#JUST LIKE HOW YOU GUTTED MY CHAINSAW FOR BEING 'TOO STRONG' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pierrotsmoon · 1 year

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Dorm leaders with a s/o who loves horror movies

(and other creepy media)

Jumping back into it! Might be a little rusty :)

Warnings- horror movie discussion, slight fem implication but not really, fluff, cheesiness, a lil OOC but nothing extreme, author is so tired rn just pretend we can show them media from our world for my sake plz

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is a little afraid of horror movies

His mother had never allowed him to watch anything over pg-13, so he’s really unaware of the wonders of horror media

You probably start him off with scarier kids movies, like Coraline

He’s really freaked out by the opening scene

(Probably deeply relates the other mother to his own)

If you get him into more objectively terrifying movies, like (one of my favs) Texas Chainsaw Massacre, he’ll try to distract himself by holding on to you, and talking about the camerawork, the artistic value and all that

He will sit with you on the couch, hands covering his eyes, peeking out slightly

Doesn’t love overt guts and all that, but probably enjoys the more subtle, unnerving horror, that’s what really freaks him out

Considers you to be extremely brave, probably brags to the other dorm leaders about you

“I’m not afraid! This is just distasteful!”

Leona Kingscholar

He also probably enjoys horror movies, but when he watches them with you, he feels the need to prove himself a little

Loves cheesy slasher flicks, especially if you both sit there and make fun of them together

Adores watching B horror movies with you, the worse the movie, the more fun you both have

Hates the tropes involving women in those types of films, thinks its super disrespectful to assume girls are stupid enough to just open the door for the killer

*Cue eye roll*

One of those people who either falls asleep mid movie, or talks through it with you, either way it's pretty fun

Adores the more old school horror, like 1931’s Dracula and creepy comedy, like The Addams Family

People tend to characterize him as a lazy brute, but he’s also a royal, so he probably grew up appreciating some art and vintage media, so I think he’d appreciate black and white movies

(he’d rather die than admit it, but he definitely feels all mushy inside watching the Addams Family)

He also probably gets mildly disturbed during build up scenes, jumpscares and all that, but it’s usually just because of his heightened beastman senses

“Of course it didn’t jump, stop being ridiculous.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Hes terrified, I’ll just leave that there

Jkjk I could never leave out my favorite fishman

He’s horrified during practically any part of the movie, but especially during the big finale scene (think Scream)

However big is fear is, his need to prove himself as a big strong manly man is even bigger, so he’ll act like he’s not scared at all

He;s really bad at it tho, so expect to literally have him on your lap by the credits

He definitely sticks to the less scary movies, like The Boy which just sort of unnerved him more than anything

If you’re like, a super horror buff, he’ll stick around as best as he can

He wants to encourage your interests!

Pro tip: invite the twins to come around for a big movie night, they’ll be cracking jokes throughout while Azul looks like he’s about to combust

“Jade! Floyd! Stop laughing or I’ll cut your salary!”

Kalim Al-Asim

You'd think he’s gonna be scared don’t you?

This man fears nothing on a screen, literally

Honestly he probably is a bigger fan of analogue horror than anything

Loves Mandela Catalogue

He enjoys the fresh, new format that it provides, probably because of how easily bored he gets

Literally sits through everything with a calm-to-happy expression

Every time a new flick catches your attention, he’ll get tickets

If you’re a buff who gets scared easily (Me too!) he’ll be sure to tease you about it

Lots of hugs during movies

Another one who jokes about cheesy jumpscares, somehow never even the slightest bit startled

“What's so scary? You wanna see something terrifying, look at Jamil when he realizes I’m throwing another banquet!”

Vil Shoenheit

Tbh he’s probably acted in horror movies

As the aforementioned horror

Thinks a lot of them are distasteful

Probably because he’s scared (jk)

Has his arm around your shoulder during the whole movie, its for his sake, but you're not complaining

Loveloveloves discussing the practical effects and prosthetics with you

Unrealistic fake blood bores him severely

Another fan of cheap B horror movies, just for the makeup

You’ve never heard him laugh harder then during some sloppy CGI scene

Literally tears in his eyes

“T-the Hair- oh my Goddess Liebling, look at his HAIR!”

Idia Shroud

Horror?

He’s in heaven!

Idia is a BIG fan of horror media, primarily horror manga and anime

If you want to win him over for life, introduce him to the work of Junji Ito

His favorite Junji Ito manga is his rendition of Frankenstein

Deeply personal, also he’s mildly terrified of the hubris of man

The both of you sit in your own little blanket cocoons (unless you wanna share one…) and watch horror movies in his room

Deeply analyzes horror movies with psychological aspects, it's one of his favorite things to do!

If it's a little late at night, you’ll notice his eyes flit around the room, just keeping watch

Slasher flicks are some of his fav non-anime horror, the tropes keep him excited

“I knew it! I-I mean it was easy enough to figure out, if you check out the context clues and-”

Malleus Draconia

Hm?

He’s extremely inexperienced when it comes to modern media, and horror is completely foreign to him

Malleus probably asked why humans like scaring themselves so much, it seems silly to him

He is open to the idea of watching these films with you, as long as you are happy, he is

Probably enjoys horror comedies most of all, the morbid humor is enjoyable to him

Watching horror movies with Malleus will always include big bowls of ice cream, warm pajamas, and plenty of questions

Lover of horror movies that discuss more mundane human life, because it is so foreign to him

Like Black Christmas 1974

He thinks you are a confusing little human, for enjoying looking at things that terrify and mortify yourself and others

And he wouldn’t want you any other way

“Child of man, what is so horrifying about this movie exactly?”

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Thank you for reading! This is a new acc, but i'll probs repost this on Ao3, also, Vil with German nicknames is so

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abysswalkerastraea1 · 9 months

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The merchant/female reader smut

You don't know how you outran the chainsaw man, but you did, and now your nerves were alight with adrenaline and panic. Running from one terrifying man and into another, you couldn't quite yet tell if this merchant of sorts was going to hurt you or help you. Either way, having your face shoved into the table and a firm grip on your hips from behind wasn't the plan, but you weren't complaining. You were too delirious for that.

size kink

gun kink

on my a03 under name 'exhiliration'

Two policemen and a stoic looking man drove past you on a barren road surrounded by trees and dust, stopping in what looked like an opportunity to help you, though you knew this wasn't the case when the only thing one officer had to say was that your choice of vacation was poor.

Judging by the way bodies seemed to be littered in the thick bushes or hanging from trees, you agreed.

The stoic man, Leon, you eventually found out further on into your journey, was seeking the presidents daughter. Every sentient being seemed to question your motives, and bizarrely you didn't have one.

You weren't here to save the presidents daughter, nor help the town in anyway.

Your luck was disastrously awful to have strayed very, very far from your path, venturing instead to some remote Spanish Town in the middle of no where.

Its imperative that you get out, you thought. Your mind screamed at you for an escape here and now, but you knew that wasn't possible. Remaining calm was all you could do, navigating discreetly through the hordes of Ganados.

You were shaking, blunt knife in hand and held high wherever you went. Your small stature and silent nature allowed you to navigate relatively unharmed, fingers bleeding from the amount of times you'd climb roofs or walls to avoid the main paths the Ganados took.

That is, until a stray man with a chainsaw and eyes bulging out of the sack on his head began screaming and hunting you down.

You didnt even think, only tripped and ran as fast as possible, chest heaving and gasps coming out in pained exhales, throat feeling like it was on fire. There was a door up ahead, and although risky to simply barge through, anything was safer than a terrifying chainsaw man fast approaching.

Tumbling through the door roughly, you had to barely catch yourself from collapsing as you studied the room like a hawk before moving to a large crate in the very back. This was your only chance, and the door you just ran though began shaking, hinges squeaking and screeching disturbingly as the madman outside was in such a fit of rage that he attempted to force the door off its metal hinges before he got to you.

Shaking and whimpering, you knew there was no hope that a single, wooden crate would stop his wrath. There had to be another way, some sort of escape.

Glancing around in circles desperately, your mind whirled in a state of unbearable panic as you darted further into the room for an answer to your prayers, anything to just --

Your breath was knocked out of you as you barrelled into something large and heavy, mind fighting to keep up with the state of your panicked, flailing body as you automatically fought against whatever you fell into. Exhaling rapidly, your wide and frenzied eyes gazed up, and up some more, at what appeared to be a heavily robed individual, piercing yellow eyes tinged red and face entirely covered other than the eyes.

You couldn't even breathe anymore. You had just ran into an even bigger madman than the one hunting you with a chainsaw, this individual evidently male and strong and terrifyingly powerful no doubt compared to you, and the only sound that tore through you was a rapid, pained inhale before the most gut wrenching screech came out of your horrified body.

You couldn't even stop it, body going absolutely haywire as the parasite-infected man grabbed you by the forearms and shook you firmly at first, soon becoming rougher and more desperate and you had no idea why--

''Get off!'', you shrieked, brandishing your pathetic excuse for a knife before going in for a killer shot to the ribs.

With the way your hands were already shaking, it came as no surprise that the male was able to swiftly secure his hand around your wrist before squeezing tightly, the sound of your knife clattering permeating the room alongside your horrific screaming.

Kicking the man in the shin hard, you ripped yourself out of his clutches and made for the door. Hand outstretching desperately for the handle, you wailed in distress as a large body secured itself around your back, one arm wrenching itself around your midsection and over your limp arms, while the other raised to force a hand over your mouth, muffling your cries.

You struggled, body moving left and right, but the man behind you felt like a wall. Eyes wide, you fell limp in his arms after struggling to the point of bruising yourself, tears cascading down your cheeks and blurring your vision.

Thats when you heard it, a voice. Suddenly, the blood pounding in your ears disappeared enough to hear the muffling of--

''I can't let you go until you calm yourself, darling.'' A heavily accented voice spoke from behind you, hand still firm as ever over your mouth as you breathed heavily through your nose. The presence at your back loomed above you like a dark shadow, unmoveable and stubborn.

Whimpering, your eyes crinkled as more tears fell, and you physically flinched as you felt the large hand over your mouth move its thumb to brush away the tears gently. ''Come, now'', the strange man shushed, the sentiment sounding odd in his rough accent. ''I'll let you go if you promise not to scream; Swear on it, honest.'' His hand slowly loosened, and eventually you found the courage to nod slowly until his form left yours and you were granted freedom.

Standing hunched in on yourself, you turned clumsily so you faced the man, stumbling over your own two feet and barely managing to hold yourself still, probably due to the adrenaline fading, leaving you a weakened mess. You stared at his chest, down to his feet, fearful of gazing into those eyes you swore were red. ''Odd way to meet, stranger.'' The man mused, and from your peripheral you could see the way his head declined somewhat and tilted in an attempt to seek out your own.

There was a temporary silence as you felt his gaze upon you, your feet shuffling away slowly. His own feet approached you upon every backstep you took. You inhaled shakily at this, eyes firmly upon the ground as you discreetly searched for any nearby weapons. You caught sight of a knife not too far from your foot, shrouded in the shadow of a nearby crate. ''Didn't mean to startle you,'' he placated almost guiltily, ''Couldn't have those demented bastards running loose in my shop, though. You understand, surely.''

Chancing a slow glance to your surroundings, you noticed that the room was entirely stacked with ammo, knives, guns and first aid. In the corner sat a peculiar, blue fire, flickering languidly without a care in the world. Your upwards glance allowed the surprisingly swift man to edge more into your vision and duck a tad to stare you in the eyes.

Your own were still wide, tear stained and red rimmed, and finally peering at his slouching form made you realise that this man was making himself appear smaller in the hopes of intimidating you less, for his natural stance was tall and wide. You were small, you supposed. The only question, only utterance after all that had transpired--

''S-shop?'' you whispered, blinking over at the many different guns and assuring yourself that this was definitely a shop of some kind. A black market, perhaps.

''Mm,'' he affirmed with a casual hum, ''Got a few tucked away in places those Ganados would never go. Can't have them interfering with business, and all that.'' he brushed the subject off easily, as though this was entirely normal when it really, really fucking wasn't-

''And you're..'', you trailed off, crouching slowly with your eyes still upon him to grasp at the knife on the floor. Rising, you swallowed nervously. ''You're normal. Not--not ones of those freaks?''

The cloaked man watched your every move like a hawk, piercing eyes honing in on your every action. His gaze held some peculiar type of apathy, black eyebrows perpetually neutral and bland. He didn't seem concerned with your offensive stance. ''Not really normal, but as far as parasites are concerned, you have nothing to worry about there.'' He wheezed a laugh, amused at himself, before his eyes fell to a standstill boredom once more. ''Nothing to fear.'', he affirmed more seriously, gaze flickering between your fearful but guarded eyes and the knife in your hand.

''You going to use that, stranger?'', He indicated with a nod to the weapon, taking a cautious step forwards. '' 'Cause I'd rather you didn't''.

Breathing unsteadily but far calmer than earlier, you took a soft step backwards. ''Haven't decided yet.''

''Mm, well, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that you should never act on something unless you're dead sure of the outcome and the.. Consequences.'' He almost hissed, but not in a malicious way. It was contemplative, soft, and once again did not suit the ruggedness of his accent.

''Sounded like a partial threat.'' You stated defensively, hands shaking as you backed up even more, slowly.

''No intention of threatening you, darling.'', he took a larger step forward, and yet you could not sense any malicious intent from him. Still, it shocked you a little, and before you knew it your back was against the wall. His boots thudded against the floor before he was four feet in front of you, looming above. Standing at his full height, your head inclined upwards and that fearful look appeared once more. ''But it's best to be certain of your actions before you go swinging that thing around.''

Before you could even respond, the man lunged forward and struck the knife from your hands. Jolting in fright, you yelped and cowered, shaking hands moving to cover your face. When his brutal strike never came, you peered up through the gaps in your fingers. You found him already staring down at you in contemplation. ''Might be an idea to brush up on your hand to hand combat and knife skills, stranger. I can make 'er sharp again, but she'd be useless if you couldn't wield 'er tidy."

Trembling fingers slowly dropping from your face, you stared up in bewilderment at the hooded mans tilted head, awaiting a response, and plastered yourself to the wall as his gloved hand reached into his robe and pulled out a large, terrifying knife.

"Now there's a knife, stranger. Course, this one's mine," he twirled it within his hand skillfully, "though I'm certain I've got a few beauties I could palm off. Throw in a discount, maybe, to make up for frightening you, miss." He chuckled low, golden eyes flashing like lightning in amusement, but also sincerity.

Then, in almost adoration, his gaze swept over the weapon in his hand, watching it twirl and dance with unconscious ease in his palm, before sheathing it somewhere beneath that mysterious robe once more.

Now with nothing to distract him, his intimidating gaze found yours. With you glued to the wall and attempting to keep as much distance between you as possible, the man barely moved, watching you, and it soon become a hardship to even see around his large, cloaked form.

It was peculiar; you couldn't tell if the bulk beneath his robes was simply his merchandise for selling, or partly his form. Still, he had proved himself bigger, stronger, and you doubt you could do much against that.

A shriek tore through you as the door began rattling and shaking wildly, no doubt something was throwing itself against it in sheer rage. You were a trembling mess, and sought the merchants gaze desperately, daring to even peel yourself from the wall and rush to his side.

"What is that? We need to leave, its going to break the door down--" your voice shook and broke, clutching at his arm and attempting to tug him towards a small window in the corner, but the man barely moved.

"Leave? Darling, look around you. Him out there's got more reason to be scared of us." He barked a laugh, indicating to the multiple weaponry and ammo stacked in the shop.

"T-then surely you can kill it!" You rushed to the end of the small room, towards his shop, and grabbed at whatever weapon you could find. Your hands swept across many guns that you couldn't name, until you tried lifting the biggest there, long and probably big enough to need to rest on your shoulder.

It was hard to lift, but in your panicked state you grabbed it anyway, until a pair of arms seemed to appear from behind you, gripping it skillfully before dropping it back to the table. "Stranger that's a mighty weapon," he appraised, gently nudging you away from the weapons.

Realising your proximity, you spun around, staring up at the man whose eyes crinkled with a hidden grin. "But I think you're getting a bit big for your boots there, miss. Not one to judge, but perhaps that particular weapon is on the..", he paused, eyes alight with amusement, "larger side."

You don't know why - and it was entirely inappropriate - but your face heated. Glancing away, your eyes remained honed on the door. "We don't have time for this. You're the weapons master, couldn't you just kill whatever the fuck is out there?" Your voice wavered desperately, seeking out his gaze once more.

"Surely I could." He replied casually, completely unafraid.

"Then please--"

"Calm yourself, miss. Nows a better time than any to try your hand at a weapon." The man began rummaging through his collection upon the table, mumbling to himself. Then, swiftly, he began to open his robe, displaying even more weapons and showcasing his muscled thighs and leather boots.

You blinked rapidly. You felt terrified, attracted and wanting to cry all at once due to this madman. "I don't know how!" You huffed, huddling behind him as the door rattled and Spanish profanities were muffled behind it. "Please, help-"

The merchant shook his head stubbornly. "Not one to deny a lady many things, but just this once, I will. Got a keen eye for spotting hidden talents", he chuckled deep, gripping your smaller hand and slotting an SMG into it, and carefully gripping your other hand to hold it more securely.

Your eyes littered with tears at the utter confusion, anger, bewilderment you felt - and yet the man spoke on and on about guns all the while the door was almost broken off its hinges, red eyes staring through the broken wood at you.

"Try this one out. As a virgin handler, might scare you a bit, which is why I've given you my smallest one. But I've upgraded 'er to hold a God fearing amount of bullets. You want to tear through a village? She's the one for you." He cackled, unperturbed by the death surely awaiting them, and instead moved behind your smaller stature and leaned over you, hands adjusting themselves over your own upon the gun and putting your hands into position.

His deep voice was heavy in your ears, and you felt such a mixture of pure terror and many other things that you felt your head might explode. "I've got you." He spoke low enough for you to hear, and not for the madmen about to break in and rip you to shreds. "Aim and shoot, that's all. I'm here, darling, and I've got a feeling you're going to do a fine job."

One of the ganados had managed to break part of the door, arm flinging through and flailing wildly. Without warning, the merchants finger rested over your own and shot. A single bullet flew and sunk into the ganados wrist, blood splattering the door and half his wrist barely dangling with bone and muscle.

You gasped, hands shaking so badly you would've dropped the weapon if not for the mans firm hold over you. You felt sick, but the merchant murmured encouraging things into your ear and pressed your finger down for a more extended period, bullets spraying out rapidly and tearing through the ganados body until it fell backwards, unmoving, making way for the next ganado.

"There we go, one down!" He cheered madly, though you found it put you off the sight of blood and you began to feel something close to achievement.

You didn't even feel the merchants finger leave your own, and you shot the gun all by yourself, bullets leathering the target and making you gasp out a mixture of a scream and a laugh all at once, his hands steadily helping you aim as you shot the ganado in the head, neck, shoulder - until he dropped, and you felt a sick sort of elation like a mad woman.

"Well done, stranger!" He boomed in your ear, in a peculiar awestruck way, and you felt warm at his praise and the feeling of his body against yours and the power this weapon made you feel.

Restraining a laugh that built up in your throat, you felt the merchants hands leave your own and rest upon your shoulders. Barely thinking, you took aim on your own and shot. The bullet broke through the door, missing your target who was desperately trying to bash the hole in the door down. "Oo, close! Better hurry stranger, looks like he's on his way in!"

You breathed shakily, taking aim once more before firing once, hitting the ganado in the stomach. The merchant praised you once more, and your breath hitched at the feeling of his deep voice in your ear. You don't know if he noticed, but the feeling of his thick hands trailing from your shoulders to your waist had you leaning into him.

With a bizarre feeling of joy and elated vengeance on these ganado, you fired repeatedly at the body now beginning to mangle and flail, ignoring the gore and targeting the next, and the next, laughter rising in your throat once more as the merchant cheered wholeheartedly.

"Double kill! You've got a hidden talent in those delicate hands of yours, darling." You could hear the smirk, feel his golden eyes staring into you, and tinged pink like a maniac as you cut through the last few enemies before they dropped to the ground, silent.

You were trembling in both fear and delight. You felt sick at your joy, but also so elated that it almost felt pleasurable having this man whisper encouragement in your ear, guiding your hands, knowing you were safe if you messed up.

You were so lost in your thoughts, in your adrenaline, that you didn't lower your weapon, still aimed at nothing until the males firm hands left your waist and gripped the gun gently from your hands. "A very well done to you, stranger. Must admit, I liked what I saw." His chuckle felt hot against your skin even through the bandana covering his lower face.

You turned in his grip, staring up at him with wide eyes, hand moving to cover your own gaping mouth.

"For that performance, I'm more than happy to let you keep 'er. Makes my heart sing when a weapon falls into the right hands." His gloved palm rubbed down your arm, eyes alight with something, before it rose once more to push your wild hair behind your ear. Your eyes sparkled up at him, a tumultuous concoction of downright nausea at the blood and gore pooling behind you, and yet euphoric satisfaction of surviving, killing those parasitic bastards, feeling so utterly powerful with the merchant at your back, proudly cheering you on.

Something must have became transparent in your features, for the merchant eyed you knowingly. "Everything alright, miss? You seem..", he tilted his head, gloved hand tilting your chin up, "at a loss for words."

You nodded dumbly up at him, hand resting over his that now lay upon your cheek. "I-i feel..", you stammered, heart hammering, pressing against the bulk of his front.

"Exhilarated?" He finished lowly, playing with a lock of hair between rough fingers, eyes crinkling.

You felt something deep heat up within you. This was so wrong, so inappropriate and dirty but-

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

The feeling was indescribable in your already blood crazed state and euphoria. Heat bloomed in your centre, cheeks alight with scarlet as your mouth hung open in constant pleasure.

You don't know how it started or who made the first move. You remember the big, tall, towering and peculiarly attractive so called merchant staring down at you with golden eyes that could light you ablaze, even with his being shadowed in robes.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the proximity of this man, or even the fact that you've somehow survived and thus a celebration of life is required, but you had somehow ended up in his bulky arms, free of the oversized robe but with still far too much clothing covering him.

And the mass beneath the robes was certainly something to behold. In your hazy mind, you thought the simple word of strong best suited him. It was surprising, how swiftly the man could lift your whole body up and against his being.

You both acted with haste, you especially, and you briefly remember the flashes of heat spreading through you as the hooded male behind you pinned you to one of his tables littered with bullets and magazines, watching in hunger as you reached down to desperately unbuckle your belt and shimmy your jeans down.

That was as far as you got, you remember. The merchants gloved hands stroked down your thighs, splaying across the thickness of them, before pushing one outwards, spreading them as far as possible with your constricting jeans.

You were heaving, a wanton mess already, mortified to feel the heat and slick that had gathered so suddenly. "My, my.." the male mused in wonderment, removing a glove slowly before smoothing along your spread thighs. His trail tingled your flesh, desperate as your hips inclined. "Blowing the brains out of them ganados made you hot and bothered?" He chuckled breathlessly, in disbelief almost, before his expert hands moved to caress your slick folds.

"My kind of woman.", you moaned at his actions, his voice and words, and gripped his arm tightly at the hot intrusion of his rough fingers spreading you.

Breaking out of your thoughts, the merchant had soon seen your enjoyment for his rough handling, seemingly by accident, and had happily grabbed you all over after witnessing your hot cheeks and the girlish fluttering of your eyes, holding you like a toy, manhandling you.

Now, you found yourself on hands and knees, jeans still hanging around your thighs as your core dripped and your slit opened and welcomed the sinful intrusion of his thick girth, two strong hands on your hips as your face hit the table full of ammo, mouth agape in a long, keening moan.

"Oh, oh-" you chanted, your insides full and pulsing with need as the grip on your hips tightened and his cock surged forward, burying into you filthily, over and over.

"This is--Oh, god, its--" you trailed off, eyes hooded in pleasure and knuckles turning white as you gripped the table and took everything, the lewd sound of your slickness permeating the air, his length slamming into you and spreading you open.

"Glad to be of service, sweetheart.", the merchant chuckled, sounding somehow strained but far more composed than you and your keening sounds.

You can't remember the last time you had a man, and after such a long time you couldn't help but adore the stretch and heat everytime he withdrew only to pummel into you once more, snugly hitting your cervix and jostling your body forward on the table.

The sounds of bullets rolling around the table and hitting the floor rung out in the room, and your eyes suddenly darted to the broken down door, wide open, bodies littering the floor, panicked. "Wait, what if someone - Ah - what if someone-", you couldn't finish your sentence, for each time you tried to he took that moment to thrust into you even deeper, pushing you down hard into the table and delighting in your flustered mewls.

Your voice sounded pathetic and you knew it, the pleasant sound of that deep chuckle behind you spiking an embarrassed warmth across your body.

Then you felt something cold within your hands, a large palm shutting your hand tightly. "You know what to do should that happen."

It was the SMG from earlier, your hand clutching it and somehow the danger of this weapon, the power now granted to you, made you flush hotter than ever, dizzy on arousal for the man behind you.

Gnawing at your lip, you gazed over your shoulder at him, eyes lidded, and raked your eyes across him languidly, greedily. The towering man seemed to take notice, hands returning to your hips and tightening, golden eyes upon you as you clutched the handle of the gun tightly and stifled a moan through the teeth clenched upon your lip.

A sudden hard thrust broke your restraint, mouth agape, gasping, your free hand moving back on its own accord to grip tightly at the hands holding your hips. They were rough hands, marred with scars and callouses, encasing your hips so easily, so strongly, hips gliding into your slick heat with need.

He was girthy and long, splitting you open shamelessly, groaning low and contrasting symphonically with your high pitched, keening whines and cries. Your voice became strangled, jaw aching against the wooden table and knees quivering, barely holding yourself up.

''You're shaking, sweetheart.'', he commented smugly, almost in disbelief but not quite. Gripping your tangled hair, he gently nudged your head to the side so your cheek was flat against the table and he could gaze upon the side of your face, flushed and dazed. You knew that with your mouth in a constant state of moaning, you were drooling ever so slightly.

''Aww, darling.'', he cooed, and out of all the things he had done so far, that condescending tone of voice was the one thing that made you turn truly scarlet and whine incoherently, your stomach fluttering with arousal. Chuckling, you felt him grip your waist before flipping you over, sitting you atop the table.

You suddenly found yourself in his bulky arms, long strides taking you across the room to push you up against the wall. Your breath hitched, delirious for him, lip gnawed in anticipation as those acidic yellow eyes burned through you in a torturous amusement, eyes crinkling, head tilting inquisitively at the way you cried out at his sudden intrusion, mocking you silently. It was clear that he knew you enjoyed it, his teasing of your fucked out state - bizarrely - and could only weakly grip his thick biceps as the man began fucking up into you with increased fervour.

''Oh!'', you cried consistently, barely able to gasp in air before it was being pushed out of you swiftly.

The merchant gripped a fistful of hair, wrenching your head back. ''So greedy, stranger. So sinful, aren't you?'', he mocked, thrusting so deeply and firmly you couldn't even focus on the broken door any longer, pleasure engulfing you as you nodded dumbly at him, chanting shy agreements to all the dirty accusations he had of you.

He groaned, brows lowered in concentration, gaze honed in on your blissful expression and lidded eyes. You could feel him pulsing lightly, and whined as he came to a sudden halt.

You stared at him in frustration, eyes welling with tears and jaw clenched pitifully. You wiggled your hips, but to no avail. The man merely held you tighter, retrieving his hard and soaked cock out of you until only the tip nudged at your entrance. ''I've got to ask, stranger..'' He began, peering down at the way your sopping hole pulsed and quivered in need, and instead glided his rigid length along your sensitive folds.

You sighed softly, blinking at him slowly, insides electrified with a white hot heat. ''I'm close, and I need to know where you want it.'' He hummed in delight afterwards, catching the tip in your desperate heat only to drag it away and glide over your clit instead.

You stared at him dumbly, squirming in his hold for him to just fuck you already--

A firm grasp squeezed your throat, and you could only whine and flutter your eyes up at him pleasurably, biting your lip. You could feel your wetness seeping down your thighs and huffed. From the way his eyes sparkled, he was smirking. ''Got an insolent little brat on my hands, have I?'' he cooed, squeezing your throat tighter. ''Would you rather it in your mouth, decorating that beautiful face and tits?'' he inched into you slowly, feeling the way you gripped him like a vice.

Your blush returned in full, eyelashes littered in unshed tears as your eyes darted from his own and to his chest shyly. Slowly, you shook your head.

''Oh? Then am I to assume you want it inside you, darling, hot and filling, mm?'' He growled, the hand encasing your neck moving so a thumb could dip between your parted lips, and you eagerly accepted it, sucking and nodding, eyes fluttering up to his once more.

Your insides opened up for his sudden intrusion, thick cock splitting you open and gliding into you to the hilt. Your mouth opened in a gasp around his thumb, delighting in his depth and crying out as the man fucked you hard and fast, no longer holding back.

You began to babble, crying at the pleasure, your orgasm so close, so close, a few more thrusts and--

''Oh god, oh fuck, oh! Harder, please--!'' You wailed, panting, hips fucking against his own and insides contracting and squeezing him so blissfully you could hardly think coherently anymore.

The merchant groaned lowly, hotly, cock pulsating and stuffing you full until a blooming, wet and sloppy heat pulsed into you, the male above you swearing low before moving both hands to grip your hips and slamming you down onto him hard. You moaned aloud, ropes of cum shooting into you and filling you for the final time before he stopped moving altogether, sighing contently.

Your thighs quivered in his grip, breathing unstable as his cum began slipping out and around his length, dripping lewdly onto the floor. After a few moments, the merchants previously tight and dominating grip loosened into one of polite softness, holding your waist steady as he lowered you to the floor.

Your shaking legs touched the floor, copious amounts of fluids oozing out of you as you flushed and dazedly gripped him for support. His grip remained on you, lowering himself to pick you up before sitting you upon the table, legs spread around his waist.

''You're a fucking delight, miss. A real treat.'' He winked playfully, eyes trailing down to your red and puffy labia covered in cum. ''And as I said, you can keep the weapon, free of charge. But do return, yeah?'' He chuckled lowly, palms stroking your inner thighs.

You swallowed, legs spreading wider at the feeling of two fingers opening you. ''O-or I could stay? For now?''

The merchant paused in thought, humming to himself, before smirking behind his bandana and pushing two fingers into your over sensitive hole. His eyes lit like fire at the way you moaned softly and gripped his wrist. ''A fine idea. I'm not even close to being finished with you, darling.''

#resident evil #resident evil 4 #re4 remake #re4make #re4 merchant #the merchant #resident evil 4 remake #gun kink #size difference

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citrusreadstoa · 1 year

Text

Reading The Dark Prophecy: Chapter 1 (SPOILERS)

We're only at the second book and the title is already this ominous.

"Lester (Apollo) / Still human; thanks for asking" You're welcome. I like to show that I care.

"When our dragon declared war on Indiana, I knew it was going to be a bad day." Starting off strong. I wonder how Indiana is going to fight back. Do they have an army at standby?

"Cyclopes of Pittsburgh" Are those the same cyclopes the Lost Trio fought? No, I looked it up. They were in Detroit.

"Potina, the Roman goddess of childhood drinks, who pursued us in the form of a giant red pitched emblazoned with a smiley face." I thought my friend was just kidding when he said they fought the Kool-Aid man. Anyway, did Zeus/Jupiter send Potina to just make his son's life a little bit worse?

"the cupola of the Indiana Statehouse" CUPOLA (n.): a small dome, especially a small dome on a drum on top of a larger dome, adorning a roof or ceiling

"would not respond to over-the-counter zit medicine." He had time to try? Clindamycin and Benzoyl Peroxide Gel from Walgreens is somewhat effective for me.

"You're the one who's been having visions" Ohoho! He's been visions? While awake? Is he pulling a Hazel now? "the city you dreamed about" Aw, never mind.

"Not the yummy kind of licorice, either; the nasty variety that sits for eons in your stepmother's candy bowl on the coffee table. And, no, Hera, why would I be talking about you?" Canonically, Hera is a fan of licorice? As if I needed any more reason to hate her.

Apollo's description of Indianapolis... man, I feel sorry for anyone living there who reads this. "one proper New York neighborhood . . . stretched out to encompass the entire area of Manhattan, then relieved of two-thirds of its population and vigorously power-washed" He makes it sound like even the people who live in Indianapolis don't want to live there. Can any Indianapolians confirm?

"Capture Apollo before he can find the next Oracle." I find it cool that Apollo's BFF in this series is also the one trying to capture and kill him. "She also happened to be my demigod master, thanks to Zeus's twisted sense of humor." Apollo, I don't think Zeus specifically chose Meg for you. You walked into that yourself and if it were anyone's plotting that led to this, it was Nero's.

"as restless as Festus." Hey, a rhyme.

"CAFE PATACHOU" He named the café! The café's going to be important, I betcha!

"At Three Mile Island in 1979, the mortals somehow failed to realize that their partial nuclear meltdown was caused by an epic chainsaw fight between Ares and Hephaestus." Yo, what?

"Their faces were too placid. Their dazed smiles" THIS IS THE SAME SPELL LUKE HAD ON THE CRUISEGOERS. Is the entire city of Indianapolis brainwashed?

"Festus projectile-vomited a column of flames" Aw, no! But maybe he doesn't hate Indiana after all. Maybe that was a warning that he was about to get sick again. "Valdez was fireproof. His clothes were not." I guess Calypso hasn't gotten around to making him a fireproof wardrobe yet.

"I imagined walking into a T.J. Maxx" Do books work like movies with companies paying for product placement?

"something about her proportions seemed off." Monster. She's a monster. A resident of the uncanny valley. "What if they erected a statue of me in my present form--a giant golden Lester in the center of their city?" I think the more plausible welcome you're going to get is being stuffed in a sack and dragged to their headquarters.

"the sound of finger bones breaking." She hurt herself trying to punch this lady? Nanette's got a solid face. "Her head toppled off her shoulders . . . Its base was as smooth as stainless steel." Oh, she's a robot. Don't tell me now that all the inhabitants of Indianapolis have been replaced by automatons. Were the people with Capgras right for once? "Its voice came from its gut area, which meant..." That she's one of the people without heads! Those people whose face are on their torso and who don't need a head.

Do blemmyae have special powers, though, or are they just gonna wrestle them?

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f1nalboys · 3 years

Note

Hello.. Can you please write a headcanon about Thomas, Brahms and Bubba when their Girlfriend is once a very deadly assassin and then suddenly when they're got into a big trouble/Fight their Girlfriend suddenly showed her deadly Skills... Like how would they react to it

hey there!! hope you enjoy this, i really hope i did it justice LMAO <3

WARNINGS: blood and gore mention, description of murder (not graphically detailed but more than a passing mention, you know?)

WORD COUNT: Approx. 1040 for all 3

THOMAS:

-Out of the three, he is probably the one who’s most confident in your abilities to protect yourself

-Being with the Hewitts meant taking part of the family business and while he hated that you were subjected to the bad parts, he knew it was necessary

-Of course he took precautions to keep you out of trouble; you were the love of his life

-There had been close calls before, of course, but nothing that had gone past you yelling for him

-Until now

-He hadn’t realized a victim had escaped until he heard a scream, one that sounded like your own. He honestly has never run that fast in his life before

-He gets outside and instead of seeing you being beaten by the victim, he instead saw you kicking their ass

-By the time you were finished you were covered in their blood and they were an unmoving heap on the ground.

-You looked incredibly worried when you turned around and saw Thomas (and Luda Mae behind him, peeking out behind the screen door) standing there looking at the mess you made

-”Thomas, baby, I can explain-” He cuts you off by walking up to you and enveloping you in the biggest hug you’ve ever been given

-He’s just glad you were safe

-The conversation doesn’t come for another three days and by that time you had honestly forgotten what happened

-”I’ve never seen you do something like that before. How’d you learn it?” His question caught you off guard

-You two were preparing for bed and you stopped changing and took a deep sigh, telling him the long, drawn out story

-”I didn't want to bring it up because… I don’t know, it’s not something I do anymore, you know?”

-He nodded, grabbed your hand, and led you to bed

-Though he was slightly hurt that you hadn’t wanted to tell him, he understood. He loved you and obviously you loved him. That was enough reason for him to accept it.

BRAHMS:

-There weren’t many chances for Brahms to see you use your skills or for you to use them at all, honestly

-Usually it’s the grocery boy and Brahms and you didn't want to kill either of them

-Brahms hated that you didn’t want the grocery boy dead but that's not the point

-You woke up before Brahms did to the sound of shattering glass and, despite your gut telling you too, you decide against waking Brahm

-Instead, you take your time walking towards the sound, which came from the kitchen, and you stumble upon a masked man searching through the silver drawer.

-He must have heard you because he turned around and was on you in an instant, knocking the wind out of you

-Brahms heard the commotion and, after seeing you weren’t in bed with him, felt his heart sink to his stomach

-He ran down to the kitchen just in time to see you bashing the poor guys head into the corner of the counter

-The sound of his skull cracking and seeing you covered in blood, panting? He did find it hot, I’ll admit it

-You’d turn to see him and worry for just a second that’ll he’ll see you in a different light

-”You should probably clean that up before we go back to sleep.”

-What a brat

-”You’re not even curious as to why I knew how to do that?” He just shrugged. You were his babysitter, that’s really all he cared about

-You told him anyway and, while discussing your past, you made him drop the baby talk for the time being. Something about discussing violent murderers with someone using a child's voice bothered you

-”That’s… interesting. You did that before coming to me?” He felt a sense of pride at that; someone so strong, so powerful, so capable entered his home and not only protected him, but worshipped him

-The two of you took a loooong shower (again, the blood was a little hot to him!) and you fell asleep. This time he let you be the big spoon

BUBBA:

-Bubba my dear sweet boy is so terrified of you getting hurt he practically locks you in the house

-Which, we know from experience, means nothing because people just walk in

-Surprisingly, the first time he finds out about your past is because a few victims who escaped (god knows how) had cornered him, trying to hurt him, and when you turned the corner and saw him backing away, chainsaw out of reach, you saw red.

-The first victim never saw it coming

-You had grabbed a knife from the kitchen and sent it into his skull, ripping it out of his head before going towards the next man who had just seen his friend's body drop to the ground.

-He got stabbed in the throat and you placed your foot on his chest and kicked, yanking him off of the knife.

-The last one, who was looking particularly terrified, you decided to leave for Bubba.

-You and he didn’t talk the rest of the day as you were cleaning up the bodies, preparing food, and just fixing the place up from their intrusion

-When you walked into your shared bedroom you saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, bouncing his leg up and down, waiting for you

-You sigh, sitting down next to him and laying your head on his shoulder

-”Guess you’re wondering where all that came from?”

-He nods, not wanting to make you tell him anything you weren’t comfortable with. Sure, he didn’t know much about your past but that didn’t matter to him; you were here with him in the present

-After explaining your past he took a bit to fully wrap his mind around it, having you explain certain things back to him a few times

-He was in Texas in the mid 70’s - he wasn’t the most cultured, alright?

-To your surprise, he didn’t judge you. You were doing what you had to just like now and you would be quite a hypocrite to be upset with you.

-You two went to bed and he had never felt more safe with you in his arms than that moment.

#s1mping4slashers masterlist #s1mping4slashers works #s1mping4slashers writing #s1mping4slashers answers #request #the texas chainsaw massacre franchise #the texas chainsaw massacre #thomas hewitt #bubba sawyer #slashers #slashers headcanons #slasher x reader #slasher oneshot #gn!reader #queued post

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 3 years

Text

I Learned That From You: One

“Barton, C’mon,” Tony said, “Steve’s yelling for wheels up in 30 minutes.”

Clint rolled his eyes and snorted, locking his computer screen quickly, “Yeah, yeah.”

“Who was the babe?” Tony said, arching an eyebrow, “Porn star?”

Clint felt an involuntary surge of anger. He knew that the woman he was cyberstalking wasn’t his… Not in any emotional sense. But. In the drawer in his desk, there were letters. And a few little trinkets. Things that had survived moves and exploding buildings. This he wanted- Things he wished he had the guts to tell you he’d kept.

“No,” Clint said stiffly. He didn’t want to talk about you. Not with Stark. Not even with Natasha. Though he didn’t doubt Natasha knew. Natasha knew everything, sometimes even before he did.

“You’re right,” Tony said, “She’s too wholesome looking for that… Christian mingle? Jdate? Plenty of fish? I’m not judging. Really. You should get laid.”

Clint sighed and shoved past him, going to get his gear. He hoped that a shove and a scowl would be enough to deter the other man, but as he followed him, continuing to encourage him to “get out there” and “Get it in” he didn’t think he would be so fortunate.

By the time Clint hurled himself into the seat in the cockpit, he was in a mood. “If he doesn’t shut up I’m gonna crash us,” Clint growled, making Natasha raise an eyebrow.

“What’s he doing now?” Nat asked, not turning around and starting to flip switches.

“Riding my ass,” he answered.

“About?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Clint said, cheeks coloring.

The truth was. He did want to talk about it. He wanted to tell someone the whole story. He wanted to tell Natasha about how he met you and… how you left. How he found where you were. Why he kept looking over your shoulder.

But if Natasha noticed, she gave no sign. All she said was “Okay,” and shrug. On some level Clint was grateful. It gave him time to think about how he wanted to handle Stark. To decide if he wanted the truth to come out. At least to start with.

It didn’t take time for his mind to wander. Back to a time when he was younger. A lot younger. And everything was ruled by emotion. And hormones. And a constant need to make an idiot out of himself trying to impress a pretty girl. Even if that pretty girl was out of his league. He was a hot shot. A strong man, a swordsman, and archer… He was a huge chunk of the show for the circus anymore. He was a draw. He made money. Not that he saw much of it but. Things could be worse. He had a truck now. Sure. It was ancient and needed a lot of work but. He was always pretty handy with a wrench. And it was sort of… relaxing, replacing this or that.

And in the back of his head, he can see how you looked that day, wandering through the camp early that morning. A costume with sparkles and sequins draped over your arm and your hair a mass of wild, thick curls. He noticed the shape of your ass in your cut offs and the curve of your breasts. But mostly, he noticed that you were laughing. Roy. Fucking Roy the animal trainer was making you laugh and Clint really just wanted to punch him in the mouth.

Still He didn’t have time to dwell. And it didn’t take long for Tony’s voice to snap him back to reality, “Cedar Falls, Iowa huh?”

“Stark,” Clint said warningly.

“But Clint,” Tony said pressing a hand to his chest in mock hurt, “I’m just trying to help you find love.”

“Tony,” Nat started-

“FRIDAY?” Tony said, “Set a course for Cedar falls Iowa!”

And Clint felt his stomach drop as the quinjet swooped towards the west. “Tony,” he said, his lips feeling bloodless, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Reuniting you with you ex wife?” Tony said, “Giving you closure and a new sense of purpose?”

“Tony,” Natasha said, looking from Clint to the dark-haired man, “Don’t.”

Tony looked at Barton for a long moment and nodded, the man looked like he’d seen a ghost. Several ghosts really. With chainsaws. And even Tony couldn’t force him into some little town just to watch the fireworks.

“FRIDAY!” Tony called, “Never mind. Resume the previous course.”

Clint exhaled slowly as the Quinjet changed course again. How could he talk to any of them about the way that you left.

The letter in a shaking hand. Left on the counter next to his bottles from the night before. Your hands had been shaking, he knew it. They always shook when you were anxious. Or afraid. He wasn’t sure how to talk about what he did to make you go.

“How is Y/N?” Nat asked quietly when Tony went away, to leave them to their conspiratorial whispers and shit talking.

“She adopted a dog,” Clint said softly, smiling a little. You’d always wanted one. But in the trailer courts and apartments where Clint moved you, the pet deposit was always too much.

He wasn’t surprised that Natasha knew your name. If anything it felt good, being able to tell someone anything about you.

_______

Later, as photographers snapped photos at a gala, Steve made his way to Clint’s side, smiling. “Ex wife, huh?”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” Clint said tightly.

“Didn’t even know you were married,” Steve said. There wasn’t judgment in the other man’s tone, surprisingly. Just, concern.

“I was just a kid,” Clint snorted. “Still in the circus.”

Steve nodded. Again. No judgment. Just a moment of understanding. “Keeping tabs, huh?”

“I ruined her life once,” Clint said with a shrug, still smiling for the cameras. “I’d hate for some megalomaniac to get hold of her and do it again.”

Steve nodded and turned with Clint to walk into the banquet hall, “That’s fair… I told Stark to back off of it. He had some sort of plan involving her and a birthday cake.”

“She did jump out of a cake once but… It was part of the show,” Clint snorted.

Steve smiled a little but didn’t say anything else. There wasn’t time before the applause would have drowned out his words.

#past relationship #past trauma #alcohol #divorce #clint barton x reader #past clint barton x reader #pining #angst #natasha romanoff #Tony Stark #Steve Rogers

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mieohmy · 3 years

Text

𝖲𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗒 𝖢𝖺𝗍 𝖶𝗁𝗈? | 𝖫𝖾𝖾 𝖧𝖺𝖾𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇

PAIRING: lee haechan x reader

GENRE: humor, fluff, haunted house au, friends-to-maybe-more?

WC: 1.2k

NOTES: cursing, horror/scary things 🤡 boo maybe a Halloween drabble in January 🤠?

↳ “Don’t let go. If you do, I think I’ll die.”

✧

You weren’t going. No way. So what if you have to be stuck at home ignoring annoying doorbells from candy deprived kids who just rampaged from door to door? It was way better than going to the highest-rated horror house in the city... right?

“Listen, I’m staying here. I’m not going to scream my brains out and get killed by a clown alright? End of discussion.”

“Come onnn, it’ll be so much fun. The fear is the best part,” Renjun tries to convince you for the nth time. “Who wants to be alone on Halloween?”

You reply with no hesitation. ‘’Me.”

“Y/n,” he groans in frustration, “you’re not gonna die. You can just stick by Haechan’s side, no biggie.”

Renjun’s response causes you to furrow your eyebrows. “Why Haechan?”

“Well, he won’t stop bragging about how fearless he is, so he can protect you... I guess?”

You snort, “Haechan protecting me? Why would he want to do that?”

His eye suddenly twitches, specifically the left one, you note. “Uh- no reason. Hey guys, you ready?” he calls out to the other guys.

“Yeah, did y/n finally change their mind?” Chenle asks.

“Of course. They’re gonna change, and then we’re leaving.” Renjun glares at you with such ferocity that you simply turn and walk to your room to get ready.

✧

You regretted going. Waiting in line was literally torture. The never-ending screams were torture. Everything was torture.

“Guys, I don’t think I can do this anymore. Didn’t you just hear those kids screaming? It literally sounded like they were actually getting murdered.”

“Oh don’t be a baby, it’s gonna be great getting chased by clowns,” Renjun states.

Haechan puffs up his chest. “Or the clowns are gonna be chased by me.” There’s a moment of silence before you speak up again.

“Seriously, how come Jisung wasn’t forced to come and I was?”

“Cause,” Jaemin replies, “He’s a baby. Mine, specifically.”

You roll your eyes, bottom lip jutted out in frustration. “What about me? Am I not a baby?”

“Nah- oh heck no,” Chenle says, head shaking from side to side.

Haechan mutters under his breath, “you can be mine..”

“Ughhhh I’m gonna die, and it’s gonna be all your guys’ fault.” You might’ve tried to escape the line and run away as fast as your legs can take you but there’s always that one person who stops you.

“No, you won’t.” Renjun shoves you toward Haechan, making you stumble into his arms. “Since you think you’re all so strong and mighty, you can take care of them.” You’re too busy grumbling to notice Haechan’s flustered expression.

The line moves up and the horrible feeling in your stomach grows every step closer.

When the group in front of you enters the death house, you tightly clench whoever’s arm is right next to you. “Oh my god, we’re almost in.”

Haechan lets out a strained laugh, weakly attempting to remove your iron grip from his arm.

And then the door opens. You feel the cool air flow out and shiver. Chenle lets out an excited woohoo! and dashes in.

You’re frozen, staring at the darkness emitting from the door until a voice cuts in.

“Come on, y/n. We can do it.” You look up at Haechan, a hand offered in front of you.

And so you take it, entering the haunted house with the rest of the boys.

It isn’t too bad -is what you thought for the first five steps into the house.

It helped that everyone was giggling at all the lame props that didn’t seem so horrifying after all.

Horribly fake decorations? Okay. Bloodied corpse? Ehhh...

Is that a murder chainsaw guy? Goodbye.

You swear it was some weird vase decoration or whatever, but when it stands up and that roaring engine sound comes to life, everyone erupts in screams and scatters throughout the place.

You're not sure where you are, where everyone else is. The house feels so much scarier alone. In total, you’ve been jump scared by three zombies, one skeleton, and a coat hanger.

You’re not even sure how you’ve been moving through this maze of a house. For real, how many doors and hallways have you walked through?

After a creepy girl pops up right in your face, you wail, almost on the verge of tears. There’s no choice but to run away, maybe find someone else or an exit. Where is everyone?

Turning a corner, you bump into something, immediately falling to the ground and shrieking. Wait a second. You may be hearing things, but it sounded like another scream? One was yours for sure, and you’re pretty confident that your voice didn’t suddenly become deeper...?

“Fuck- wait a sec... Oh thank goodness, y/n !!”

Whimpering, you peek an eye open to see a relieved Haechan. It was hard to recognize him, the house being so dark and all.

“W-where’s everyone else?”

He helps you up, not letting go of your hand afterward. “I don’t know... We all lost each other after that creepy chainsaw man.”

You pause. “You know, for someone saying that they were so good at these horror things, you were sure scared to bump into me.”

“W-whatever. I can barely see anything. Come on, let’s stick together. I don’t think I can handle this anymore.”

Slowly, the two of you continue through the house. You never loosen your grip on his hand. you don’t think you physically can.

After a weird clown guy literally comes out the wall(??), the two of you barely make it past, Haechan babbling random useless threats.

You bury your head into his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t let go. If you do, I think I’ll die.”

If you keep saying things like that, I think I’ll be the one to die, Haechan bitterly thinks in his head.

“Haechan... I-I think I see it!” “See what?” “Maybe my eyes are deluding me, but I think that’s the exit? Right?”

You both glance up at the giant EXIT sign in neon green positioned above a door.

It takes a few seconds of studying and squinting before you two share a glance and vigorously push through, tumbling outside back into the normal world.

The sight of the black sky never seemed so reassuring before.

“Y-y/n, we did it!! We escaped that rotten house!!”

Laughing in joy, Haechan picks you up, spinning in circles until you can’t breathe. Maybe it was being in his arms or staring into his sparkling eyes that caused your heart to beat faster.

“GUYS!” Haechan finally sets you down at the outburst. How convenient, the rest of your group basically collapses outside the exit.

“Please- let’s just get the hell outta here. That skeleton seriously moved, I swear. But...how did you guys escape so fast?” Renjun asks, a suspicious glint in his eyes.

You share a smile with Haechan, growing when his hand sneaks around to fit with yours.

“Cause we had the guts to do so.”

“.........was that supposed to be a p-”

“No, y/n. Don’t say anything. Don’t even give him a response.”

Maybe haunted houses were pretty fun. With the right people, of course.

#nct #nct dream #nct 127 #haechan #lee haechan #lee donghyuck #nct haechan #haechan x reader #lee haechan x reader #haechan scenarios #haechan imagines #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct dream x reader #nct 127 scenarios #nct dream scenarios #donghyuck scenarios

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gh0stwriting · 4 years

Note

Can you do something with Brahms and the slashers reactions to their s/o tending to their injuries please? Also I hope you have a wonderful day 🌈💖🙃

(aaaa tysm🥺 you too!! also i just picked my favorite boy bc you didnt specify, i wouldve done more but i got lazy)

BRAHMS HEELSHIRE

ight its not an injury from another person, its his own stupidity. as ive said before he falls a lot when running through the walls and most of the time doesnt tell you as its just a few scrapes with little to no blood.

this time however, after an especially loud thud from inside the walls, he came to you sniffling, blood trickling out from under his mask and his pant legs rolled up to show a mix of scrapes and small cuts on his knees. you arent sure if the sniffling is from tears or his presumably broken nose but you immediately sit him down and run to grab the first aid kit.

when you come back you open it up and start to clean and bandage his knees as thats the easiest to handle, small whimpers being muffled by his mask as the disinfectant stings the broken skin. you tenatively ask if he’ll take off his mask to clean his nose and like expected he shakes his head.

you carefully explain why exactly you need him to take off his mask, with the fact that if his nose is broken it wont set properly with it on and things like that and also promise that you wont look anywhere but his nose to clean it up and he very slowly pull his mask up and rests it on top of his head, covering his cheeks and eyes much like a child playing peekaboo would.

you thanked him for trusting you before wiping off the blood that dripped down his face and off of his nose before sneaking a kiss to his real lips, you just couldnt help yourself. you give him a wet towel to clean the inside of his mask and an ice pack for his nose and baby him the rest of the day.

also he might just lift his mask for kisses more often, but only if its his choice, not if you ask.

BUBBA SAWYER

you had been with the Sawyers when the whole Hardesty problem occured, anxiously waiting with Nubbins for Bubba to come home. when he finally did you were happy but also scared when you saw how much blood was on him as you werent sure what was his and what was theirs.

you take him to the kitchen immediately and wash off the blood to see the extent of his injuries and are shocked to see the deep cut in his thigh from his chainsaw. it looks like its mostly stopped bleeding for the time being but still may require stitches, which is far out of your medical expertise. you very carefully explain that you need to disinfect his wounds and that it will hurt.

you slowly dab on the disinfectant and he whines as it stings at his open wounds, opting for slamming his fist on the counter instead of grabbing your arm, not wanting you to be hurt too. his eyes fill with tears that start to pour down his face as he tries to wipe them away.

when youve cleaned, bandaged and kissed his wounds better you kiss his forehead and praise him for being so strong, to which he coos in happiness and stands up to give you a huge hug.

he loves you so much and knows you care when you help him clean up the blood and guts hes covered in and especially when you say things like “youre such a good boy for sitting still, even if it hurt really bad.” he really loves being pampered and praised honestly.

#slasher imagine #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms #brahms x reader #brahms the boy #the boy 2016 #bubba sawyer #bubba saywer x reader #leatherface x reader #leatherface #texas chainsaw #tcm #gh0stwriting #anon

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sloppy-butcher · 4 years

Note

Request 2 of 2 is any killer you want meeting a sneaky survivor (later s/o bc I’m weak) who can get up from being moried but have reduced movement, repair speed and if they get hooked it’s instantly over for them (I say any because I want you to write what you like, I’ll probably request more characters for either prompts I sent tho if you’re ok with it)

okay so, with this ask i decided to do something a little different.

The idea of somehow surviving a mori is so bizarre and unlikely that it really took me a while to think about it. I mean, the whole point of a mori is to outright kill the survivor. so in order to bring this request to life i decided to set up some ground rules.

1.) it will be assumed that the survivor who can outlive a mori is one lucky bastard. Whether it is because the killer is in a rush and cannot ensure the job is done correctly or they just suck and overestimated their killing ability.

2.) It will also be assumed that in order to survive a mori, the person who gets up immediately seeks the best medical attention the Fog has to offer (i.e. They rush over to Claudette bleeding outta their asshole). They must also be near the end of a trial because once they escape all wounds will be healed and their supposed death will be null and void.

Below is a list of the mori’s that are a definite no-no and are a maybe (WARNING: i wrote these at 3AM)

Mori’s you would definitely die to:

Huntress (Axe to the face)

Bubba (*get that bitch Leatherface!* chainsaw up torso)

Hag (pulls spleen (?) out, needs some spice)

Deathslinger (speared from butthole to mouth hole)

Oni (sword through the chest and no more tongue)

Pyramid Head (huge knife through gut)

Freddy (fingers your chest)

Spirit (knife to meet you *screams in Japanese*)

Doctor (you got a brain? not anymore)

Legion [specifically Joey] (mans is determined and crazy strong. its lights out for you)

Mori’s that are a MAYBE live:

Trapper (basic slash 4 a basic bitch)

Wraith (*baby WHACK baby WHACK baby WHACK*)

Hillbilly (bruh it aint even that deep)

Nurse (lady got moldy worm fingers, dafaq that suppose to do)

Clown (steals a finger and cracks your back)

Demogorgon (again, cracks your back starting with your neck)

Myers (has no aim and could miss a vital organ)

Ghostface (again, has talent but got no direction)

Pig (cover that new mouth vagina quick then you’d be gucci)

Plague (i want her to spit in my mouth so)

Legion [rest of them bitches] (punk lil babies who probs can’t even open a pickle jar)

Pyramid Head (the mini mori where he just bonks you after being hooked/cage: vibe check failed)

Now, with this out of the way, I have chosen two killers to write about. hope they are ok <3

HeadCanons for The Wraith (Philip Ojomo) and The Plague (Adiris) with a sneaky S/O capable of surviving a mori

The Wraith (Philip Ojomo)

Has to do a double-take when he sees you up and walking. He’ll literally stop dead in his tracks and just watch as you stumble across the landscape, dropping all his previous activities to focus on you. You looked like a ghost.

He’d question himself for a moment. Had he actually killed you? Did he just down you and forget? No, no. Philip always remembered who he killed, their faces of fear and pain, and their cries as he slashed open their backs. He was a strong man, vicious in his attacks. There was no way he could have missed. Yet, like a living contradiction to his beliefs, you were there.

He’d stalk you, cloaked and extremely quiet, turning the invisible factor up to 120%. You wouldn’t even notice he was there. He’d follow you around, peaking from behind trees and through windows as you would hobble after teammates and sloppily repair generators. If one of the more bulky survivors were on your team they’d carry you, slinging one of your arms over their shoulders and leading you around. How selfless and thoughtful. The other, more clever survivors would hurriedly try to mend your wounds, quick hands weaving through medkits and over broken skin. However nothing they did return you to your prior vigor. You definitely carried the weight of a near-death experience. regardless, Philip felt moved by your teammates' determination to help you.

If you ended up being the last survivor in the trial, the others having been hooked or mori’d, Philip would always let you live. He’d watch you get back up from your position on the floor, blood spewing out of the wounds across your back. You’d groan and shakily get to your feet, swaying as you did so, before trudging off to start the final generators. He admired your commitment and vowed to not disturb you as you worked. But progress was slow and Philip always found himself circling you. Maybe if you were healed you could work better? He thought to himself as he quickly zoomed around the arena in search for discarded med-kits. He’d find some still clutched in the frozen hands of dead teammates and hurriedly he’d take and present them to you. Although he was too nervous to actually hand the items to you, Philip would quietly leave them on the floor for you to turn around and find. Then he would retreat back to the shadows and continue to watch you.

The Plague (Adiris)

Adiris would also do a hard double-take. She’d gasp loudly when she found you working on another generator. You could hear her mumbling ancient words under her breath, rambling, and getting more and more frantic as she approached you.

Unlike Philip, Adiris would have no hold-ups about hurting you and she would set to work chasing and quickly down you again. With one quick smack, you would be forced to the ground with the impossible tall lady standing over you. Her previous whispered had now progressed into full-blown shouts. She’d call out to the sky in a desperate and commanding tone, the Babylonian language feeling strange in your ears. With palms open and facing upwards Adiris would thrust back her head and shout out for an explanation. Were you some kind of God? Maybe even a demon or angel? Whatever you were, it freaked Adiris out. Her eyes focused solely on the dark sky, all previous engagements to the trial having been forgotten. You could hear her desperately calling out for her God, crying for a reason as to why you didn't die. After several minutes, with her eyes filling with tears, Adiris relented and lowered her head.

There was no answer. If you weren’t some type of supernatural being, and instead just some poor ordinary person, then Adiris had in fact just failed at killing a poor soul. She wasn’t stupid; she could tell that she was chosen to mindlessly hurt and kill people for her God. Her personal philosophy when it came to hunting down the survivors of the Fog, was to offer them a swift and painless exit from this world of suffering. But with you laying at her feet, wheezing with blood and vomit coating your clothing, Adiris had to realize that she had failed, not only herself but you. She hadn’t effectively killed you and instead only added to your pain.

Adiris knew that you carried that burden of her weapon and she felt it tear her up inside. She hated herself and her lackluster ability to effectively kill you. She debated whether to try to kill you again. But the thought of even attempting such an act boiled her stomach and made her sick. You watched her from your position on the floor. There was a deep sense of sadness in her eyes, her shoulders lowered and it seemed she had lost her prideful demeanor. She looked pitiful and lost, like a child having been told Father Christmas isn’t real. After a moment of watching her for signs of aggression, Adiris finally moved. She knelt down and gently placed a hand on your back. She mumbled something to you that sounded like an apology before she quickly stuck her hands underneath you. Effortlessly the tall lady picked you up bridal style and set off in search of your teammates. In the distance, you spotted Nea working on the last-gen. Adiris also noticed the girl and with long, determined strides, brought you to her. Nea went to flee at the killer's approach, but when she saw you in her arms, carried like a baby, she stood her ground. Adiris dropped you at Nea’s feet and with one final look, walked away never to be seen again for the remainder of the trial.

#a really unique request #much love #dbd headcannons #dbd the wraith #dbd the wraith x reader #dbd philip ojomo #dbd philip ojomo x reader #dbd th eplague #dbd the plague x reader #dbd adiris #dbd adiris x reader

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walk-my-love · 4 years

Note

do you have other manga suggestions you love? also thank you for making this blog, i really love the manga!

Thanks for the kind words ^_^

I hope these aren’t too many suggestions, I love so many series! (Long Post)

Wholesome Stuff:

“Sweetness & Lightning” is about a recently widowed teacher trying to raise his young daughter with the help of a student who offers to help teach him how to cook. Wholesome through and through with adorable art and lovable cast. Warning, it will make you very hungry lol. I enjoyed the anime too.

“Girls’ Last Tour” is about two girls exploring a post-apocalyptic world and their travels. It has an ever present melancholy as the girls find things that make living worthwhile. Art is somewhere between highly minimalist and very complex. Oddly enough, perhaps a good choice for quarantine reading. Anime has one of the more memorable soundtracks I’ve heard recently, highly recommend, though it does have a “read the manga” ending.

“Love is like After the Rain” is about a ‘retired’ 18 year old track star who falls in love with her 40 year old part-time job manager. But that’s just to draw curious people in. The story is far more about personal growth than romance. To my surprise this series manages to pull off its potentially troubling premise with grace and tact and never crosses the line to being creepy. Loveable characters and a very strong 90′s shoujo aesthetic. A very touching story.

High-Octane Action Stuff (R-Rated):

“Ajin: Demi-Human” is a non-stop adrenaline rush. After being run over by a truck a teenager winds up on the run after both discovering he is and being exposed as an immortal. Long story short he winds up enlisted into a seedy government task force to take down a psychopathic immortal on the biggest murder spree in history. That might make the story sound a bit run of the mill, but Ajin has a great many things going for it. It flows like a supernatural Tom Clancy novel with action like 'John Wick’ in manga form. The characters all hate each other and do in fact kill each other very often, only to revive soon after. There’s also these mysterious bulletproof black ghosts the immortals can control leading to mummy-like JoJo stands decimating swathes of heavily armed soldiers. All of this shouldn’t work, but it comes together to make an incredibly exciting and genuinely thoughtful thriller masterpiece.

“Chainsaw Man” is the weirdest, most violent, funniest, and engaging manga I’ve read in ages. Devils are real, every fear has a tangible devil. The MC fuses with his dog who just so happens to be the Chainsaw Devil. He gets drafted into the police to combat devils. He’s offered a date with his gorgeous boss if he kills the Gun Devil. You will never know what’s coming next and how each chapter can change the entire story. The characters are some of the most memorable in years and the action and art are bloody paintings. Blood, guts, nudity, high stakes romance and everything not suited for younger audiences. A gripping read from start to finish and I cannot wait for Part 2!

Thanks for listening to me gush about my obsessions

#sweetness and lightning #girls' last tour #love is like after the rain #ajin #demi-human #chainsaw man #manga

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quinnybee-writes · 4 years

Text

Title: Fire Meet Gasoline

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Rating: T+

Part: 4/?

Story Summary: A chance encounter between a villain and vigilante leads to an unwise deal made between unlikely allies; an unwise deal made between unlikely allies ends in a final stand neither would have ever dared to take on alone. Together, though, they just might have a fighting chance.

Part 4 Summary: Purposefully misconstrued dating advice leads to a deal being struck between the villain and the vigilante.

Part 1 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 2 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 3 on Tumblr / AO3

Part 4 on AO3

Three days later and Aizawa had yet to make contact. Hizashi frowned to himself, watching the dark subway walls speed past the train’s window. He kept having to remind himself to not pick at the cork stoppering the bottle of wine in his lap but his hands grew fiddly and nervous when his mind wandered too far back towards the vigilante’s radio silence. What was the reason behind it? Was he trying to force Hizashi into contacting him instead as some kind of lazy entrapment attempt? Hizashi couldn’t bring himself to believe that. Aizawa was a lot of things but half-assed wasn’t one of them. If he wanted to get to Hizashi he would make sure he did so in the middle of something he could use to nail Hizashi to the wall. If he followed that thought to the logical end, however, Aizawa protecting him made even less sense; it would have been the perfect opportunity to drag Hizashi to the cops by the collar like a self-satisfied house cat bringing its owner a dead pigeon. Why would someone so careful in everything otherwise make such a glaring error and then spend three silent days failing to do anything about it? Aizawa was a mystery of motivation; every time Hizashi thought he’d gotten a handle on the type of person he was, something new came along to prove him wrong. Hizashi grimaced and shook himself mentally as the train slowed at his stop, tugging his thumbnail out of the rut he had carved into the top of the cork. He’d been chasing himself in circles all week, and now wasn’t the time to throw himself back into the spiral.

Standing in front of the apartment door, Hizashi took a minute to center himself with a deep breath and fixed his expression into a relaxed-ish smile before knocking. The chatter of conversation on the other side quieted as footsteps approached. There was a short pause, then the door swung wide to reveal his mother’s elated face.

“Hizashi!” she exclaimed. Before he could return the greeting, her expression fell into one of shocked concern. “Oh my god, what happened to you?”

“Mm? Oh, this,” Hizashi said with a forced chuckle. He cleared his throat and tried to sound nonchalant about his half-healed double black eye and two-inch headwound as he rattled off the cover story he’d been practicing for this moment. “I, uh, tripped over a couple of trash bags behind the studio, ended up clocking myself on a dumpster,” he said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Real graceful, huh?”

“Heavens,” his mother said as she ushered him inside. “You went to the ER and got checked out, right? Head injuries like that can turn nasty out of nowhere.”

“Yeah, Ma, I took care of it,” Hizashi said, giving her an appreciative kiss on the cheek. “Didn’t really have a choice, actually, the night delivery guy found me out cold in the alley and called an ambulance. I think I might have traumatized the poor guy.”

“With a face like that how could you not?” Haru teased as Hizashi came into the kitchen to set down the wine. She took the bottle from him before giving him a quick, tight hug. “Good to see you, Zash.”

“You’re heartless but I love you anyway,” Hizashi replied, squeezing her back.

“Whatever, we both know I’m the cute one,” Haru said. She pulled back and gently prodded him in the chest with her ladle. “Now go mingle, I’ve got a curry to keep from burning.”

“Yes’m,” Hizashi said with a salute.

“If it isn’t everyone’s favorite problem child back from the dead!” Hizashi’s sibling Hoshi said in mock surprise as Hizashi dropped into one of the empty living room chairs. “It’s lucky you showed up, Zash, Hitoshi and I were about to ro-sham-bo for who gets your cat.”

Hizashi turned a grin on his nephew, who was perched on the arm of the sofa next to his mothers. “If you can get Ai-chan to leave the apartment with all your limbs intact, you’re welcome to her, Shortstack,” he said.

“Don’t you even think about it, Hitoshi Shinsou,” his mother Mara said, nudging her son in the leg to reclaim his attention from the video he was watching on his phone. “If I wanted a pet chainsaw, I’d live in a hardware store.”

Hitoshi snorted. “Don’t worry, Mama, I’d rather step on a beartrap than make that cat do anything. Baji can have her,” he replied, punctuating with a “have at it” gesture to Hoshi.

“Yes!” Hoshi said, pumping their fist in the air. “Dibs on the attack gremlin maintained!”

“Are we just ignoring the fact that I’m not actually dead, or…?” Hizashi asked, crossing his arms and trying not to smile as he arched an eyebrow at his sibling.

“I mean, at this point we kind of have to,” his sister Hinako said from the other side of her wife. “Mara and I claimed your TV and that fancy toaster oven Mom and Dad got you for Christmas last year, Haruko gets your new laptop and router, and Hiro beat everyone else out in the tournament for your apartment lease. Ai-chan was the last thing we had to divvy up.”

“You guys are the absolute worst,” Hizashi said, trying and failing to keep a straight face as he said it. “I take time out of my busy schedule of being attacked by trash bags and getting bullied by my cat and this is the thanks I get?”

“Truly, we aren’t worthy,” Haru said from behind him, ruffling his hair. “Time to set the table, busy boy, Mom said Dad’s almost home.”

Dinner with his family was like finally being allowed to exhale after months of holding his breath. Deep down he’d known having to isolate himself from them to prevent them from getting wrapped up in things had weighed on him, but the full extent of it didn’t hit him until here and now. It took less time than Hizashi had expected to get back into the flow of the family conversation, a chaotic blend of speech, signing, and the kind of sweeping gestures that came from being raised by an opera singer and a very emphatic law professor. The constant sting of edginess that kept him from ever really relaxing melted away to nothing, no match for the rapid-fire retellings of weird life moments and accompanying bouts of breathless laughter from around the table.

“Speaking of tired,” his father said, bouncing off the tail end of a story Hiro had told about a toddler at his daycare center who had somehow gifted three other children and one of his coworkers with a combination of chicken pox and flu, “you’re looking a little wilted, Shortstack. High school applications getting to you?”

“Actually, Hitoshi has some news about that he was going to share tonight,” Hinako said. She beamed over at her son, giving him an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder. Hitoshi cleared his throat, the look of someone who had hoped they weren’t going to have to talk in front of people written plain on his face. Hizashi gave a sympathetic wince; growing up as an introvert in a family full of dramatic hams and public speakers had to be a lot to handle when the spotlight was suddenly on you.

“I decided to take the UA High entrance exam,” Hitoshi said, managing a small smile in spite of himself.

Despite his sympathy a moment earlier, Hizashi couldn’t help joining in the excited uproar from around the table that followed Hitoshi’s announcement. “Hell yeah, dude!” he crowed. “Carrying on the family tradition!”

“Does it really count as a tradition if only one of us made it in?” Hiro asked. He seemed to realize how the question had sounded a moment later as Hoshi elbowed him in the side. A strained flicker of sideways glances at HIzashi followed. Hizashi just grinned despite the sudden jolt the words had sent through the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t be such a wet blanket, Hiro,” Hizashi said, shaking his head. “If people are allowed to call things ‘first annual’ then Haru has every right to be a family tradition all by herself.”

“Aww, thanks, Zash,” Haru said, reaching across the table to pinch his cheek. Hizashi swatted her hand away with a snort.

“You went to UA, Aunt Haru?” Hitoshi asked, sounding surprised. Haru preened.

“Sure did! Three years strong in the A-class Hero Course, graduated seventh in my class. Not high enough to get snapped up by one of the famous agencies, but good enough for some solid sidekick gigs,” Haru said.

“That’s right, you’ve been doing temporary assignments at a bunch of agencies, haven’t you? How’s that going?” their mother asked quickly. Everyone seemed eager to sidestep the pit of discomfort Hiro had accidentally opened up, especially Hiro. As everyone’s attention turned to Haru’s newest temp assignment at Loud Cloud’s agency Hiro caught Hizashi’s eye and mouthed “dude, sorry”, grimacing at himself. Hizashi shook his head and signed “no worries” back. The words still burned in his gut, but Hizashi did his best to ignore it and listen to Haru’s story.

Too soon for his liking, Hizashi hit his soft out time, his middle out time, and finally his hard out before the trains stopped running and he’d have to take an overpriced cab home. He said his goodbyes, promising without much hope that it wouldn’t be this long before he saw them all again. As he was putting on his shoes, Haru threw her coat over her shoulders and offered to walk him to the station to make sure he got there okay. Not about to turn down a lingering moment of normalcy before he had to go back to being himself in the morning, he accepted.

“Hey. You okay?” Haru said as they headed up the sidewalk.

“Mm? Yeah, why?” Hizashi said. Haru gave him a Look and Hizashi relented. “I mean, he wasn’t wrong,” he said grudgingly.

“Being right isn’t the same as not being a dick,” Haru pointed out. Hizashi waved a hand as if wafting away the accusation.

“Honestly, Haru, it’s not a big deal. Some of us grow up to be heroes--” Hizashi said, gesturing to Haru-- “and some of us have to make do being the family disappointment,” he finished, gesturing back at himself. “It’s the circle of life.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Haru snapped, surprising him with the sternness in her voice. “You aren’t a disappointment to anyone. Especially me. All right?”

Hizashi smiled at her, shoulders relaxing back out of the sarcastic hunch they had started to reflexively tighten into. “Yeah. Thanks, Haru.”

Haru nodded authoritatively. “So. On to other things, namely this dashing, courageous night delivery guy you mentioned,” she went on, a sly smile creeping over her face. Hizashi tried to ignore the way his face immediately heated up at the implication in her tone.

“What about him?” he asked, amused in spite of himself at the word “dashing” being used for the scruffy, monotone Aizawa.

“I mean, he was gallant enough to come swooping in to your rescue to save you from your own klutziness,” Haru said. “Seems like something you’d want to repay with some kind of favor, don’tcha think? Like one that starts with ‘thank you’ and ends with ‘drinks after work, my treat’?”

Hizashi scoffed, about to blurt out that under no circumstances whatsoever was something like that going to be on the table, but the word “favor” sparked off a half-formed idea in his head. Repaying favors with favors was practically his side business, after all. There might be something in that, though far from the path Haru’s mind seemed to be going down. “You might be on to something there,” he conceded. “I’ll let you know if it works.”

“Make me your best man at the wedding and we’ll call it even,” Haru teased, holding the station door open for him. “Text me when you get back to your place, okay? There’s some bad shit going around right now.”

“Will do. Thanks again, Haru.”

“Just doing my job.” Haru gave him another quick hug-and-hair-ruffling before bidding him goodnight.

Hizashi lay in bed with a very disgruntled Ai-chan snoozing on his chest, burning his eyes with the light from his phone screen. The more he considered what Haru had said, the more the idea appealed to him. The only roadblock now was Aizawa and his apparent determination to freeze Hizashi out. Still, there was more than one way to catch a delivery man, Hizashi thought as he double-checked the station’s equipment budget for this quarter and opened their online supplier in a new browser tab.

It seemed like in aside from “multi-platinum criminal mastermind” and “epicenter of most of the trouble in his life right now”, Shouta could add “compulsive online shopper” to the list of traits Hizashi Yamada was using to intrude on his day-to-day life.

Shouta had done his best to put the confused night he’d helped Yamada avoid arrest out of his mind, ignoring the paper bag of Yamada’s belongings where he’d stuffed it into the back of his closet and getting back to his life. At first Shouta had thought Yamada had either been doing the same, or at the very least avoiding stirring things up while the dust was still settling. Yamada hadn’t made any kind of contact and was keeping quiet about his misadventures in his public life as far as Shouta could tell from the bits and pieces of Yamada’s show he’d caught while on patrol. Instead, however, Yamada appeared to have been just saving up energy for the marathon of attention-seeking he had planned. Nearly every day Asahi Radio was one of his scheduled stops with some new item listed as needing delivered to HIzashi Yamada, signature required. Shouta managed to very calmly beg a few of his coworkers to switch routes with him for the day, making sure to ask the ones with longer routes who would be more than willing to switch him for a shorter day for the same pay. After several days of running unfamiliar routes and going through every willing coworker he had, however, he found himself railroaded back into taking his route back by a politely-worded “friendly reminder” from his supervisor about making sure to get his own work done. Shouta checked his delivery manifest, saying a short, silent prayer to not see what he knew he was going to see down at the bottom: Asahi Radio, three kilogram package for Hizashi Yamada, signature required on delivery. He gritted his teeth, throwing himself into the front seat of his truck and slamming the door behind him. Today was going to be a very long week.

As soon as Chiyaki saw Shouta shuffling through the front door with the box tucked under his arm, they were already hitting Yamada’s extension on their phone. “You got another one, boss,” they said, waving Shouta inside.

“On my way,” Yamada’s voice replied. Shouta was darkly pleased to hear that he sounded almost defeated when he said it, like the week of not getting what he wanted was starting to grate on him as much as his pestering was grating on Shouta. Yamada came slouching out from the back room of the studio. He didn’t look much better than the last time Shouta had seen him; the bruising around his eyes had faded from midnight purple to a sickly pond scum grey-yellow-green and the gash on his forehead seemed to be healing well, but he held neck and upper body stiffly like he was trying very hard not to move too quickly and risk wrenching something. Despite this, his whole posture straightened as he saw that it was Shouta making the delivery today. Shouta sighed internally as Yamada swaggered up to him with a suspiciously cheerful grin.

“Haven’t seen too much of you around here lately,” Yamada said, the barest note of challenge to his tone. Shouta gave him the flattest, most disinterested look he could manage in return.

“We’ve been moving people around,” he said, handing Yamada the clipboard. “Sign here, please.”

“Right, right,” Yamada said. He stamped the bottom of the delivery slip and made to claim is carbon copy. As he started pulling the perforation, he paused as if he’d just thought of something. “Are you allowed to pick up something since you’re already here, or do I have to call in for that?” Yamada asked.

“I can take it for processing if it’s properly addressed, but they’ll charge your account after the fact for the delivery costs. And since it’s Friday it probably won’t get delivered until Monday,” Shouta said. It was technically against policy do it things that way, but a little bit of policy finagling was worth cutting this conversation as short as he could.

“Oh, that’s fine, it’s nothing urgent. Just something I owe a colleague of mine,” Yamada said. “It should still be in the outbox, Chii,” he added, turning to Chiyaki and pointing to a pair of mail trays behind their desk. Shouta collected the envelope from Chiyaki and tucked it under his arm, reclaiming the clipboard from Yamada as well.

“Thanks for your patronage,” Shouta said, already turning and heading towards the door. He tossed the envelope into an empty bin in the back of his truck and was mostly successful in putting it out of his mind.

“Aizawa!”

Shouta halted on the threshold of the employee entrance at the sound of a voice behind him. He sighed, wondering what new impediment was about to be added to his day. When he turned around, however, he was surprised to find Takeshiro, one of the night crew in package processing, approaching him with an envelope clipped to a clipboard.

“Something I can help you with?” Aizawa asked warily. Takeshiro held the clipboard out to him.

“Found somethin’ for you in one of the bins,” Takeshiro replied. “Figured you could sign for it now. No point sendin’ someone all the way uptown for someone who works here, y’know?”

He wasn’t wrong, Shouta supposed, though it seemed strange that someone would be sending him something through the company he worked for. If they knew him well enough to send him things he would have assumed they knew to just use the postal service and save themselves the handling fees.. He set his bag down, having to dig through a few different pockets before he found his spare stamp. Takeshiro watched him with disinterest bordering on impatience. Shouta signed for the envelope and barely had time to tear off his copy of the form before Takeshiro reclaimed the clipboard and bid him a perfunctory good night. Shouta watched him go, eyebrow raised, then shrugged. He would have considered himself a man of few words, but Takeshiro was about as talkative as a tree stump.

Turning back to the envelope, Shouta was somewhat unsurprised to recognize it; the envelope Yamada had gotten him to take for processing earlier that day. Shouta grimaced at the thought that Yamada considered him in any way a “colleague”. The envelope itself was heavier than he would have expected for its size and rattled when he turned it over in his hands. The noise was not encouraging. Shouta slid the envelope into his bag, careful not to jostle it too much as he made his way back to his apartment.

Once there, Shouta dug a filtration mask, a pair of thick leather gloves, and a long-handled pair of chemistry tongs out of the jumble of spare parts and unused equipment in his linen cabinet. It would be somewhat out of character for Yamada to resort to some kind of long-distance assassination via courier package but Shouta wasn’t in the business of being careless around villains. He knelt on his entryway floor, envelope in front of him. Using the tongs he grasped the tab of the envelope and pulled it open. Nothing happened, which was equal parts a relief and suspicious. He took the bottom corner of the envelope between two fingers and pulled the edge of the opening wider with the tongs, sliding the contents of the envelope out onto the floor.

A zip-top sandwich bag full of cash clattered out, landing with a metallic splat. Holding the envelope at arms’s length Shouta peeked inside and saw something square and yellow stuck to the inside; pulling it out revealed a pair of yellow sticky notes stapled together at the top corner that appeared to have been shaken off of the sandwich bag in transit. The note on top read “they took a stupid route and overcharged you”. Dumping out the sandwich bag, Shouta found it contained five thousand, one hundred sixty-nine yen in small bills and change; rounded up, the fare from the hospital to Yamada’s apartment building. A roundabout way of deciding to repay him, Shouta thought, but it showed more discretion that he’d honestly expected out of Yamada. Flipping to the second note, he saw it was an address and a small but detailed hand-drawn map from his apartment to the destination and a meeting time of 8:30pm, signed off with Yamada’s stylized M signature. One step forward, two steps back, Shouta thought as he pulled the respirator mask off with a sigh. The invitation wasn’t a binding agreement, but Yamada had already proved he was willing to go utterly over the top to force Shouta into an interaction. Either Shouta bit the bullet and went now, or he had at least another week of near-constant deliveries to look forward to. At least this way he could return Yamada’s things and not have to look at the accusatory paper bag every time he went to get dressed in the morning. One look at the clock told him he was already destined to be late, but Shouta didn’t bother rushing as he collected the bag and kicked on his shoes to head out again. Whether Yamada waited to see if he was coming or stood him up was the other man’s prerogative.

The address was for a small bistro-style cafe with a rooftop veranda that overlooked the sidewalk. Yamada was hovering beside the door with his phone in his hand, pretending to be engrossed in whatever was on the screen but keeping a sharp eye on passersby. He looked like he had come straight from work, still dressed in the same clothes Shouta had seen him in earlier with a leather laptop bag over one shoulder. The smile he gave Shouta as he approached was as close to genuinely friendly as Shouta had ever seen from him.

“I already got us a table,” Yamada said, nodding to one of the tables on the veranda. He motioned for Shouta to follow him into the restaurant and up a claustrophobically narrow set of stairs next to the door to the kitchen. The two of them sat across from one another at the table, a tension settling between them as soon as they did. Shouta ordered a black coffee without looking at the menu and Yamada requested the server come back in a few minutes to give him time to look things over.

“I’ve never actually been here before,” Yamada admitted when the server left. “I saw it when I was walking home the other day and it struck me as a good place to get some privacy, you know?”

“Hn,” Shouta replied. The veranda was abandoned other than the two of them, with only the tiny staircase or vaulting the safety rail as viable exits. A quiet laugh from Yamada interrupted Shouta’s train of thought. He looked over to see Yamada trying to hide a smirk behind his hand.

“You do that too?” Yamada asked.

“Do what?”

“Tally up every escape route the second you get into a place,” Yamada said. “Hopping the railing wouldn’t be my first choice, but you seemed to be staring at it pretty hard. Bored with me already?”

Shouta scowled at him, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks at being called out. Instead of answering, he grabbed the paper bag and set it on the table in front of Yamada. Yamada looked at it, then up at Shouta with his head cocked to the side. “I would have returned it sooner, but things came up,” Shouta said, only lying slightly. Things had come up, they were just mostly intangible things like the unmistakable feeling that he didn’t want to see Yamada. Bemused by the roundabout explanation, Yamada unrolled the top of the bag and looked inside. He paused, seeming taken aback when he saw what the bag held.

“So you’re the one who made off with all of this,” Yamada said, not quite managing to keep the surprise out of his voice. He pawed through the bag’s contents and pulled out the tangle of wires and audio parts Shouta had yanked from around his neck.

“I...may have broken that,” Shouta admitted grudgingly. “Sorry. There wasn’t a lot of time.”

Yamada looked it over, running it through his fingers like a jeweler inspecting a string of pearls, then shook his head. “It doesn’t look like it. I worked some break points into it when I built it, like those elastic loops they put in cat collars so they don’t strangle themselves.” He shrugged. “Might be time for an upgrade anyway.” He seemed to catch himself lapsing into thought and shook out of it, holding the handful of assorted technology up like Shouta was supposed to have any idea what he was looking at. “It’s a vocal directional focus,” Yamada explained. “Depending on the combination of switches I use, it activates the speakers to give me a little boost in sending my voice where I want it to go. The only downside is smaller parts burn out twice as fast, and that’s if you’re using them for what they’re meant to do. You can only fight obsolescence for so long.” He shrugged again, setting the gear aside to continue poking through the bag.

Yamada picked up his mask, making a face at the jagged crack across the brow, then his jacket. He inspected the jacket even more closely than he’d looked at his gear, clicking his tongue in annoyance and running his thumb over some deep scuffs on the lapels and sleeves. “A little polish and she’ll be good as new,” he muttered, more to himself than Shouta. As he moved it to the side, something fell out of the pocket and clattered onto the table. Yamada picked it up. “Is this yours?” Yamada asked, holding up a small matte black USB drive between finger and thumb.

“No,” Shouta said, shaking his head. He had quite a few storage drives, but he kept them in a secure pocket elsewhere in his bag from where he’d stowed Yamada’s things.

“Huh.” Yamada looked it over, but from what Shouta could see there didn’t seem to be any kind of label on it. “Do you mind?” Yamada asked, pulling his laptop case up onto the table. Shouta shrugged. Personally he thought the mystery flash drive could wait until Yamada was done with whatever he had called him here for, but Yamada had already packed away his other belonging and was halfway into booting up his computer heedless of Shouta’s waning patience. Yamada’s eyebrows furrowed closer and closer together and he scrolled through the drive’s contents, occasionally making small “hmm”s or “huh”s.

After one especially scathing noise of curiosity, Shouta lost the last of his composure and half-snapped, “Something interesting?”

Yamada blinked, seeming to come back to himself but not looking away from the computer screen. “Possibly,” he said, sounding like he was more thinking out loud than anything. “Looks like the two you chased off were trying to do a little bit of revisionist evidence-planting. Some of these transcripts are mine, but some of them are definitely not. They are very interesting, though. If the night had gone a little differently those two would’ve had a nice feather in their cap.” Saying that seemed to jog him fully back to the present. “Anyway,” he said, pulling the drive out of his laptop and stowing both back in the case. “That actually brings me to what I actually wanted to talk to you about.”

“Which is?” Shouta asked. He couldn’t help feeling relieved that they had finally gotten to the point of this tiresome meeting.

“I wanted to thank you,” Yamada said. His expression was as close to serious as Shouta had seen from him and his voice lacked any of the attention-seeking cheeriness or slick smarm he usually used. “You stuck your neck out for me when you didn’t have to, and things would have broken pretty bad for me if you hadn’t been there.”

“Er. You’re welcome,” Shouta said. The words felt very awkward in his mouth. The corner of Yamada’s mouth flickered up into an almost-smile but it was gone again a moment later.

“That’s only half of why I asked you to meet me, if I’m honest,” Yamada continued. Shouta frowned, a sinking feeling settling into his gut. Of course there was a catch, he thought irritably. When he didn’t respond, Yamada went on without him. “Since I owe you for saving my skin, I want to offer you a deal. It’s something I think will solve this stalemate we keep finding ourselves in,” Yamada said. He was back in his element, posture too languid and his voice picking up a calculating breeziness. The return to status quo wasn’t completely unexpected but was completely unwelcome.

Shouta waited for Yamada to keep talking, but Yamada seemed to be waiting for him to make the next move. Gritting his teeth, Shouta asked, “What kind of deal?”

Yamada’s renewed grin widened at the acquiescence. “It’s nothing too complicated,” he said. He held up a hand, long fingers spread. “The deal is ‘first to five wins.’ Each of us gets to ask the other five favors, no strings attached, no questions asked. The first one to use up all five has to willingly turn themself over to the authorities and never breathe a word about what they know about the other.”

Shouta stared at him, taken aback. He’d expected something sneaky that would keep the scales tipped in Yamada’s favor, but turning the situation into some inane rivalry game was a twist he hadn’t seen coming. As far as he could tell, Yamada was completely serious about the suggestion; he seemed proud of both the idea and the reaction it had gotten out of Shouta.

“You said no questions asked. You mean, no matter what the favor is, we’re required to do it because we agreed to the deal?” Shouta asked. Yamada nodded. “So what’s stopping one of us from saying, ‘do me a favor and go turn yourself at the nearest police station and pretend you never met me’?”

Yamada frowned. “Nothing, I guess, other than a sense of fair play,” he said coolly. “Deals like this require a certain level of trust to work.”

Shouta snorted. “What makes you think I trust you?”

“There has to be some reason for a guy like you to lie to the police and withhold evidence, then let the only other person who knows the truth walk away from you,” Yamada said, shrugging one shoulder.

He had a point, much to Shouta’s annoyance. His choice to let Yamada go that night and then do everything he could to not see him until now was more one of exhaustion mixed with avoidance, but not once in the midst of it had it occurred to him that he might have to worry about Yamada turning him in to the police. He must have been silent long enough that Yamada could sense him coming around to the idea, as Yamada’s grin returned in all its toothy, rankling glory.

“So, is that a yes?” Five strikes for each of us. Well,” he corrected himself, “five and four. I’m guessing I’ve probably already burned one free pass at your good will.”

Shouta shook his head. “No,” he said. “If this is to level the playing field, it’s going to be level. Five for each of us, like you said. What happened before was a...lapse in judgement,” he finished, scowling at himself. His moment of ill-advised altruism had officially overstayed its welcome.

“To lapses in judgement,” Yamada said, extending a hand across the table. Shouta shook hands with him, hating the finality of it. With the rules as they were set out, all Shouta had to do to win this ridiculous bet was hold off on asking Yamada for anything other than some peace and quiet and wait for Yamada to burn himself out. It was too simple of a solution for Yamada to have not thought of it before he offered the deal, and Shouta had a sneaking suspicion that they would end up clashing at the finish line anyway. For right now, though, it seemed like playing along might be his best option.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #villain!mic #vigilante!aizawa #shouta aizawa #hizashi yamada #Erasermic #bnha #mha #Fire Meet Gasoline AU #Quinny thinks she's a writer

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unchainedpredatcr-archive · 4 years

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Closed starter for @lurksinshadow

You see, it wasn’t every day having a man wearing full-on modern militaristic battle armor covered in blood stumbling upon you at random.

Fate seemed to want to have that changed, of course.

The Doom Slayer, stumbling upon a poor girl that looked to be by herself in this strange world he was a bit familiar with, was standing straight, tall, and still evidently had a shotgun in his hand-- barrel pointed down, of course, and made sure that his finger wasn’t on the trigger. He was sure he was terrifying enough for the poor thing, but he’d might as well make sure that he wasn’t TOO menacing, considering all of his weapons. . Including his dear Great Communicator-- the chainsaw.

“. . Sorry if I’m terrifying, little one.” A gentle voice, understanding and caring, with a deep, strong baritone, gravelly and raspy, like each word seemed to hurt his throat-- it didn’t, though. Not as much as another marine he ran into previously that he shared a first name with. Kneeling down, he softly spoke up, his shotgun moving to his back. They looked to be in. . An alleyway? Yeah, he could tell-- Japan, maybe, or was it somewhere else? THAT part Flynn had no idea. All he knew was that this kid was alone in an alley and had a chance of getting hurt. “. . If it helps, uh. .”

He raised his hands to his helm, forcing it off with a hiss as it lifted from its latches, revealing a heavily scarred face, wise blue orbs focusing on hers, and messy brown hair in a crew cut.

“My name is Flynn.” He began, “Why are you out here by yourself? Something happen?” He asked with a concerned little frown, one brow cocking in confusion as he waited for a response. Keep it slow, Flynn, he told himself-- don’t go spooking her, but he couldn’t help but let his mind jump to conclusions. Was it demons? Perhaps the Hell Priests being resurrected and hoping to battle him again for what he had done before? Or maybe, the Marauder wanted a rematch? Or, was it what these people called ‘villains’ in this world?

Time would tell, but either way, Flynn already had a gut feeling, deep down as the clouds hung in the air, ready to rain at a moment’s notice, that he’d need to take care of the child. Maybe Hayden would disagree, but Flynn just knew that he had to do something. Maybe he could ask VEGA for even more parenting tips. . To search on-line, anyhow.

. .

Or he could go down the route of ‘trusting his instincts’ and think of how he raised Daisy-- okay, Flynn, too far, kid might have parents still, so don’t go thinking of suddenly scooping her off the streets to take her through a portal to the Fortress of Doom.

He knew better than that. Discipline, Flynn, figure out if this kid’s okay.

“Are you hurt at all?”

He couldn’t tell what time it was, if it were the morning, afternoon, or evening, but it surely wasn’t night. With how the sun managed to just barely peek through the clouds and into the alley, it left Flynn casting a long shadow over the child-- perhaps as a sign that he already knew would happen, deep down.

He’d be protecting this kid with his life.

#rp starter #☰approach the slayer with aggression---------lurksinshadow☰#☰entering praetor suit---------ic☰#☰what kind of planet will we be leaving to our children?---------DOOM Paternal ☰Verse☰#☰activating portal now---------crossover☰

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razieltwelve · 5 years

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Swords (Final Effect)

Commander Jane Shepard (promotion currently under consideration) ducked behind a wall as another hail of projectiles hurtled down the corridor. In the aftermath of the Reaper War, space pirates and raiders had become for more bold due to the losses the major powers had suffered. It was up to her and other elite agents to deal with them since the major powers were still struggling to recoup their losses.

It had gotten bad enough that the Systems Alliance had asked the Empire for assistance although they had been careful about rewording it as ‘cooperative training exercises’ for the press to avoid inciting a panic. Personally, Shepard would have been perfectly happy telling some of the more overzealous members of the Empire to go nuts since they apparently had a long-standing grudge against space pirates. However, the higher ups did not want to appear weak with negotiations underway.

Honestly, it was ridiculous. Even if the Systems Alliance had been at full strength, the Empire could have crushed them without breaking a sweat. Oh well. At least dealing with space pirates took her mind off the fact that she would soon be swapping her armour for her dress uniform since she was, apparently, someone the Empire had come to respect greatly, and her superiors wanted her to participate in some of the negotiations.

“Can someone clear those pirates out?” Shepard asked over the comms. “I’d rather not stick my head around the corner and get it blown off by a rocket launcher.”

In response to her words, several glowing spears flew down the corridor, turned the corner, and then hurtled into the pirates before exploding. She rolled her eyes. Honestly, Celeste was just showing off now. The pink-haired Dia-Farron had the ability to create Aura construct in just about any shape she wanted that she could manoeuvre with incredible speed, accuracy, and precision.

“Consider them cleared out,” Celeste murmured as she walked past Shepard. The hamster on her shoulder squeaked a greeting and rubbed his paws together in glee. Knowing him, he was looking forward to looting the corpses. The pirates might not have advanced technology, but the Dia-Farron had made a point of collecting any technology they encountered. “Are you coming?”

Shepard laughed. “Right behind you.”

“Of course.” Celeste inclined her head. Like most Dia-Farron, the power armour she wore was dominated by shades of pink, orange, green, and blue. It looked a bit odd, and it was absolutely lacking in anything even approaching subtlety, but she doubted Celeste cared. “Do you want a weapon?”

Shepard grinned. This was why she loved working with Celeste. “Twin swords, monomolecular edges.”

Celeste waved one hand, and a pair of glowing swords with monomolecular edges appeared. “There you go.”

Shepard heft the weapons, and her grin widened. Celeste had weighted them to feel just like real swords. “Some covering fire while I close in would be appreciated.”

Celeste snapped one finger. A series of glowing blades thundered into the makeshift barricade the space pirates had tossed up. The barricade came apart in a shower of mangled metal, and Shepard gave a savage smile as she raced forward. There was nothing quite like fighting the enemy face to face.

As she ran, Shepard took a moment to appreciate her armour. The Dia-Farron had worked on it. They had, apparently, only used technology that the Systems Alliance was capable of replicating in the near future, but the suit was far, far, far better than it had originally been. It seemed to anticipate her movements, and the servos built into it amplified her strength without hindering her speed or agility. Without her suit, Shepard was one of the deadliest humans alive. With it? She was a living chainsaw.

She struck the pirates in a blur of motion. One sword whipped up and forward, and the pirate - a Batarian - was cleaved in two. Using her other sword to relieve another pirate of his weapon - and the arm that was holding it - she spun and decapitated a pair of pirates that had tried to sneak up on her. Fully immersed in the thrill of combat, she pressed on, ducking several shots, before she leapt, twisting in mid-air to kick off the ceiling and land right in the middle of the next group of pirates.

With terrifying ease, she sliced and diced her way down the corridor. The glowing Aura construct blades seamlessly cut through everything they encountered as she decided to put some of her lessons with Celeste to work. The Empire placed a far greater emphasis on melee combat than most factions, and the moment she’d found out that Celeste was considered a master of several dozen different weapons, she had immediately badgered the other woman into teaching her whenever she had the chance.

The ultimate objective of all weapons forms in the Empire was to become formless, capable of adjusting to any situation and exploiting any weaknesses or flaws in the opponent. However, attaining formlessness required absolute mastery of form. Celeste had picked out several styles that she thought would suit Shepard best, and Shepard had worked tirelessly to incorporate them into her fighting.

Her favourite form was the one she was using now, something Celeste referred to as the Intercepting Blade. It was a style that relied on speed, precision, and above all anticipation. The ability to read the opponent’s movements and then react, striking before they could react or adjust was crucial. Given how quick Shepard was, as well as her instinctive grasp of combat, it was a style she had quickly grown to love.

A slight twitch of her next opponent’s arm gave his moves away, and she used her superior speed to kill him before he could do anything more than start his attack. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a trio of pirates, and she guessed their intentions. She threw herself sideways and let the devices built into her boots grasp onto the wall. Running sideways along the wall, she parted one pirate’s head from his shoulder and then let herself fall, rolling under a shotgun blast before springing up and bisecting the shooter as she soared over him and landed behind the final pirate. He turned, knife flashing toward her throat, but she was ready. She parried the blow with one sword and then gutted him as he skidded past.

Silence reigned for a moment in the corridor before one of the pirates, who had somehow managed to survive being cut almost in half, raised his weapon in trembling hands - only to be pinned to the wall by an Aura construct spear through the eye. The weapon dropped out of his hands, and Celeste chuckled.

“You missed one.” At Celeste’s feet, her hamster was busy scanning the pirate’s equipment and packing it away into one of his subspace pockets. When one of the other pirates twitched, the hamster squeaked and fired a thin beam of electricity into the downed Batarian. Shepard had learned the hard way that war hamsters were deadly even without transforming. Celeste’s lips twitched. “And was all of the flipping and twirling really necessary?”

Shepard chuckled. “Not all of us can just point and have a storm of swords impale our opponents.”

Celeste shrugged. “I won’t argue with that.” She summoned a glowing sword for herself and leapt to cut a hole in the ceiling. Several corpses tumbled down. There had been pirates crawling through an air duct. “But this facility really does have a lot of pirates in it. It’s rather aggravating.”

“It’s easy pickings with so few ships able to patrol at the moment.” Shepard knelt beside one of the bodies and frowned. She’d seen quite a few pirates wearing these badges. The last thing they needed was for the pirates to organise into proper groups instead of haphazard raiding parties. “By the way, you never did tell me who devised the Intercepting Blade.”

“Oh?” Celeste grinned. “The Intercepting Blade is a style that is heavily based on the techniques and tactics used by Saviour. To be honest, you really need some form of precognition or prediction to use it to its full potential.”

“Saviour?” Shepard’s brows furrowed. “As in the Semblance the Fleet Admiral has?”

“Yes. Maybe you'll get to see her use it someday, but I doubt there’s anything in this galaxy strong enough to warrant it.”

“Not even a Reaper?”

“Oh, she could kill one of those easily enough with her Semblance, but we’ve got other things that can do that too as you know. However, there are things back home that we do need Saviour to kill. Hopefully, none of those show up.”

“Let’s hope so.” Shepard shuddered. Some of the stories she’d heard about the Grimm made the Reapers seem positively pedestrian in comparison. Swarms numbering trillions of Grimm, some of which could consume solar systems? Insanity. “So are there any more pirates around?”

Celeste shook her head. “I’ve had my drones scan the rest of the facility. There aren’t any living pirates around. However, there are some personnel holed up in one of the more remote wings of the facility, so we should go tell them it’s safe to come out.”

“Ah. Right.” Shepard glanced at the two glowing swords she was holding. “Thanks for the swords, by the way.”

“It’s fine.” The swords vanished, and Celeste began to walk down the corridor with her hamster perched on her shoulder. “Weapons are meant to be used, and you looked as though you were really enjoying yourself. I’ll have to see if i can get you a plasma sabre.”

“A plasma sabre? I’m assuming that’s basically a sword made of plasma, right?”

“Basically. I won’t get into the specifics, but that’s pretty much correct. You’re not technically supposed to get one since it’ll be a while since your people get close to developing any, but I can handle the paperwork to authorise it.”

Shepard couldn’t wait. “You know, Liara thinks I’m becoming even more obsessed with weapons now that you guys are around.”

“I’m a Dia-Farron. True, I come from the more sensible side of the family, but I can hardly complain. When I was growing up, my cousins spent most of their free time building weapons that could smash cities. By the time I was an adult, they’d moved up to constructing planet-cracking weapons that were, technically, illegal but it wasn’t like anyone else in the family was going to say anything because everyone else was doing it too.”

X X X

Author’s Notes

A Shepard’s work is never done.

You can find me on fanfiction.net, AO3, and Amazon. Please check out my newest story on Amazon. It’s called Monster Whisperer.

#final effect #fanfiction #shepard

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spirit-of-vengeance · 4 years

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7th ROTG anniversary. Time to get emotional.

I never written this down, but now I feel the need due to the intense nostalgia and the notice of how quickly time is fleeing. I have a tale to tell, I need to share my story about how this film changed my life. Warning: it's long.

Brief into: I believed in the Santa, Easter Bunny (I really wanted in the Toothfairy too and unfortunately never heard about Jack or Sandy) even when I was 10. (Which was considered pretty old to believe) I even got into an argument with my teacher in the 3rd grade because she said 'stop being childish, they aren't real' because I was excitedly whispering with my classmate about catching the Santa this year. A boy, who ironically looked exactly like Jack Frost began endlessly teasing me and calling me stupid for still thinking he's real. On the way back home with mom I confronted her about this, not giving up until she told me whenever he was right or not. Backed into a corner, she was forced to give up. I cried every day for weeks. The magic was ripped away from me.

Year 2012, December. I'm 11 and a victim of hardcore bullying since my whole life. Students, teachers and sometimes parents. To cheer me up, mom took me to the shopping center to watch a movie. We couldn't really decide & she saw a giant poster of North smiling at people. Her eyes lit up and excitedly said 'Let's watch that! ' I followed the direction of her finger and my face scrunched in malice "I am not watching a movie with the Santa. Its stupid. I'm a big girl, I want to watch a bloody action movie! " but she was unbending. She could bribe me into it with a large bowl of popcorn; I was still grumbling when the lights went out.

The change: first snowflakes, first notes of the piano worked like magic. I immediately shut up and wondered what actually happens here. Why is it so soothing? At the first few shots of the North Pole when North is working on the ice train, I jumped in my seat and I shit you not, I thought the Santa is actually getting murdered. My eyebrow rose higher when I realized that guy with the chainsaw and swords is the Santa. Unfortunately, I can't remember more first reactions; stress, depression, traumas really ruined my long term memory. It seems silly now, but I kept the last piece of popcorn what I was munching on during it, I still have it in a little jewel box; one of my sacred memories. The car ride back to home was quiet, I was staring out of the window my mind stirring with creativity.

Aftermath: 2013-2018; while my classmates were busy getting drunk, being a petty bitch, giving oral in the toilet, (yes. I am talking about elementary school.), getting laid, I was lost in a world of wonder. I learnt 60% of my English knowledge in 3 months with reading fanfiction. I browsed deviantart for hours and laughed my ass off at the hilarious, extremely well done fanarts.

I grew up on mostly Blackice videos I wasn't 100% aware what I'm actually seeing tho, I was exposed to gay ships from a young age and plot twist, nothing serious happened😀. My mental health wasn't shit because I saw the Bogeyman and the Winter spirit kiss.

I began talking to the Moon. I cried my pain to him. Sitting on my windowstill, debating whenever I should jump or not. My extraordinarily strong bond with my mom and this film were my only lifeline. I was making it through, in my own world. My imagination created wonderful sights, scenarios; at nights I was certain I can spot Sandy on his cloud, at Christmas North trying to push himself out of the chimney cussing, at Easter that enormous bunny running around, at winters mostly yelling at Jack 'get out of my country' because I'm a summer person, going to school on a chilly yet sunny autumn day and see Pitch standing on the edge of the misty forest.

I began to change, respond to the pressure from my bullies. My personality began to morph. See the wonder in everything; like North. There's hope and spite, don't dare to give up; like Bunny. Awaken and enjoy creativity; like Sandy. Shit on the rules and have a damn good time no matter what; like Jack. Cherish memories and friends; like Tooth. Be ruthless and stand up from the most brutal blows; like Pitch. And never forget, the Moon will always be there even when he's an antisocial dick and says nothing.

My aim, my dream was to write the sequel. When I was done I wanted to send it to William Joyce. I wrote 200+ pages, but unfortunately in Hungarian. I still don't know why I stopped, why I abandoned that plan.

I was looking for ROTG posters because I wanted to email them to my friend to show what I've been obsessed with. I was just lazily staring at a Pitch poster, realizing his V neck actually never closes - then my eyes crossed the date: November 21. I let out an ungodly shriek of disbelief and mirth. Mom rushed into the living room with terror and met with the sight of me screaming in ecstasy "RISE OF THE GUARDIANS CAME OUT ON MY BIRTHDAY!!!! "

Around 2016 I became really interested in this roleplay stuff and oh god I was terrible. Cindy Flame then was an always angry Mary sue but after years of practice, expanding she is a completely built, extremely complex character, flawed, strong, tragic and ruthless; divine yet oh so human. So I was making friends online, most of them failed, I think one of them committed suicide but that belongs to an another story.

I have been lurking Tumblr for 3 years? More? Because I had no idea how this site worked and I was shy because I thought my writing is not good enough I realize now I felt right. I admired blogs from afar, read their writing and falling deeper and deeper into this fandom.

Nearing present day: I actually came to Tumblr to pursue a friend of mine. I was borderline desperate because I've thought they are one of the last one in the fandom and it scared me. The fun thing is, I actually never interacted with them after making this blog. So I break this two year old spell and hi @kingofnxghtmares it's me, Jasmine😊 You don't have to answer/interact/or anything, I wanted to get everything off my chest and finally tagging you just felt right.

So now I'm on Tumblr. And I love every second it. I've found amazing friends, insanely dynamic muses, crack threads, angst, the chance to expand my muse even more and where I belong. So there I am, wondering where 7 years went. I've grown up (somewhat), and I'm glad I was protected from the 'disaster teenage years ', drinking, heartbreak, drugs, etc instead I grew up in a magical world interviewed with reality so closely; it became an escape place when reality became too heavy.

About ROTG & finale: masterpiece. The animation is insanely lifelike yet fantasy. Every tiny, microscopic detail is perfect, the characters, the storyline, the atmosphere original and capturing. The music is gut wrenching. Everything is absolutely, 200% on point. I don't think there ever will be an animated movie which can be better than Rise of the Guardians animation and/or storywise. No 'love is the answer ' movies can ever come close this iconic masterpiece no matter how they rip it off looking at Frozen 2😒

I watched it today (I have it in Spanish as well and I only can encourage everyone to watch it, the Spanish voice acting is, 100% in my opinion Pitch's bested Jude Law, damn that rich hiss of malice was incredible ) on my 18th birthday while cuddling with mom, laughing and heavy with nostalgia. I think I will remain in this fandom for a very long time, I don't think I would ever be able to let it go due to my deep emotional ties. I would like to thank everyone who were present in making this film, the artists who still keep this fandom alive, all of my friends, roleplay partners; thank you for brightening my childhood, giving me purpose and a place to belong.

To my all of my friends:

@paintbrushtheelf @muerte-rojo @nightmarinqs @mr-mansnoozie @gatekeeperoftheunderworld @50shadesofpitchblack @flossinspector @magicmiyeh

@black-equals-mysoul @nxghtlight @lindzem

I love all of you,

Jasmine

#Trigger warnings for mentions of suicidal thoughts #wow this is long #And angsty #Idk who read it completely but they deserve a medal for it #wild author appearing without makeup #I know I don't look 18.#Long story cut short: ROTG came out on my birthday and I'm emotional #🔥author/writer's note🔥 | smoldering embers

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harley4l · 4 years

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Chapter 10: Family stands together

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” ― Eleanor Roosevelt, This is My Story

Beginning / Previous / Next

A disappointment, as usual, his father had muttered under his breath every so often after Rocco had come home from school bruised and crying because he let his classmates beat him up again. Crybaby, they taunted him with wide sneers and eyes full of with callous glee. Little Mama’s Boy.

I’m not a Mama’s boy!, Rocco always insisted, their laughter swarming in his ears. His mother had wished for a daughter she could groom into a miniature version of herself, not a frail, cowardly son who could barely stand up against his older brothers. From day one, he’d been their punching bag, their prey to test the art of intimidation until they were old enough to inherit their father’s drug empire. When he was too young to properly understand what exactly his father’s legacy was, he’d asked Enzo and Rafael about it. His brothers had exchanged looks and smirked at each other before towering over Rocco. Dad is selling lots of candy, which makes other people happy, Enzo teased, mimicking a baby’s voice. Except if you’re eating to much candy, you’ll die! Rafel added with a chuckle. Better watch out for people giving you candy, it’ll kill you. Bring it to me and Enzo first, we’re testing it for poison. Timid and confused, Rocco had glanced from one brother to the other. But won’t the candy hurt you too? Hearing this, Enzo and Rafael had broken out into resounding laughter and slapped each other’s backs. Don’t worry about us, sissy, Rafael all but yelled. It’s only killing the weak pussies!

Back then Rocco hadn’t yet realized it how unwanted he was, but his family had put in the effort to make it clear over the following years. Dude, what a pantywaist, Rafael had snarled on an evening the three brothers were at home alone and they had watched a slasher movie on TV. Enzo and Rafael giggled when the killer started chasing his victims through the woods and rammed his chainsaw through their torsos, causing their guts to spill out – but Rocco had started to cry. Annoyed with his whining, his brothers had grabbed his arms and legs and dragged him downstairs into the basment, looking the door behind him. Rocco had sobbed and banged his fists against the solid door and begged for them to let him out. We’re only protecting you from the killer, Rocco! Enzo rasped behind the door. He’s coming for yooouuuu! Rocco screamed and screamed until his throat was sore and his knuckles were bruised from banging. Many hours later his parents had come down and unlocked the door, their faces twisting in disapproval at the sight of Rocco’s face which was swollen from crying. When they called Enzo and Rafael out of bed and asked why they’d left their younger brother alone in the basement for hours, Rafael made an innocent face. Because he’s weak, dad! Enzo and I, we were just trying to make a man out of him! Their father had sent the two back to bed without punishment.

With the years the brothers grew older, and with age they grew more hostile. They weren’t resorting to pranks to maltreat Rocco any longer, they just beat him up when he annoyed them and told Rocco he deserved this. Crazy as it was, they almost seemed to view it as a challenge. Fight back, Rafael coerced him after he’d destroyed Rocco’s solar system project for school and kicked him in the side when he scrambled to pick up the shambles. Fight back, FIGHT BACK! But Rocco didn’t know how. He'd always looked pathetic next to Enzo, the smartass brain of their family and Rafael, his father’s fierce and charming golden boy who could do nothing wrong. For the son of an infamous mafioso, Rocco admittedly had no qualities worth mentioning. He’d ― very briefly ― enjoyed painting with watercolor when he was nine or ten years old, but he gave up on the hobby after his siblings discovered his art hidden at the back of his wardrobe and boxed holes through the canvas’. Looks better that way, Enzo said when Rocco found the paintings completely destroyed. Afterwards, Rocco tried out boxing at school, but he was a hopeless case at sports and the trainer critiziced his moves were clumsy and weak.

After his brothers left to attend college, Rocco stopped talking to them for years. They rarely came home to visit and when they did he was basically air to them. Enzo studied history and Rafael economics. Both graduated with honors and soon afterwards Enzo got married to his wife Blaise and had Tessa, Rafael got married to Carol and they had Eleanor, Kara and Miranda. Rocco on the other hand was lucky to even graduate high school, seeing how badly his grades had dropped over the years. His teachers often complained that Rocco was distracted at school and didn’t do his homework, which was true in a way ― he was usually under too much stress to concentrate on homework. With grades as disastrous as his own, college plans were cancelled and he started out infinitely low on the career ladder, working as a tough guy in the criminal career in hopes of supporting his father someday. He’d lost count of how many women he dated up to that point ― since high school his girlfriends they had come and gone. He longed for a stable relationship such as his brothers had, but it seemed no woman could endure Rocco for long. They all insisted it wasn’t his fault that the relationship failed ― then in the same breath had criticized Rocco for shutting out emotions, not being tender, distanced, overall not husband material. It was almost funny after he’d spent all his life trying to be strong and not show his his emotions because in his family’s eyes emoting equalled weakness. He didn’t know how to open his heart anymore.

This november, Rafel had hosted a grand gala dinner at his house ― a celebration for his newly secured business deal with Nicholas Prescott, an influental politican and the richest man in all of Brindleton Bay. After they’d quaffed a considerable amount of liquor, Rafael led Rocco into his office and sorted the family pictures on the shelves, most of them showed little Miranda and the twins when they were younger. Then he’d opened a drawer and pulled out a frame showing a woman Rocco had never seen before. She was heartbreakingly beautiful, her lips a velvet red, her eyes a sparkling turquoise and her hair a curtain of platinum. Rocco was about to ask who she was, but his brother answered the thought before he got the chance to upen up his mouth. This is Patricia Prescott. Isn’t she the most gorgeous gem you’ve seen, little brother? Rocco shifted uncomfortably on his spot by the door frame, but Rafael went on, apparently a lot more drunk than he’d realized earlier. Weird, disjointed talk about how Nicholas was the most gullible fool Rafael had ever met, how empowering it felt to woo Nick’s wife behind his back. How he wished Patricia would go ahead and divorce her husband, so that their family could be complete. Rocco was not about to question what this bullshit meant, but the longer his brother kept on talking the more infuriated Rocco became. Their father’s business ― no, their family legacy ― relied heavily on Rafael’s business deals with Nicholas Prescott. He couldn’t believe his irresponsible brother was risking it all to mess around with Prescott’s wife! Losing Prescott’s financial help could very well push them into ruin. The business hadn’t exactly run smoothly after the old man retired and left Rafael in charge ― who messed up more deals with potential partners than he secured! Rafael simply didn’t have the brains Enzo could have offered, or the strategic talent Rocco had proclaimed for himself as a hacker over these past years.

A few hours after this confusing, aggravating conversation, Rafael seemed to have sobered up enough to realize who he'd been talking to. He approached Rocco, asking him to keep the newly aquired knowledge about his affair with Prescott’s wife to himself. Their father mustn’t know about this. Sure, he and Rocco have had their troubles with each other in the past, but that was long ago ― everything was forgiven and forgotten, right?

Rocco wished he had the courage to reply that nothing was forgiven. Didn’t his brother realize how shitty his behavior had been, how badly he'd messed Rocco up back when he was small and defenseless? No, this time Rocco was in charge ... and he wanted to make Rafael pay. He wanted to punish him a hundred times worse, wanted to make him realize how strong and capable inferior little Rocco had become. They never took him serious until they all came crawling to him and asked for favors. Not so long ago, his niece had asked for his help to scare off some boys from school who followed her around. Nelly ― or was that Kara? He never bothered to try and tell them apart ― was always convinced someone was out to get her, although Rocco long suspected all of Rafael’s kids had some screws loose. But Nelly was by far the worst brat amongst them, the one always strutting around with a smug expression, acting like she was some sort of sovereignty. After Enzo declined his father’s offer to take over the company, Rocco should have been the one to be put in charge ― he had grown up to be far more qualified than both his brothers. Instead his father had chosen Nelly as his heiress, a naive little school girl, who had never contributed to anything. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair and someone had to pay the price for all the ways and years Rocco’s family had wronged him. If that someone needed to be Nelly, then so shall be it. The only thing Rocco knew for certain was that he would not be overlooked, or trampled over ― or underestimated ― ever again.

Next Chapter: Two can keep a secret ...

#ts4 #thesims4 #sims #stories #Sims Stories #storytelling #thesims #gameplay #mystery #a deceptive perfection

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lucrezia-dormentaire · 6 years

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even when i'm with you i can't help feeling like i'm about to break

so...I made a thing. since my tumblr is lacking in original post, I guess why not?

it’s also on ao3

The air is still that morning when Shiro wakes up. The sun, bright and shining, hanging outside his window, no doubt eagerly greeting the lazy couple still butt naked on their bed. He peels away the comfort of the blanket from his body and climbs down the bed, closing the curtain shut with a huff. He still wants to enjoy his perfect, lazy morning, cuddling with the love of his life, and maybe fall back asleep until noon.

When he turns around and scampers back into bed, though, Lance is already awake, sitting with his legs crossed underneath the comforter.

Lance is never an early riser. He gets whiny and cranky every morning, and usually, by now he would have whined about the lack of his needed beauty sleep. Shiro watches his boyfriend in bemusement, eyebrows raising high to his fringe before eyes flick to the alarm clock on the bedside table. It's barely 9 in the morning.

"Well. That's new." Shiro says as he climbs back into the bed. Lance is still sitting there, his hands fidgeting against each other on his laps. His face is set into a frown, one that Shiro isn't unfamiliar with but would rather avoid.

"What's up babe?" He asks, in a calming voice he knows Lance loves so much. Lance doesn't even flinch; his gaze merely flickers in Shiro's direction for a second, before he brings it back down to his laps. Shiro's concern slowly growing higher as the silence stretches longer. At one point, Lance lets out an exhausted sigh, his shoulders are hunch over, and he's clenching his jaws. Shiro is not sure what to make of it, so he sits frozen still, like an animal caught in headlights. Yes, Lance can get pretty icky in the morning, but usually he's really... Loud about it. He moans and complains and yells sometimes, but Shiro can keep up with that. He's not sure what to do with Lance's silence. And then suddenly, those ocean eyes look straight into his, heavy and dark. Shiro inhales shaky breath through his nose.

"We need to talk." Lance says, and those four words are the worst thing Shiro has ever heard in his life. His hand finds the sheet and he curls his fingers through it, searching for something to ground him. He nods, eyes never leaving Lance's. Lance rubs his own wrist, lips parting and closing in search of words. He looks so handsome like this, unsure and nervous, like a small animal. Shiro knows Lance always looks handsome no matter what the occasion is, but he rather has him smiling and enjoying himself, not whatever this is. Shiro can't remember seeing him look so internally consumed—most of the time Lance seems to have a keen interest in the world around him. Shiro shifts closer to take a closer look at his lover, and rests a hand on top of his fidgety ones. He looks wrecked, not beaten up, but simply like he hasn't slept for days.

"Lance?"

"I can't do this anymore, Shiro." Lance's voice is hoarse; choked up. His brows are pulled taut together, signaling his inner turmoil. "Let's... Let's break up."

In a mere second, Shiro's world—everything he's built upon—just shatters into tiny pieces. He takes a deep breath before replying with a tiny voice that couldn't possibly be his, "W-What?"

Shiro's hand hovers awkwardly on top of Lance's, frozen and cold like the current state his heart. Lance shakes his head as his eyes slid close.

"I just... I want to break up with you, Shiro. I can't stand it."

Shiro's eyes widen, cold sweat beginning to run down his nape as he backtracks to their previous night, to the previous day and days before, his mind searching in panic. "Wha... Why? Did i- Did I do something wrong? You-you gotta tell me, Lance, or I..." It's all too sudden, and they just had an amazing sex last night; Lance had said so too! He wasn't like this yesterday, or the day before, or sometimes this week.

"It's just," Lance begins, drawing a breath. Shiro's thumping heart is the loudest in the quiet room. "Every night, you just... Snore. So loud. And I'm losing sleep." He says as flat as possible, and Shiro's jaws go slack.

"What,"

"You're snoring in my ears. And I can't sleep." Lance elaborates, shooting him a level glare.

"Lance... You want to break up with me over me...snoring?" Shiro straightens his posture once again, brows pulled in confusion.

"You don't understand! My sleep means so much for me, and if I'm losing sleep my skin will turn out dry and patchy and it'll grow pimples! I won't be as pretty anymore!" Lance snaps, bringing his fists down to the bed. "And Shiro, I love you. I love you even though you mix up my laundry with your disgusting socks, I love you even though you use the soap to wash your hair, and I love you even though you always secretly eat all my smarties —"

"Wait, you knew?"

"Of course I know!!" Lance pokes a guilty finger right at Shiro's pecs, perfectly manicured nail digging into the skin. "I know what you did behind my back, mister. I just pretended that I don't because it was amusing — the point is, I love you, but your snore is just... It's the one thing I can't handle, Shiro, I'm sorry."

"Lance, it's just... I can't help it!" Shiro starts raising his own voice, a fire burning deep within his gut at Lance's irrational reasoning.

"You can! You could go see a doctor or something!"

"Over a snore?" Shiro snaps back, his tone latching with sarcasm.

Hurt washes over Lance's face in an instant. He pulls his lips into a spoiled pout, his bottom lips trembling. "I told you my sleep is important, didn't I?"

Shiro wills himself to calm down, shifting closer and reaching for Lance's arms. He rubs them in a soft caress. "Lance, you know you will always look the prettiest in my book. I practically worship you. There's not a day where you won't look beautiful to me," and he means it, really. They could be on their sixties and Lance would still as mesmerizing as the day he first laid his eyes on him. He suddenly wants it — to be with Lance until they are sixty or ninety, or more. He wants to spend his life with this boy in front of him. But first he will have to get Lance together first, and maybe he'll find some time to buy him a ring...

Lance suddenly pulls away, crawling away from Shiro's touch. "You don't understand..."

"Lance, I —" as Lance begins to stand up and climbs down the bed, Shiro's mind whirred in panic. Oh shit, he's serious, isn't he? He frantically reaches out for his boyfriend but ends up grabbing the air instead. "Lance..!"

Lance is already making his way to the drawer, quiet as a night. He crouches down, pulling out his shirt and socks messily like he's searching for something.

Shiro immediately gets to his feet, not caring that he's practically naked as he closes the gap between them. "Lance, I get it, I will go see a doctor or something, I swear, I will put it under control! I won't mix up the laundry, or eat anything with your label in it anymore! Just don't..." he runs his hands through his hair and his face, voice shaking. "Just don't break up with me. Please." He pleads, his voice sounding weak at the end. He doesn't dare to step any closer to Lance or to touch him, even though he is within an arms reach. "I love you."

Lance looks at him through his shoulder before bringing his gaze back to the drawer and sighs. "I don't even know why I put up with you. I guess I'm stupid."

"Lance—"

"In a way, you're stupid too." Lance continues. "That snore of yours is just... I once had a nightmare of being chased around by a lawnmower — or was it a man with a chainsaw? Either way, it was crazy. And I can't believe I'm resigning myself to a lifetime of craziness. I suppose I should be prepared."

Shiro has no idea what Lance is prattling about. His mind is still reeling in a panic mode to actually process anything. All he knows is that Lance is not... He's not angry anymore. There's a spark of amusement in his tone, even.

"I want to break up, Shiro. I don't want to be your boyfriend anymore. Its way past its date." Lance says, sending the blood in Shiro's veins to run cold. But then he pulls out a blue velvet box from the drawer and he turns around to face him completely, face devoid any of the previous animosity. "So maybe you'll take me as your husband?"

Shiro's brain short-circuited at that moment, knees failing him as he drops down into the ground. He opens his mouth but closes it immediately as nothing comes out. Waves and waves of relief escape him like strong gust of wind in the scorching hot summer. Lance ducks down so they're eye to eye, flicking the box open, revealing the silver, glimmering ring that sits neatly inside of it.

Shiro is so light-headed he could die.

"I probably won't look as pretty in years and years to come. And if I keep losing sleep I probably won't be pretty in a short amount of time, but will you marry me anyway, Takashi Shirogane?"

And then Shiro cries, because God, he loves this man so much. He can't stop nodding, no matter how ridiculous it may seem. His hand is shaking as Lance takes it in his, and he knows it's still shaking violently as Lance slides the silver ring into his finger. Lance leaves a lingering kiss on his knuckles and Shiro wants to take him away, to an island of short, where it would only be the two of them in their own little world.

"I love you, big guy."

"I love you too, even though you almost gave me a heart attack." Shiro says, eyes still stuck on the ring neatly settled into his ring finger.

Lance chuckles, his grin endearing and Shiro loves it. "Marriage proposal is supposed to be surprising and mind-blowing. It's part of the gig."

"Yes, but what if you killed me in the process? I'm not young anymore, you know that."

Lance's smile turns a little sad. "Neither am I. I guess we're both are getting old."

Shiro shakes his head at the vulnerability his fiance shows him. "No, no, no. You will always be the most beautiful person I have ever laid my eyes on, Lance. Nothing will ever change that."

Lance's eyes are watery now, like a dam about to break. He bites into his lower lips, the intimacy of the moment slowly getting into him. "Even more than Allura?"

"Allura’s got nothing on you." Shiro says, leaning in to place a sweet kiss on Lance's forehead.

Lance sucks in a breath and sobs into Shiro's shoulder, pulling the guy into a warm, loving embrace. Shiro wounds his arms around Lance too, tight, as if he wouldn't ever let him go. He wouldn't. Not after all of this. He hears a chorus of "I'm sorrys" and "I love yous" muffled by his skin, and his hand travels up to craddle Lance's head against him, whispering sweet nothings into his soon to be husband's ear.

Shiro ends up getting his more than deserved lazy morning, as the two of them settled back down on the bed until noon rolls around, and the ridiculous heat is slowly getting on their nerves. But neither of them pulls away, nor even thinking about it. Lance keeps looking at him through his lashes, beautiful blue eyes gleaming in the dimness of the room. Their fingers are tangled to together, occasionally Lance would brush his thumb against the ring on Shiro's finger like he could never get over it. Honestly, Shiro shares the sentiment. Shiro feels so full, chest swelling and overloading with love, and he swears he doesn't know what to do with it except for running his thumb down on Lance's side, tickling his ribs. It's quiet and it's comfortable like they're on the other side of the galaxy and not on earth; boring, dull, earth, but on a planet that belongs only to them.

Lance's stomach grumbling in protest breaks up the tender moment and the two of them all but explodes in laughter, shoulders shaking as they press closer, feeling each other's warmth through connected skin.

"Okay, for the surprise this morning how about I cook you something special, my prince?" Shiro says, bringing Lance's hand closer for a kiss.

Lance's lashes flutter when he smiles. "Oh? Shiro, who never once steps into the kitchen without blowing it out of proportion, suddenly offered to cook me a surprise? Yeahh, I'd rather not."

"I could cook when I try!" Shiro gasps, sounding offended.

"The last time you tried, you burnt my plant." Lance counters with a giggle. "But I appreciate it, thank you darling."

Shiro huffs through his nose, rolling his eyes fondly at his fiance. He smooths his finger against Lance's cheek, mapping it out. Even at the promise of breakfast (or is it lunch now?) Neither of them seems to want to move.

"But honestly," shiro suddenly says, pulling Lance back from his sleepiness.

"Is it that bad? Do you really hate my snoring that bad?"

Lance blinks his eyes a couple time before laughing, loudly, and Shiro's not laughing with him this time. He waits out until Lance's breathing evens out and the noises stop. The brunette then graces him with an unamused stare, so flat it could make a child cry.

"Yes. Get it under control."

#my fic #drabble #shance #shiro x lance #fanfiction #voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #i wrote this on my phone... please dont expect anything more than this shit #jussa bunch of fluff #my stuff

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