cool liquid hit your mouth, you almost moaned aloud at how sweet and wonderful it tasted. It felt even better going down your throat. You couldn’t ignore the fact that the hand cradling your head was sending butterflies through your veins at the same time, but your sole focus was on the water trickling down your chin and onto your shirt. Gulp after gulp, you drank, refusing to let the nomad pull the jug away, even when you felt your belly fill.

“Careful,” said Mitch as Saul again tried to pry the container from your lips. “Don’t drink it too fast or else -“

Before he could finish, you suddenly shoved the jug away and made to lean over the side of the bed. With the toe of his boot, Saul hooked a metal container beneath the bed and whisked it out onto the open floor. Not a moment later, you hung over the edge of the mattress and vomited water and bile into the pan. The retches heaved through your body in an uneven tempo, your systems overwhelmed from having been dry to the bone to suddenly flowing over with water.

When you finally returned to dry heaving, shaking as spit up ran down your chin and nose, Saul retrieved the wet cloth from where it had fallen on the bed and used it to gingerly wipe your face clean. Your chest, soaked through your shirt from the runoff water, heaved for breath as you let him settle you back down and offer a few chaser sips of water to your lips.

“You’re alright,” Mitch said as you felt your face heat upon the realization of what you’d just done - in front of strangers, no less. “We‘ve all been there. Can’t say you’re a nomad without suffering a few heatstrokes.” He picked up the pan as if it were nothing, then clambered down the steps into the open night. “I’ll get the air conditioning going,” he called back in, then heaved the semi’s door shut.

Slowly, as if you were surfacing from being held underwater, you began to regain your senses. Understand what was going on, where you were. You were in the middle of a nomad camp, in a truck, alone with a man called Saul. And he was pulling off your shoes. Blinking through tired eyes, you watched the ceiling of the truck as you felt him peel off your socks, as well. Then he began to fumble with the button of your pants.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left to give, you thrashed like a cornered animal and cried out through your still-weary throat. Saul at once backed off, watching as you curled into yourself in the corner of the bed. Your eyelids were drooping, your arms and hands and fingers still shaking.

“Mmuh,” you mumbled over your dead tongue. You scooted further away when he took a step toward you. Fuck, the rumors had been true. They just wanted to use you and throw you back out into the desert when they were done. “Sta… sty’ back,” you warned, though you knew there was really nothing you would be able to do against him.

Saul raised a hand in a little surrender warning, keeping his short distance from your corner of the bed. “Easy, girl,” he said again. “Not going to hurt you.” He nodded with his head gingerly, a few strands of hair falling from his shoulder to his neck. “We need to get your clothes off. You’re not going to cool down any faster than spending a night out here in the Badlands. Your skin needs to breathe, get its bearings again.”

For a long while, you considered him. His eyes were dark and stormy, heavy with a thousand burdens and not enough solutions. His movements were authoritative and stern, yet mindful and careful all at once, like he knew the repercussions his very footsteps may leave behind.

He did not seem like the kind of man who would throw you to the jackals and vultures.

Slowly, tentatively, you unfurled yourself and eased across the bed. He took a few steps closer, gently easing you back onto your ass, and pulled your shirt over your head. He had been right, you found; the moment your shirt left your body, it felt as though you were able to breathe again. The sand prodding against your skin, the feeling of carrying around another ton - it all went away. Though your arms were shaking, you managed to lift up your hips so that he could slide your pants off your legs, leaving you in just your bra and panties.

It would have felt strange being practically naked in front of a man you’d never met before - in front of a man who was standing so close that you felt his breath on your shoulder - but something within you felt slightly at ease. This man was taking care of you, inspecting the bruises along your arms and middle with a touch that just only ghosted your skin, gave you tiny sips of water - just enough to keep you on the edge, leaning forward for more.

After Saul had helped you wrap up in a sheet and left a mug of water where you could reach it, he took a seat on the couch facing the bed. When he sat, he let out a deep sigh, and you noticed he let his left leg straighten and relax while his rig remained bent and stiff. A bad joint, perhaps?

For a while, a long, still silence filled the belly of the truck. You took little drinks from the mug, keeping it close to your chest, your eyes trained on Saul’s fingers. A couple of rings adorned his knuckles, glinting in the light from the lamp sat beside the couch. His fingers were long and thick, rough with scars and calluses, each with a story of their own. You shifted, slightly ashamed, when a short rush of arousal shot to your core.

What kinds of things, besides tune-ups, and feeding his people, and firing a gun could those hands do?

“Thank you,” you found yourself saying, finally able to gain control of your tongue again. You swallowed thick and hunched your shoulders. “For helping me. I’m… I’m sure you have lots of other people to keep well-taken care of.”

Saul released a groan from deep in his chest, sounding akin to some kind of agreement. “I do,” he said, rubbing at his temple. “But just because someone’s not my people doesn’t mean I turn them away when they’re in need.“

Outside, someone had begun to strum a melody on a guitar. A number of voices sang along to a song you didn’t know, a harmony of deep and light and wonderful and awful.

These people weren’t savages or plunderers. They were friends. They were a family.

Perhaps… perhaps the rumors had been wrong, after all.

You took another sip of water and reached up to wipe your lip with your thumb. You found him watching your movements. “Listen, I’ll be out of your hair in a while. I just… I just needed to rest a while.”

Saul hummed again. “No,” he said in such a commanding tone you were at once inclined to agree with him. “You’ll stay here for the night. If you’re feeling up to it tomorrow, we’ll take you back to town. We were heading there to stock up on supplies, anyhow.”

You said nothing at first. How incredibly scary this man had been at first, towering over you on the ground with those dark, broody eyes trained on your very soul. But now he was… rather charming. Dark and mysterious, sure, but no less attractive.

You realized you had been staring at him. And he had been staring at you.

Switching your gaze down to your mug of water, because you felt as though you’d blurt out all the filthy things you were thinking if you kept looking at him, you swallowed down the last few bits of sand sticking to your throat. “So, is that… Panam… is she your kid?”

The man before you gave a sort of scoff and a twitch of his lips - you’d hit a sore subject. “Something like that,” he answered shortly, then reached up and harrumphed as he flicked a piece of hair over his shoulder. “We picked her up years ago when she was young. Brought her up for a while. Recently, she’s started to push back. Question how things run around here.” He raised a hand and dropped it again, and it occurred to you that perhaps you were the first person he’d unloaded this burden on in a long time. “She doesn’t get that everything I do around here is for the best - for everyone. Even if it doesn’t align with her own morals.”

For a long while, silence enveloped the gutted belly of the truck. You set your mug down on the floor and hugged the sheet tighter around yourself. Outside, the song being played ended with a loud, overjoyed cheer from its singers. They all sounded so… happy. Content. At peace.

“Well,” you said slowly, hoping you weren’t crossing any lines, “I, uhm… I haven’t really been here lucid enough to think straight long, but… it seems like you’re doing something right.” When he settled his gaze upon you, you nodded to the door leading out into the night illuminated by song and campfire glow. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen so much… camaraderie before. This day and age, it’s kill or be killed, but you all…” You trailed off, shrugging your bare shoulders beneath the sheet. “You have each other. I can’t really talk much, but that seems like something to be proud of.”

Saul, for once in the short while you’d been sitting with him, seemed to be short of answers to your words.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline high that had been fueling your brain not too long ago, or maybe it was the feeling that spread throughout your abdomen when he looked at you, but something propelled you to scoot forward on the bed and try to rise to your feet.

Saul stood just as you climbed into a stand, reaching out to keep you down on the bed, but you reacted first. You stumbled forward on your still-wobbly feet and tumbled right into his broad chest. He exhaled a surprised grunt. You both landed back on the couch, only now you were straddling his thick, muscular thigh and your front was pressed against his without a sliver of space between you.

Your breaths each came out in puffs and pants, startled by the sudden fall. It wasn’t long before you each sprung into action.

He leaned forward to meet you halfway when you brought your lips toward his, locking your mouths together with the same kind of fervor you gave. His hands were firm but gentle all at once, mindful of the sore spots along your arms and middle, as if he’d memorized each and every place where a bruise blossomed. They eventually landed on your barely-clothed hips. While he busied himself, like an explorer mapping out new, unfamiliar terrain, you licked your tongue into his mouth and pulled him by his hair closer. He tasted of some musky liquor and a dense air you could not place. Rough and demanding, yet protective and heavy and like home - the way a leader should be.

When you finally pulled away from him to catch your breath, your chest now heaving and caving rapidly, Saul hummed lowly and nudged your forehead with his nose. “Ballsy, aren’t you, girl?” he said, and you shivered as you felt his hot breath fanning across your face. “Not a lot of people would shove their tongues down the throat of the leader of the Aldecados.” He took the point of your chin between his thumb and forefinger so that you peered up at him. “You’ve got courage. I admire that.”

By now, arousal had began to pool in the bottom of your belly like a coiled serpent, snapping and hissing to be set free. Your cunt ached, clenching around nothing, and you nearly moaned in relief when Saul shifted you over his thigh so that the rough material of his pants rubbed your clit through your panties just right. He noticed your reaction and hitched his leg slightly, causing you to bounce gently on his thigh. This time, a soft, quiet mewl did escape your throat.

Saul hummed and leaned forward to begin nipping and sucking love spots into the delicate skin of your neck. “Pretty girl likes getting off on my leg, doesn’t she?” he growled against the column of your throat. You gasped when he hitched his leg again, and a wonderful, delightful flood of leaden pleasure spread through your systems. “Do it, then. Show me just how tough you really are, baby.”

Who were you to object?

Clinging onto his muscular shoulders for support, you began rocking yourself against his clothed thigh, shifting and grinding so that your clit was stimulated in just the right way. Practically humping his hip, you let out soft, panting sighs and moans and mewls as you moved.

Saul’s hand moved around your back to unclasp your bra, moving you arms for just a fraction of a second so that he could pull it off and drop it to the floor. He pulled a long, high-pitched whimper from the bottom of your throat when he attached his lips to your nippe, beard scratching against the vulnerable skin of your chest. Pleasure like you weren’t sure you’d ever experienced coursed through you like fine whiskey or a static-infused drink from an overpriced club.

Fuck, this shouldn’t have felt this good.

But it did. It fucking did.

“Atta’ girl,” Saul muttered into the valley between your breasts when the rolls of your hips began to grow faster. He felt your arousal soaking through his pant leg, your panties completely ruined. You were chasing that high as your cunt clenched and you whined every time his lips pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses against your sternum. “Ride, cowgirl.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Saul,” you said, and repeated his name, that one word, that sounded like a chanted prayer now as you neared your end. That coil within you was tightening, that abused power source about to implode and take out everything with it. “Saul, Saul, Saul…!”

He pressed his lips flush against yours, hands splayed across the skin of your back, like he was shielding you from the rest of the world, claiming you. “Come on,” he breathed against your mouth. “Cum for me.”

You found you could not go against anything this man said.

With a shattered cry muffled by his shoulder, your hips stuttered and you hit your peak like a lone wanderer who never wanted to come down. You shoved your hips, your oversensitive clit, against his thigh, attempting to remain up in those clouds that felt you during your orgasm.

When you eventually came back around, you found Saul was pulling your hair from your sweaty face, whispering praise against the shell of your ear.

“Good girl,” he said in that low, husky tone of his that sent your stomach flipping. “My good girl. Tamed already, aren’t you?”

You gave a weak, half-hearted agreement. He shifted his weight so that he now lay across the couch with his feet propped against the opposite armrest and your limp form sprawled across his front. He squeezed your hips, fingertips playing with the hem of your soaked panties.

It seemed an eternity of still, peaceful quiet had passed when Saul spoke again. “You got anyone back home waiting for you?”

“No,” you answered at once. Perhaps too quickly, too eagerly. “It’s just me.”

“Hmm.” For a moment, he seemed to consider, his gaze - now simmering down from their previous state of lust-fueled frenzy - stuck to your head as he carded through your hair. “Didn’t make what I’d call a good first impression,” he said, “but I could convince the others to clear a seat for you around the fire. Scrounge up a spare motor. You know how to ride?”

It took your short-circuited brain a long minute to comprehend what he was saying. He was inviting you to join his family - the Aldecados.

You thought. You had nothing back in the city - just a cheap, shitty apartment, a dead end job, and a stack of bills only growing by the day. Chaos. Havoc. But out here… there was everything you didn’t know. The unknown of what might come the next day. Sandstorms, and bandits, and everything else in between… but a family. People willing to watch your back without expecting anything in return. Friends and cousins and brothers and sisters.

A man who had just fucked you senseless, and even still now, saw something within you he thought worthy enough to travel with him and his nomads.

The answer came out easier than expected. “Yeah,” you said and smiled up at him. “I can ride.”

#cyberpunk x reader #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 smut #cyberpunk #cyberpunk 2077 x reader #cbp 2077 #saul cyberpunk #cyberpunk saul #saul bright #saul bright cyberpunk 2077 #saul cyberpunk 2077 #panam palmer #cyberpunk panam #saul bright x reader #saul bright x you #cyberpunk 2077 x you

[cheemscakecat]

Oh… OH.

Guys hear me out… BLU Spy is a film buff who likes the Film Noir genre.

If you haven’t heard of/watched film noir, it’s 40s-50s era detective movies. If you’ve watched Who Framed Roger Rabbit, you basically get the gist of what the genre is like. Jessica Rabbit is a subversion of the fem fatale trope of a shrexy lady who works for the bad guys or is the main bad guy of the movie. Judge Doom is the crooked cop/official, R.K. Maroon is another corrupt party that allied with Doom. And Eddie Valiant is our cynical and jaded detective protagonist.

Now think about movies for a minute. How many times does the protagonist do something impossible because it looks cool? Be honest, John Wick is doing some maneuvers that make zero sense to real martial artists and government agents. Now think about how BLU Spy acts in Em Blue and Meet the Spy.

How many times does a detective/cop/agent protagonist go fight a dangerous person alone, and win? Usually there’s a struggle, but they still win. Spy didn’t though. Imagine he’s having a nightmare where one of the aspects is literally “You’re not that guy pal. Trust me, you’re not that guy.”

This is not the time to make demands, this is the time to shoot the guy with a bigger, faster gun before he can get you. But the good guy usually manages to shoot first or dodge, so he can have the confidence to do something this risky. Except it doesn’t work for Spy.

I can’t help but wonder if one of the reasons is that Soldier is an actual war veteran and not crazy like RED; remember how I mentioned real experts before? What if Solly’s fighter logic is cancelling out Hollywood logic in the scenes where he and Spy are together? Of course, that’s not the only reason why Spy can’t do the cool things he’s trying; it’s insecurity.

What happens in Meet the Spy?

So BLU Spy decided to do the dramatic thing and monologue to his teammates about the RED Spy in base, knowing darn well that one of them is probably said Spy. Carrying literal dead weight with the RED’s weapon lodged in it. With full confidence.

Some people think he knew “Scout” was RED Spy, but I actually think he fell for it. Why else would he say “nothing. Nothing like the man currently inside this building!” and then give said abnormally skilled and dangerous Spy his knife back? And that’s not the only reason he didn’t know, either.

This folder of dirty pictures is BLU Spy’s trump card. Yeah, showing it to RED to humiliate him would be funny… but not the most satisfying outcome. Giving it to the Admin for enemy team blackmail? More satisfying. Giving it to one of RED Spy’s enemies so they can kidnap BLU Ma or study the layout of that room? Devilishly satisfying. But that’s still not his end goal.

Scout is the youngest member of the team with the most to learn. You’re telling me that the same Administrator who hired a Director to get dirt on RED team, and doesn’t even care much for Pauling, doesn’t have two-faced Spies on both sides? BLU and RED teammates willing to sell their team’s secrets for bonuses or their own protection? Oh they exist.

This BLU Spy is not one of these double crossers IRL; but he does look for dirt on RED team. He was probably taking the dirtier pictures to get shot of RED without his mask, but he left it on. But he found out BLU Ma is consorting with an enemy teammate, and that’s very important. He wasn't showing this to Scout just to assert dominance as an older teammate, he was saying “Look, your mama can’t be trusted. Don’t give her your information.”

“PATTY CAKE? PATTY CAKE?! I don’t believe it! [cries]”

“Believe it sister, she played Patty Cake.”

It’s the same thing but more disrespectful, he’s trying to wise the real BLU Scout up about mercenary work.

And before anyone asks, no, BLU Spy is not BLU Scout’s daddy. No sane parent would show those pictures to their child, even if he’s an adult and his mama cheated. Besides that, Spy shows literally zero interest in romance during Em Blue, even when he’s telling Archibald what promotions he wants. That’s… not a normal occurrence in Film Noirs.

I’m not saying getting tricked by RED Spy and loosing those pictures before the real Scout could see them is the reason BLU Spy doubts his own abilities. But it’s at least a factor in the bigger reason.

#tf2 #emesis blue #character analysis #emesis blue scout #emesis blue spy #I don’t ship BLU Spy and Soldier btw #just thought I should mention that now

[sanjoongie]

Library of Illusion~ Sci Fi Section

Chrome Upgrade

📚Part Three for the Library Of Illusions Event

📚Pairing: Fixer! Yunho x Merc! Reader (f)

📚Genre: Fantasy au, Sci-fi au, Cyberpunk 2077 inspired, sleeping with the boss trope

📚Warnings: fighting, cybernetic enhancements, slapping, nipple play, yunho is horny over some knife play, mommy(reader)/little one(yunho) dynamics, penetrative sex with no barrier, creampie(s), oral (f receiving), cum eating, dacryphilia

📚Word Count: 3,809

📚Rating: 18+ MDNI, smut

📚Summary: the scifi section transports you to a cyberpunk world in which you are merc for hire with many upgrades and your boss, or fixer, pays you with chrome instead of eddie’s (eurodollar)

📚Dedication: @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland the best beta readers a writer could bribe have

↫The Fantasy Section ↭ MasterList ↭The Historical Fiction Section↬

You moved back and forth in front of a particular bookshelf but you had this feeling like you were missing it. You tipped your head back and you felt a zap of electricity when your eyes locked onto a bright yellow book with the title "Cyberpunk 2077" in sharp black lettering. You lifted onto your tippy toes, fingertips tingling as you managed to hook the book and bring it down into your waiting hands.

You opened it, and watched expectantly as the book flew out of your hands, landing upright with its pages flipping open, until it halted and grew to the size of a door. The center for the book was transparent, and within you could see a dark alleyway, filled with trash and lit up by bright lights. 

The hair on the back of your neck raised and you felt yourself getting real damn annoyed at this entity that was watching you. "You know, you could just reveal yourself before I meet you in this damn book!" You couldn't help but shout in frustration. 

It had to be the guardian of this section, right? Clearly they were both present in the books and in the library. "Or are you worried that I might reject you before you can weave a story to suck me into?"

You might as well be shouting into the void. Or so you thought. The shelves began to shiver and shake and a rush of wind rushed past you, blowing your hair behind you like you were in a wind tunnel. The fuck was that? Alright, maybe you shouldn't be provoking demons.

You decided now was a good time to walk through the portal.

You stood in the middle of an alleyway, neon lights blinking obnoxiously above you. In your hand was a chip and everything in your mind was telling you to put it inside of you. You felt behind your ear and gasped when your finger found a rectangle hole there. The chip slipped in easily and your eyes lit up as you processed the information on the chip. 

You were a mercenary for hire. Your fixer, or guy that hooked you up with jobs, was Yunho. You two had worked together pretty steadily but only after you had begged him to give you jobs. You had a gun and an itch to scratch back then. You had worked with a few crews here and there, maybe a partner, but ultimately no one could keep up with your thirst to prove yourself, to really make your name a legend. 

Now you had so many cybernetic enhancements you lost count. Circulatory system upgrades for your hacking. You had traded out your eyes a long time ago for easier targeting and to make them a pretty purple jeweled color. But your crown jewel were the blades that were implanted and replaced your arms. The blades stayed hidden and folded and you had full use of your 'hands', but the Mantis blades had been the best improvement you had invested in, surely.

A screen popped up in your peripherals and a faint ringing could be heard in your ear. The square said Your Fixer Yuyu was calling you. "I got the deets, Yunho, what's up?" You answered. 

"Another gonk got themselves snatched for cybernetics and organs," Yunho replied.

"Yeah, I got that already, what do you want?" You snapped.

You admired your clothes in this world: you were wearing skin tight pleather pants with cutouts at the hips, a bikini top and a large baggy jacket. You had an undercut on the side where you had slipped in your chip, but your hair fell in waves on your right side. Definitely the cyberpunk look.

"That same gonk left their bike outside the place where they had been sent to rescue the last guy," Yunho informed you. You winced. Oops. "Don't worry, choom, I got you. I called your bike away to park a few blocks. Just thought I'd let you know when you run out of there."

"Thanks."

"Orchid?" You fucking loved your merc name. The first upgrade you got as a merc were Mantis blades but insisted on a soft pink color. So they named you after a pretty Orchid Mantis. You were kinda proud of that, actually. 

"Yeah?" You answered.

"Come see me after this job, 'kay? I've got something to run past you."

"Got it, Yunho."

You ended the comms and cracked your neck. Time to cut up some idiot bodysnatchers.

You snuck into the building where your target was located. She was in an ice bath to keep her body chill. You checked for vital signs and luckily the damn gonk wasn't dead. Yet. That's when you allowed yourself to kill every damn bodysnatcher in the place, with no mercy. Who thought it was a good life choice to kidnap innocent people and steal their cybernetics off their corpses? You were a bit blood splattered afterwards but the trauma team came for your target once you booted up their biomon and you were already gone by then.

You jogged for a block, shrugging on your jacket and then you called in your bike. You didn't bother to check in with Yunho, you simply set his headquarters location to your GPS and headed there full throttle. You weren't sure what you prefered more: slashing people up with your Mantis blades or riding the road with your bike. Either one provided amazing adrenaline.  

You pulled up to the noodle shop and parked your bike in the front. The staff didn't even blink as you walked through the front and into the kitchen of the shop. You stopped in front of the deep freeze and the square of tiles before it blinked before popping open. You slid down the ladder and a cold nuzzle of a gun was pressed against the nape of your neck.

"Jesus, do you have to do that every damn time? It's Orchid, for christ sake. Let her in." Yunho yelled at his guard. 

You stuck your tongue out at the guard and he pulled his gun to holster it. You walked towards the glass box that was Yunho's office. The door snapped behind you with a whoosh. The glass tinted so that no one could see inside. Interesting.

"What's up, choom?" You said, not showing a hint of your worries. You planted your ass on the crescent shaped couch and crossed your hands behind your back.

Yunho approached the low coffee table in front of you. His broad shoulders filled out his orange and black leather jacket well. “When did you get the new ink?” Yunho motioned with his chin.

You looked down and saw a dragon on your hip. Odd. When did that get there? It didn’t fit the genre at all, it was a dragon from an old fairy tale novel illustration. Did you have another tattoo? Upon further inspection, you also had a switchblade on your shoulder. Both were clearly souvenirs from Yeosang and Wooyoung but… why? It couldn't be that they simply wanted you to remember them by tattoos you had not agreed upon. You figured you’d ask Seonghwa when you got back.

To answer Yunho though, you shrugged. “I gotta pass it by Daddy first?”

Yunho’s eyes darkened and narrowed them at you. “Are you giving me lip, little girl?”

You scoffed at the term. “A little girl that could slice you in half maybe.”

Yunho strode around the table, brought back his hand and slapped you, one of his rings scratching your chin as it hit. “Bitch? Are you saying you could take me on?”

"Yunho, Yunho, Yunho," You shook your head. "There's a reason you keep calling me to do all your dirty work. Because I get shit done."

"I give you the dirty work jobs because you're trash," Yunho corrected you.

You smiled and it was dangerous. "Careful. Those are fighting words."

"Not fighting words if they're true."

Your Sandevistan, the operating system that allowed you to move faster than the human eye could observe, kicked in and within milliseconds, you were on top of Yunho on the floor, your Mantis Blade at Yunho's neck. "I may be trash but I could still kill you, Yuyu," You crooned perilously. 

Yunho swallowed but even that motion put his adam's apple in danger, flirting with your blade. "You didn't tell me you got a Sandevistan."

"I don't tell my fixer everything in case he wants to take advantage of me." Your free hand started to absentmindedly play with the chains around his neck. "Now, how are you going to repay me for this?"

"This?" Yunho squeaked.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. "I charge for my services; had to use my Sandevistan to show you who's really boss, didn't I? How much to let you go free too?"

Yunho scowled. "I don't--"

You ran the tip of your blade along Yunho’s face, the threat there. Yunho whimpered and you cackled. "Big talk for a big man-" You moved your body back and your lower half encountered something long blocking your way.

You cocked an eyebrow at him. "Yunho--"

"Don't," he said in a clipped tone. "Just pretend you didn't--"

You grinned evilly. "Your price just went up."

"Orchid, listen." Yunho was starting to sweat. "We have a decent work relationship. I'd like to keep it that way. Can't we just forgive the insults?"

"Or…" You slowly reclined your Mantis Blade built into your arm, folding it back in place. "...you could repay me in a different way. Do you have a Mr. Studd upgrade?"

Yunho's ears began to get red. "...yes."

"Give me an hour of your time, I think that would make us even."

Yunho looked so confused it was borderline adorable. “You… you sure?”

“Whatever you would have paid me as compensation would have gone towards some time at a dollhouse anyways, so why not, Yuyu?” You chirped.

Yunho nodded curtly. “Done.”

The Mr. Studd upgrade you were talking about was essentially an upgrade/sexual organ replacement. It ensured that the one using the upgrade lasted for hours, which is why it was standardly an upgrade a Doll, or whore, had. Why Yunho had it, you didn’t know, but you didn’t care at this point. It also meant that his dick was chrome colored, which was a bonus. 

You remained straddling Yunho on the floor but Yunho sat up, his upper body now vertical, holding himself up by his arms, palms flat on the concrete floor. You were cradling his head to your chest as he sucked on your tits. His eyes had widened upon seeing your nipples had been replaced with a cosmetic upgrade, making them a sea-foam green color. You continued to dominate your boss, having discovered that he also had a Mommy kink.

You couldn't help but coo at Yunho some more, his eyes were big as his lips were wrapped around your nipple. “That’s a good baby, sucking Mommy’s tits just the way she likes it.” Yunho whined against your breast. “Does my little one have something to say?”

Yunho popped off your nipple, leaving a string of saliva connecting from his tongue to your nipple. “Orch--Mommy.” You waited patiently for Yunho to say what he wanted to say. “Can I have your cunt now?”

If Yunho absolutely drooling over your tits wasn’t enough to make you sopping wet, that sentence certainly did the trick. “Do you think you earned it, little one?”

Yunho nodded quickly. “Please, can I have Mommy’s pretty pink cunt now?”

You sighed dramatically. “I guess you deserve it for sucking on Mommy’s titties so well.”

Yunho let out a comfortable sigh once you sunk down on his chrome dick. “Mommy feels so good around me.”

“Yeah, does Mommy squeeze you just right, Baby?” You started to move up and down his cock, making sure to clench when you had just the head of his dick inside of you and then pushed him back inside again.

Yunho moaned, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. You had no idea the straight faced, extremely tall fixer was such a sucker to be a sub for someone. You might have offered it earlier had you known. “More, please, Mommy, more!”

It’s not long before you have Yunho creaming between your thighs. He comes with a gruff cry but you hadn't found your high yet. But thanks to his Mr. Studd upgrade, that wasn’t a problem. You continued to fuck yourself on Yunho’s chrome dick, even after Yunho’s long drawn out moan faded from his lips. 

“Be a good baby and play with Mommy’s clit, hmm?” You encouraged him. You leaned back, hands on Yunho’s thighs to brace yourself, and started to fuck him that way. 

Yunho’s lips puckered like he wanted your tits back in his mouth but his eyes were on your clit. “Wanna suck on Mommy’s pretty clit, please,” He whined.

“Here, Baby.” You grabbed one of Yunho’s hands, which were large for a fixer’s, and sucked on his thumb, gathering your saliva along the digit before guiding Yunho to rub his thumb mercilessly along your swollen clit. “Right there, just like that,” You hissed, “You can suck Mommy’s clit another time, maybe when you’ve been a bad little one.”

“You’d sit on my face? Please?” Yunho looked eager and cute all over again.

You cupped Yunho’s face so that his cheeks were pushed together. “Stop being so cute and focus on the here and now, Yuyu.”

Yunho frowned, fucking up into your pussy with his chrome dick and flicked your clit until you came with a loud shout, thighs shuddering as your orgasm ripped through you. You panted and waited for your cunt to stop fluttering around Yunho and then asked him how long before he could go for his second round.

The second round included you degrading Yunho, as per his request. The harsher you were, the more he throbbed inside of you. He cried fat tears for you when he came the second time, proving to his Mommy that his dick was good enough and big enough to come inside a second time. You licked away his tears, having come only moments before him.

The third round you found that Yunho liked his nipples played with, to the point of overstimulation, to which he buried himself deep inside of you to come, nudging your uterus and making you come just as hard. By then, the two of you were clinging to each other, sweaty and exhausted but plenty satisfied. The only problem now was…

“What are we going to do with all this sticky cum, little one?” You mused, looking down at your pussy, which had his cum literally dripping out of you.

“Le-leave it there?” Yunho stuttered, his ears heating up again.

You cocked your head curiously at Yunho. “But Mommy wants to clean up, baby.”

“I…” Yunho opened his mouth and then closed it.

“Yuyu, after what we just did, there isn’t much to be embarrassed about,” You brought up.

Yuyu nodded his head but couldn't meet your eyes. “It’s dirty though.”

That made your proverbial ears perk up. “What’s dirty?”

“I want to eat my cum from your pussy, Mommy.”

"You're awfully greedy for my cunt, Yuyu," You couldn't help but tease him.

Yunho pouted. "Please. Mommy."

"I think you're past your hour," You mentioned.

Yunho clung to you harder. "I…I need this. Please."

Whatever constant state of control fixer Yunho was in, this seemed to be his safe place to let loose. You yourself had felt the tension leave his body, as he came and came and came inside of you. Perhaps you could come to some type of arrangement after the jobs he set you up on…

"Okay, baby, you can clean up my cunt with your tongue," You agreed, "But it's going to cost you."

Yunho was nodding, lifting you off his cock already, fully capable of setting you down on the ground and wrapping his arms around your thighs. "Thank you, Mommy," he said, almost like thanking you for his meal.

When Yunho's guard walked in to say that he had a visitor, Yunho was so pussy drunk that he never even responded. You looked at the guard, upside down with your head cast back because Yunho was working your cunt with his tongue quite well and said, "He's busy."

You couldn't believe when Yunho coaxed your fourth orgasm from your body but when your body stopped shuddering and you looked at your fixer between your legs, it was clear that this was exactly what Yunho should be doing for you.

Wait--

Shouldn't Yunho be giving you… something else?

Yunho smiled at you, his chin and cheeks covered in a mixture of his saliva, his cum and yours and you felt your brain stutter. "I did good, Mommy?"

"Course, Baby, you did brilliantly." You ruffled Yunho's hair.

"Maybe…maybe you could stay the night? I don't have anymore jobs for you and I--"

Whatever else Yunho was saying faded out as your brain once again attempted to tell you that you couldn't stay the night. You had somewhere to go. Did you, though? Couldn't you just stay here with Yunho?

"Orchid? Are you okay? Do you need a stim? I've got a few around here."

You watched as Yunho looked around his room, his leather jacket hanging off one arm absentmindedly. He really did look like a lost boy.

Wasn't he just like the others? The others?

You shook your head and rubbed your eyes. What the fuck was going on?

"Yun…I think someone is hacking me. I feel--weird."

Yunho stopped looking for the stims and sighed. "I almost thought I had you there."

The air tensed, warping and stretching and suddenly it snapped and you were back in the Science Fiction Section. Yunho had an arm already stretched out to pull his book out. Inside was a chip, the same that you had put into your slot in the book to absorb the information of the cyberpunk world and your job. 

Gone were Yunho's mixture of neon and baggy cyberpunk clothes. Instead, he was in a black button down, tight black pants, with a shoulder rig and a thigh harness. "Would it have been so bad to stay with me?"

You pursed your lips. "Yes, actually. I have someone else waiting for me."

Yunho, baby boy Yunho, was peeking out. "What's he going to say when he finds out you've fucked all us demons to get to him?"

Your dead lover's curling grin flashed through your mind and you felt your heart contract in pain. "He'd probably say he missed out on all the fun."

"I'll only give this to you if you give me a goodbye kiss, Mommy," Yunho said with a sneaky grin.

You rolled your eyes. "A bit demanding for a baby boy, aren't you?" You couldn't help but slip back into that role for a second. 

"What's one more kiss?" Yunho still challenged you.

You sighed and got up from the floor. You stretched up on your tippy toes and place a kiss on Yunho's lips. He sighed happily against your lips and slipped the chip key into your hands. "Miss me a little, okay, Mommy?"

Your head felt fuzzy from the mindfuck you were currently going through. Surely living so many lives so quickly wasn't healthy for you. Were you even going to make it through this? No, you couldn't think that way. You had only one purpose in your life now, and that was to bring your dead lover back with the use of the artifact. If you didn't have that, you had nothing. 

Seonghwa was humming under his breath and swaying in his chair when you approached the desk this time. He brightened slightly upon seeing you walk up to his desk. "Have something for me?"

You frowned at him. "Excuse me? Who are you and what have you done with the Keeper of the Keys?"

Seonghwa's smile widened. Did he… did he like when you talked down to him? "I talked with Yeosang. Seems like you've been treating us quite well, actually."

"Actually?" You raised an eyebrow at him.

Seonghwa's face turned stormy. "Not all travelers do their best to play the game. Most demand we simply give the keys to them. Hence my--" Seonghwa cleared his throat, "--my bad attitude towards your kind. We are simply demons doing our job, after all."

"Well, you've got me there, I guess. You guys are just cogs in the machine too, huh?"

Seonghwa looked at you eagerly. "Where did you go this time? What do you have for me?"

It was still a little weird that Seonghwa was now eager to see you but you handed him the chip key nonetheless. "Yunho."

Seonghwa's eyes began to have a shaky quality to them, almost like he was nervous. "Did you, uh, have any trouble with Yunho?" He scurried behind his desk and added your third key to your collection in the display case.

"Actually!" You inspected your body and not only found the dragon and switchblade tattoo but a new one was on your body now, after Yunho. You could feel the raised edges on your neck, near your chin. "Do I have something here?"

Seonghwa titled his head to look at where you pointed. "Is that a motorbike?"

"Interesting…" You began to nibble on your thumbnail. You only knew about getting the keys from the guardians, what was this tattoo thing about? "Do you know anything about these tattoos?"

Seonghwa rubbed the back of his neck. "You didn't come in with those?"

Was Yunho hinting towards something earlier? Did the demons not know anything beyond their jobs? What truly was this place?

You were halfway through your haul of keys. You only had three more to go but that didn't make you feel any more confident. You thought perhaps as you progressed, you would have a better understanding of this whole ordeal but as it turned out, you were getting more questions than answers. 

"Don't miss me while I'm gone, Seonghwa," You joked, "Maybe have some cookies when I come back. Chocolate chip is fine."

You left Seonghwa whining about getting his hands on freshly baked cookies and perused the sections that were left. A lilting song played by an instrument long forgotten poured from the section you had stopped at and your shoe sunk through a pile of sand. The sign above your head was made of stone and runes crossed over it. You blinked and the hieroglyphics quickly translated to the History Section. You had several times in history you loved but nothing came close to your obsession with Egypt. Maybe you'd be in luck and forge your own fate this time.

Tag list: @yoonguurt  @hijirikaww  @flowerboykun  @starillusion13  @flurrys-creativity  @kitten4sannie  @a-soft-hornytiny

Library staff: @kwanisms  @smallfrye  @anyamaris  @stardragongalaxy  @kpop-stories-21

↫The Fantasy Section ↭ MasterList ↭ The History Section↬

#cultofdionysusnet #library of illusion event #kvanity #pirateeznet #kwritersworldnet #ateez smut #jeong yunho smut #atz smut #yunho smut #yunho x readerr #topaz's work #ღatz

[reaperlight]

More Symbrock divorce arc

[*More Cletus and Frances trying to comfort Eddie, key word "trying"*]

Frances: Repeat after me, "I am strong, independent, and don't need no symbiote."

Eddie: I am-- [*breaks up for a fresh round of sobbing*]

Frances: Eddie...

Cletus: Stop crying because it's over. Start smiling because Venom is someone else's problem now.

Carnage: ...I'm not a problem am I?

Cletus: Uh...

Frances: No sweetie, you're a perfect angel. It wasn't your fault my shriek hurt you. We know you're gonna do better now, right?

Carnage: Yes, my Lady.

Cletus: Good job, buddy!

Carnage: *Preening at the praise, as the humans are gently petting their tentacles*

Eddie: What if... Venom could do better too?

Frances: Then he needs to decide he wants to do better. You can't do that work for him.

Eddie: But if I apologize--

Cletus: Eddie... buddy.... all you asked is that he control himself, not be so selfish, and tone down the murder. That's a completely reasonable request.

Frances: You just were trying to keep him from getting stuck in a lab. You have nothing to apologize for. He needs to apologize to you.

Cletus: Hell he should know this--didn't you say you guys met in a lab?

Eddie, [tearing up again while remembering the good times of biting off mercenary heads together]: Y-yeah.

Carnage: See? He's just being an idiot.

Eddie: Hey... that's still my idiot--

#i will survive #venom #venom let there be carnage #symbrock divorce arc #shriekingcarnage+eddie #shriekingcarnage #eddie brock #cletus kasady #frances barrison #carnage #shriek #carnage symbiote #venom symbiote #symbrock #wips #ficlet #fanfic #incorrect quotes #incorrect venom quotes #my writing #meme prompts #fanfiction

[hawkbutt]

Don't they know it's the end of the world?

Fallout/911 Mash up Top: Brotherhood of Steel - Knight Eddie Diaz Bottom: BoS Knight turned Mercenary

#911 fanart #fan art #911 show #911 fan art #fallout #fallout show #fallout 4 #fallout/911 #fallout 911 mashup #kenna attempts to draw #eddie diaz #eddie diaz fanart #tw: gun use #tw: blood