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switchundercover · 7 months

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Tickletober Day 2: Accidental

A/N: HELLO TUMBLR TK COMMUNITY!! This is my first fic I'm posting on here, with tickletober giving me the motivation I needed to do so!! I've always been lurking in the community ever since I joined it, but I finally thought that it was time to put myself out there! I'm currently OBSESSED with ATSV, so I did a thing with Hobie and Miles bc I love how they interact in the movie! Anyways, I won't bore you with a super long authors note that most people probably won't read, so I hope you enjoy the fic!

Tw: swearing, mention of blood/bleeding out, tickles

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Hobie slumped onto the couch of his living room, clutching his waist in pain. He had been sent out on a mission, and had got beaten up.. pretty badly to say the least. Despite the insistence that he was fine and 'I've survived worse, I'll be alright', it didn't stop Miles Morales from checking in on him to examine and.. try to heal his wounds.

"Mate.. I'm fine, really." Hobie said, wincing as Miles examined the wound.

"Hobie, you're literally bleeding out." Miles replied, a hint of sass in his voice. Hobie just shrugged, surprising Miles with how nonchalant he was, but he did inhale sharply between his teeth as Miles wrapped up the wound in gauze. Hobie let out a shaky sigh, turning his head away from Miles. Hobie didn't like it when his friends took care of him like this, feeling like he could take care of himself due to being the oldest in the group. He felt it was childish of him to ask his younger friends for help, when he knew that they had to deal with the same, if not worse, pain.

Hobie's body flashed a few colours, the colour around his waist being relatively normal so Miles could see and tend to the wound better. The rest of his body was a muted gray, small bits of a blood red colour appearing on his body like paint splatters whenever Hobie would wince from the pain, the colours eventually fizzling back out into the gray. To anyone who didn't know Hobie, it was an oddly pretty spectacle (despite it being at Hobie's expense), but to those closest to him, it was relatively normal, so it didn't distract Miles from the task at hand; which was making sure Hobie didn't bleed out and die.

After the bulk of the treatment was finished, Hobie melted into his couch, feeling a bit more relaxed after the more painful part of the process was dealt with. Now, Miles was just examining his torso, making sure there were no other major wounds. The feeling was relatively calming, feeling like a sort of massage. Miles' fingers were quick to examine Hobie's torso, now examining his ribs to see if any of the bones had cracked. What Miles didn't expect was the sharp intake of breath that came from the punk, the spot that Miles touched flashing to a more neon shade of yellow for a brief moment before returning back to normal.

"O-oh, sorry- did I hurt you..?" Miles asked, a bit of shame in his tone. Miles looked at Hobie with a worried expression, afraid he might've caused more damage.

The usually cool and collected Hobie stammered for a moment before shaking his head, making up an excuse from the top of his head. "Nah, you're fine mate. Just wasn't really expecting it 's all." Hobie replied, that yellow colour on his ribs returning as if it was disagreeing with what Hobie said.

Miles noticed the flash of yellow, not exactly knowing what it meant. He knew that if Hobie's body was blue, it meant he was sad, pink meant platonic love (his body would be a brighter red if he was around someone he loved romantically), and many, many other different colours and meanings that Miles had memorized due to knowing Hobie for a good while. This yellow was new, something that Miles had never seen before. Miles thought he might've been reading to much into this, so he just gave Hobie a small hum in response and continued his examination.

Hobie's body stiffened slightly as Miles went back to examining his ribs, feeling an unbearably ticklish feeling every single time Miles' fingers would lightly press against the bones, checking for any painful reaction. The yellow colour only being on Hobie's ribs definitely eluded to.. something, Miles wasn't sure, but the colour made Miles somewhat worried. Miles withdrew his hands, a small frown on his face as he looked at his friend with concern.

"Hobie, if it hurts you need to tell me. I don't wanna make it worse." Miles fretted, his tone being concerned and a bit scared for his friend. Hobie felt a little bad that his stifled ticklish reactions made Miles worried, but.. it was still extremely embarrassing to him, so Hobie shook his head, dismissing Miles' worries.

"I'm fine. Don't worry 'bout it. You worry to much bruv." Hobie chuckled, his teeth clicking against his tongue piercing out of slight nervousness. Miles raised an eyebrow, inching his hand closer to Hobie's ribs, but not touching them just yet. Hobie's reaction immediately became apparent, the punk flinching away from Miles' hand, and the yellow colour on his body spreading slightly. Miles was confused. If it didn't hurt, what was the issue? Miles thought of himself in Hobie's situation for a moment, being injured and having a friend of his checking for injuries. He thought of somebody's hand pressing against his ribs, slightly pressing against the bone to see if they were hurt. Miles' eyes immediately widened at the realization, a small smirk appearing on his face.

"Oi, what're you bein' all smug about?" Hobie questioned, his body stiffening slightly as he pointed an accusing finger at Miles. Hobie figured that Miles had found out why he was reacting in the way that he did, and as a result of this, a small bit of red crept up onto his face, and the yellow along his ribs spread and became a bit brighter.

Miles couldn't stop himself from giggling, finding the situation incredibly amusing. "Oh, it's nothing.." Miles quickly darted a hand to Hobie's ribs before pulling it away just as fast, grinning as Hobie's body jumped away from it and an essence of a screech escaped his lips.

"Y-you wouldn't do.. that to me! I'm injured man, you'll kill me!" Hobie argued, narrowing his eyes as he found it a bit harder to keep his cool.

"Relax! I'll be gentle!" Miles said, his giggles getting louder as his hand made contact with Hobie's torso. Miles smirked at the way Hobie's body tensed up, and the slightest hint of a squeak made it's way past Hobie's closed lips. Miles slowly, and I mean slowly dragged his fingers along Hobie's ribs, the punk inhaling sharply as a result.

"Miles! Fuck- stop that!" Hobie yelped, the tiniest giggle slipping through his gritted teeth. Hobie's pleas were only met with a huge grin from Miles, who immediately capitalized off of that small giggle by pressing his fingers against Hobie's ribs and vibrating his fingers rapidly. In Miles' eyes, this was gentle, as he knew Hobie had a hell of a lot of resistance when it came to touch. Wether it be pain, or in this case, tickles.

"MAHAHAHAILES-! STAHAHAHAHAHAP- NAHAHAHAHAHAHA FAHAHAHAHACK-!" Hobie screeched, his attempt to squeal out a plea immediately replaced with more bouts of loud laughter when Miles decided it would be a good idea to use a small amount of his venom power to shock Hobie, the unbearably ticklish feeling traveling across Hobie's entire torso. Miles giggled and let up, allowing Hobie to actually breath. Miles snuck an extra pinch to his ribs, grinning at the small yelp that came out of the punk.

"Alright, I'm done. Don't want you getting hurt.. more than you already are.. you good?" Miles asked, Hobie responding with a shaky thumbs up. "Y-yeah.. 'm fine mate.. holy shihihit." Hobie chuckled, the tingly feeling from the venom still present. Throughout the entire ordeal, Hobie's body changed colour completely, going from gray with those hints of yellow (which Miles was now suspecting ment Hobie was embarrassed about something), to a full blown pink, with occasional flashes of the familiar yellow colour here and there.

Miles chuckled and stood up, going to the kitchen to get Hobie some water. Miles quickly returned, offering the water to Hobie, who drank it so fast you'd be convinced there was nothing in the cup in the first place.

"Thanks Miles.. you know, for tendin' to my injuries and whatever. 'S nice of you." Hobie said, sighing as he let out one final giggle. Miles smiled, loving the fact that he left a positive impact on Hobie's well-being. "Well, I feel like it's kind of.. in my nature to care about the people I love, so you're welcome." Miles replied, his smile growing a bit wider.

"Hey, you wanna watch a movie?" Miles suddenly asked, looking at Hobie.

"Sure, what're you thinkin' of?"

And so Hobie and Miles lazily draped their bodies over Hobie's semi-comfortable couch, watching a movie on some probably illegal website. Hobie couldn't shake the small smile that was on his face, the knowing that Miles, and all of his friends for that matter, would be there for him making him feel all warm inside. Miles caught a quick glimpse of Hobie, seeing that the pink colour on Hobie's body got a bit brighter.

And personally, Miles wouldn't have it any other way.

#atsv tickle #atsv tickling #sfw tickle fic #sfw tickle community #tickletober 2023 #lee!hobie #ler!miles #tickle fluff #across the spiderverse tickle #across the spiderverse tickles #love them they're so hakdjsozhsks

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notroosterbradshaw · 2 years

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The Relationship Experience - prologue

read this first - the boyfriend experience

Tugging at the chain around your neck, rationality setting in, you texted Rooster furiously fast. “Bradley N. Bradshaw… your dog tags are right here where you left them,” you said as you typed, hopefully getting his attention before he got too far away, or at least seeing your text before he reported.

Fuck, he texted back simply. That wasn’t good, you realised.

You debated waiting for him outside a few minutes, knowing he couldn’t be far but thankfully, Rooster came back into view just as you gave him his last 10 seconds. Your heart raced just upon seeing his dreamy face again. Let it be known, he’d only left 5-10 minutes earlier, your lips were still swollen and still feeling the tingling after effects of his slick tongue, teeth and full, perfect lips. His velvet jacket draped over his shoulder with just as much swagger as he had when he approached you last night at the wedding – watching him walk was going to be a problem, you realised. Did he always walk so sexy? Apparently, the world really is a runway for Bradley N. Bradshaw.

“Was this your ploy? To get me back here…” he bit back a smile as he was in front of you again. You shook your head, a shy smile unable to be held back.

“Can’t think coherently, wish I could say I had the brain capacity to plan this,” you admitted as he chuckled quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare be sorry,” he reassured you, swallowing hard. “Gee, they look good on you,” his voice dropped and his hands pressed into your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as you inhaled sharply.

Skin ignited by currents he was generating, you asked, “What does the N stand for?”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” his lip quirked, lowered his face to yours and you slipped his dog tags over his head, but didn’t let go of the chain. His warm hazel eyes caught yours. “What do you think it stands for?” he breathed, watching you intently.

Pursing your lips, you pondered, “Noah.” Sweet, yes?

He shook his head, humming a no.

Pondering, you tried, “Neal?” But it seemed all kinds of wrong even as it rolled off your tongue.

“Ew,” he made a face, his palms sliding to your ribcage, lightly tracing the bones under the pads of his long fingers. “Last guess. Better make it a good one,” he warned softly, his tired rasp just… just doing things. Bad, naughty things to your already overstimulated brain. Gee, if this was a dream you did not want to wake up.

“Nathan…” your voice trailed off and watched his face direct you towards another no and you quickly added, “iel?”

“Nathaniel,” he chuckled. “No again. You’re not very good at this game, sweet girl,” he said quietly.

“Then humour me,” you demanded, clutching at the tags, dragging him that desperate inch closer, noses almost touching. “There are lots of names beginning with N, Rooster.”

He relented, amused with your frustration. “Nicholas,” he said low.

“Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw,” you said softly, breath-catching. “Cute.” It suited him and was sung off your lips. You liked saying it. “Nicholas,” you said again, burning into your brain so you’d never forget it.

“Nicholas was Dad’s name,” he continued.

“Oh,” you didn’t realise and your gaze softened.

“And there you have it. I’m all outta mystery,” he blinked, licking his lips. You were desperate to have him kiss you again. You gave each other bashful grins and fell into a slightly weird silence. He was so fucking handsome, how had you been so blind that this man was in front of you? Looking this fine, smelling this good… and wanting you just as badly.

That part was the hardest part to grasp.

“I bet there is still a little more mystery,” you finally challenged back.

Leaning forward, he sighed, kissing you again, just so gentle and sweet, knowing that if he started, he wouldn’t know how to stop this time. “You’re right… there’s more. You got plenty of time to find out,” he collected the chain from your delicate fingers. He winked and turned heel, leaving you a mess after his last kiss. And just like that, he was gone.

one.

masterlist.

#notroosterbradshaw #rooster #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x oc #rooster x female reader #rooster imagine #rooster fanfic #rooster fluff #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #the boyfriend experience #bradley bradshaw x reader #Bradley rooster Bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader

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clusterfuck-dom · 1 year

Note

Uh... Can you please do uh... Leon k-Kennedy? Also did you stop doing your Puppy obsession story?

WIP II

(Yandere-ish) Sub Leon Kennedy x Dom Reader

Y’all, Puppy Obsession V is in the works, don’t worry. It’ll drop on @clusterfuck-yandere someday. Also, because of this, you’re getting one of my many yandere sub Leon drafts.

18+ / NSFW CONTENT.

Reader is gender neutral.

Contains: masochistic Leon, slightly sadistic reader, asphyxiation, drool, semi-public area, slight degrading.

You could’ve sworn you misheard him. There was no way — no way in holy hell — he asked you to choke him… in broad daylight. What if someone was within earshot, heard this sick fuck, and…

Leon brought you back to reality by grabbing your wrist. The way he clutched it with such desperation, bringing it towards the base of his neck, made you realize he actually did ask you to choke him. Your fingers gently rested on his collar bone as you internally debated on what to do. Should you twist your arm away from his grasp, scold him for asking such a thing from you? Maybe walk away and leave him in this hallway all alone?

Then again, Leon Kennedy was never one to let you just walk away.

“Please,” he whispered, half-lidded eyes filled with such a crazed look. His tongue darted out to collect the spit that was piling in the corner of his mouth. God, was he actually drooling over this?

Your mouth twitched into a grimace. “Leon, I’m not doing this.” All you got in reply was another please from his wet lips, the desperation present in his voice. You watched his other hand snake up to yours, anchoring it to his neck as though to coax you into applying pressure.

“Choke me,” he pleaded with a breathy voice as his head angled upwards to further expose his neck to you. Such a delusional request — a delusional man, even — but you found yourself unable to pull away. A dark curiosity swirled in the back of your mind, making your pointer finger twitching against his neck. What would happen if you indulged in him? Would it make you as sick as him if you humored your own dark thoughts?

To be fair, nothing can make me as sick as Leon Kennedy, you dryly scoffed in your mind.

That’s how you found the tips of your fingers squeezing the sides of Leon’s neck. This elicited an immediate reaction from the dirty blonde, his breath hitching in his throat as his grip on your wrist got tighter. You watched his eyelids widen for a split second before they returned to their original half-hooded state. The baby blue in his eyes were eaten up by his dilating pupils.

It wasn’t long before he was begging for more pressure. “Fuck,” he gasped. “Harder… harder, please—!!”

Your curious eyes wandered down from his flushed face to his neck, trailing all the way down his heaving chest to the obvious tent in his pants. A disgusted scoff left your lips at how unashamedly hard he was, the grip you had around his neck subconsciously getting tighter. The choked moan you managed to pull from him caused your eyes to snap back up to his face.

Those crazed eyes were glazed over with pure lust as he stared at you with a pleading look. Drool dribbled from his unhinged mouth, pooling down his chin and dripping onto your fingers. You cringed at the feeling of his lukewarm spit against your skin, and you fought against the urge to release his neck just so you can wipe it off.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” you spat out at him. The venom in your words seemed to only make him more excited, his eyes lulling back into his skull as his legs buckled beneath him. You tried to ignore the electricity that sparked through your body when he let out a shaky moan. “You really get off like this?”

Incoherent babbles came from his spit-slicked lips as you watched him sink towards the floor. The only thing holding him up was the grip you had on his throat, though you weren’t sure how long you could handle his entire weight. To remedy this, you backed him up against the nearest wall to help him stay up, pinning him to the surface by just his neck. Leon seemed to mewl in delight at this.

Another scoff came from you as your grip got impossibly stronger. “No shame, either. You’ve dreamed about this for a while, haven’t you?”

The dirty blonde rapidly nodded his head at this. You could tell from his palpitating chest and his fluttering eyes that he was close to cumming, or maybe close to passing out, or maybe a mixture of both. Either way, the dark part of your brain absolutely reveled in the sight of his paling lips and his trance-like gaze.

He may be disgusting, sure, but are you really any better at this point?

#⇢ RESIDENT EVIL #⇢ LEON KENNEDY #⇢ LEON KENNEDY X READER

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bultaoreunheyyy · 10 months

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Warn A Guy

Title: Warn A Guy

Word Count: 728

Summary: A short drabble I wrote for the following prompt, which I came up with for @btshurtcomfortprompts lol

Hoseok gets startled by Taehyung’s loud sneezing, so Taehyung tries his best to warn him before he sneezes.

“Hhh…h-h-hyung…”

The word barely made it past Taehyung’s lips, a breathy whisper that disappeared even in the near-silent kitchen.

Only Jimin caught it, and he looked over at his soulmate to see the man moving slowly across the room, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as his face scrunched up in irritation. Jimin knew that look, one he’d seen enough times on his best friend’s face, and he smiled to himself for a second before he realized why Taehyung was saying something and who he was saying it to.

“H-hyung–”

Taehyung could only take one more step forward before he had to stop, one hand outstretched toward Hoseok’s back and the other hand inches from his face as his eyebrows drew together sharply.

“Hmm?” Hoseok was at the refrigerator, filling his water bottle up; when Taehyung’s fingers brushed his shoulders he lifted his chin and started to turn around but by then it was too late.

“HHAAATCH!”

The sneeze was so loud that even Jungkook, who had just walked into the kitchen, sucked in a startled breath of air at the sound. Jimin was so used to Taehyung’s loud sneezes, and he had seen it coming by the look on Taehyung’s face.

But Hoseok hadn’t known it was coming. He was taken completely by surprise, and he was someone who startled very, very easily– even someone as soft-spoken as Yoongi-hyung could scare the shit out of Hoseok by simply approaching him from behind and saying ‘good morning’ if Hoseok wasn’t expecting it.

Taehyung’s loud sneeze startled Hoseok so badly that he yelped loudly, his water bottle flying out of his hands and sending water flying everywhere. In his attempt to stop his water bottle from falling to the ground completely, he hit his elbow on the refrigerator with a hard, painful sounding thump, which made him cry out again and crumple to the floor where his thankfully-plastic water bottle was now in a puddle of water.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung sniffled, crouching down in front of Hoseok. “I was trying so hard not to sneeze.”

Hoseok was clutching his injured elbow with one hand, his eyes squeezed shut. Taehyung sat down on the floor despite the water and rubbed Hoseok’s back, shooting a guilty look over at Jimin, and then Jungkook, who were both now hovering over the pair.

“Are you okay, Hobi-hyung?” Jungkook asked, his eyes wide.

“I’m okay,” Hoseok replied after a moment. He opened his eyes and looked between the three makanes. “Ah, I hit my funny bone.”

“I’m so sorry,” Taehyung winced. He was still rubbing Hoseok’s back. He sniffled again and gestured at the water. “I’ll clean all of this up.”

“No need to apologize, Taehyungie,” Hoseok sighed. “It’s not your fault.”

“H-hyung…hhh!” Taehyung suddenly gasped. “I’m…”

Hoseok tilted his head to the side. He watched as Taehyung lifted a hand to his face, one finger in the air like he was trying to signal something.

“Oh, again?” Hoseok asked, a small smile forming on his face.

“I’m…” Taehyung’s breath hitched wildly and Hoseok nodded to show he understood, but Taehyung didn’t see him.

“Oh-no-huhhh…”

“It’s okay, Tae–”

“I’m gonna…gonna sneeze uhhh! Hh-hihh! G-gonna sneeze aga-hhhh…”

Taehyung squinted at Hoseok, and a single tear trickled out of the corner of his eye as he fought to keep the sneeze at bay long enough to mutter his warning.

“Yes, I’m ready, Tae,” Hoseok chuckled, patting the younger man’s knee. “Go ahead.”

It was all the permission Taehyung needed, and a second later he was snapping forward with a tremendous sneeze.

“HAA-AAASTCH!”

Jungkook chuckled and reached down to pat Taehyung on the head as he sniffled and scrubbed at his nose. “You’re sneezy today.”

“Allergies, I think,” Taehyung sighed. He stood up from the floor and held out a hand to help Hoseok up too. Hoseok collected his water bottle and moved toward the sink to get a dishtowel, and his back was turned to the others when Taehyung suddenly inhaled sharply and–

“HHH-AAH’TCHSH-uhh!”

“Ahh, sh-ihhh!” Hoseok barely stopped himself from swearing, one hand coming up to cover his mouth and the other flying to his chest. His eyes were wide as he sagged back against the counter as if too weak to stay upright, and then he glared at Jimin and Jungkook when they couldn’t quite contain their amusement. “Yah, Taehyung! Warn a guy next time, will you?”

#bts snz #taehyung snz #i'm sorry hobi

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the-slasher-files · 7 months

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SLASHER FILES' BLOOD FEST: WEEK ONE

SAVED FOR THE DEVIL

MICHAEL MYERS

Prompts: FIRE. WOUND(S). SUBURBS. BONDAGE

Keywords: ACRID. MALIGNANT

You were finally home. Back to comfort. Safety. You just wish you could stop the shaking.

It was your first night at home alone without the help of your best friend. They had work the next day, and it was time to get back to some sort of normalcy, even for yourself. But you couldn't stop the memories and waves of violent anxiety. Every twist and turn, trying to melt into your couch, it only made your body ache more. The gash on your thigh grew warm with irritation, stitches throbbing and your muscles would tense with a deep, tight pull.

This wasn't how you were supposed to spend your week off.

You take a moment to collect your equilibrium once you raise yourself off the cushions; Hesitating, eventually opting out of grabbing your crutches and slowly, you move out the front door. You just needed some air.

Limping down the wooden steps with clinging hands against the railing, you were thankful no one was ever out around this time of night. No one to gaze and pity you or ask about the accident. The corpse of your totalled motorcycle lay against the asphalt of your driveway, a mangled sore thumb within the so-called "perfect" suburb. But you knew all your neighbours just wanted gossip to spew behind picket fences of your "wild night out". At first, the suburb seemed warm, and safe, with lovely families and idealistic women, now, it just seemed creepy. Something like a maze of houses with monsters hiding in plain sight. Pointed roofs cast dark silhouettes against the midnight sky, mirroring the sharp jaws of a bear trap that kept you in place.

There was nothing but eerie silence around you, the cool breeze carried with it the acrid smell of singed plastic, motor oil and leaking gasoline. It twisted your stomach. Goosebumps arose on your flesh as memories flooded back; Blinding headlights, crushing metal, screaming brakes and your hands grasping at the metal trying to rip your leg apart.

Breathe. Breathe. You're safe.... safe.

The gentle squeal of your front door drew your mind back to the present. Your bare feet padded softly around the corner, seeing the front door open merely an inch that the wind could've pushed open. Odd, but not abnormal with the amount of pain pills still sitting within your veins.

Climbing the steps once more, you closed the door behind you. Taking in a deep breath, your body ached and shivered, restlessness eating at your very core, yet the exhaustion wanted to tear you down into the ground. 'Ice, medication and sleep' the doctors voice repeated.

"Ice, meds... Ice cream and sleep" You softly spoke to yourself with a slight delirious chuckle.

The dim led lights greeted your skin in a cool glow just as the cold graced it as well. It was all so normal— The gentle fog that rolled out, the soft burn of the ice pack once your fingers grabbed the ice pack. Normal until there was the cracking of your skull against the freezer door. Your wrist snapping between the gap, bones cutting like a blade through tendons and muscle, coating your skin in blood as your body fell lifelessly against the hardwood. It wasn't the headlights of a vehicle blinding you or the force of a 4000 pound piece of metal colliding with your figure, but your body flooded with agonizing terror all the same.

Reacting on instinct alone, a pure fight or flight to stay alive, your body twisted to your back so your eyes could gather the impending doom. A looming shape of death came from the shadows of your dark home. A reaper with a white unaffected face, boots heavy without fear of a sound, mythologically pounded towards you. Clambering back, clutching your broken wrist that was spilling out, malignant eyes stared down like a predatory ready to fest on his prey.

"P-please— I" Your voice caught in your throat.

Stuck mindlessly as the large boot pressed upon your chest. Ribs compressing down on your lungs, something caught his attention on the kitchen counter, and a bloody hand reached out. The flash of silver captured the low light from the fridge still hanging open, blood dripping down the plastic. Slowly, the man knelt down, a powerful leg in navy coveralls crushing your sternum, waiting until he heard the sick crack of bone drawing a blood-curdling scream from you. Thrashing, grappling and writhing, unable to move under the shadow above you. Your lungs hurt with every breath, burning and tasting copper as he just watched. Toying with your vital fear and raw emotions, watching you hopelessly settle to watch him back.

"What the fuck do you want from me?!" You screamed, no one would come to your rescue— Wouldn't dare to leave their cozy homes and search for the wounded within the black night.

With your wrists above you, laying lame on the hardwood floor, your yelling seemed to displease the shape. And within a matter of seconds, his large arm drew back and then hurled forward to slice a kitchen knife threw your hand. Pinning it. Before you could curl your other hand in defence, the man above repeated the action. Nerves, tendons, muscles and bones all set ablaze in the sight of the beast, he tilted his head curiously. A sick enjoyment.

His breathing could be heard beneath the mask and over your pounding heart. He was labored bearing witness to your struggle, and it was not in sympathy.

Your crimson ran hot, forming a puddle and tangling within your messy hair. Stretching out his arm, he grabbed another blade from within the knife block and finally released his knee from you. He had you exactly where he wanted, pinned in a sick way of bondage to do whatever he pleased. The searing pain from your hands travelled all the way up your arms, forcing you not to move, just crying and feeling every broken breath that you took.

Begging softly between cries, they fell on deft ears as the man gazed over your body. It was as if he was enamored by you if he could even feel those emotions. But the man was just looking for another reason to keep you alive a little longer, and he found that reason.

A thick finger, oddly gentle, coasted along the fresh wound on your plush thigh. Stitches raised, skin still raw. It pulls a lamentable whine from you, raising your knees with the instinct to protect yourself from a vile predator. And you swear you hear the man above give a quiet 'hush' as he tilts his head in curiosity.

"Don't, please" You try and beg again, twisting your body in any futile attempt. "...I won't tell anyone, I promise"

The massive blood-soaked hand trailed up, knife within his dangerous grasp. Sharp, deadly, he grazed the blade across your cheek, almost as if it was a gentle caress— He followed the flexed tendons of your anatomy. Jaw, throat, and playing at your collar bone. The man was curious. A sick young dog let loose to play god and have his own fascination piqued with blood and torture.

Your chest rose and fell in quick succession before arching in anguish, having the knife drive home into youe jugular. The beast above had hooked his blunt fingers in your stitches and tore the flesh apart again. You wished you could let out the scream you wanted, but blood came like a tidal wave, washing the tubes of your throat. It would drown you as he pushed the knife further.

Leaning down, the man grasped your jaw to see him, making sure your last dying moments were spent gazing the devil in the eye. Like a religious figure on pinned to the cross, you died under his torture. In the safety of your own home. God saved you for the devil, your rightful death. Blood pouring in a halo, he left to become the shadows once more.

#my writing #Michael Myers #horror #slasher #sfbf23 #blood fest #slashers #x you #fanfiction #fandom #imagine #halloween

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ramblingoak · 1 year

Text

My Husband Is Now Bones, Chapter 2: Weekend at Cowbell’s

Omega’s plan was simple:

Escape Hell

Grab Terzo’s Body

????

Happily Ever After

Read Chapter 1 HERE

This is for the Ghost Creative Challenge put on by @petrifyingpapas . The first week’s theme is “Resurrection”.

Terzo x Omega (major character death, horror themes, blood, zombie violence/gore, once more for the people in the back: ZOMBIE VIOLENCE/GORE, ZOMBIES DOING ZOMBIE THINGS, NSFW, 18+ only MDNI)

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

It didn’t take very long for Omega to realize something wasn’t right.

It was all in the eyes. When they first opened Omega had sagged in relief. It had worked! This stupid, crazy, dumb fucking plan had worked. Terzo was back, his lover was here with him again. Everything was going to be ok! Omega had gripped Terzo’s gloved hands and swore to him that he’d never let anything happen to him again. Ever.

Omega had dreamed about the next moments practically nonstop since he had started planning this whole thing. He had imagined Terzo smiling at him, maybe tearing up a bit. Whispered Italian, renewed promises and vows to each other. Apologies and endearments spilling from their lips as Omega gripped the smaller man to his chest…

But none of those things happened. Terzo’s eyes had begun to skitter around the room, never focusing on one thing for very long. His hands had started to grip Omega’s in return, the nails on his gloves soon digging into Omega’s skin deeper and deeper. He managed to yank one of his hands away, wincing as the nails left scratches on his skin. Omega brought the hand up to Terzo’s cheek and started lightly stroking it while he began to speak to him.

“Terzo, Terzo it’s ok. It’s me, it’s Omega. I’m here, I’m here and I’m so sor–,” Omega had to stop for a moment, hanging his head to try and collect himself. He could feel Terzo’s head moving against his hand, could feel his body start to move restlessly on top of the stone table they had laid him on.

He took a deep breath and lifted his head up to look at Terzo. He was opening and closing his mouth like he was trying to speak, but the sounds that came out were incomprehensible. His grip on Omega’s hand wasn’t letting up either and Lucifer, he was probably so scared. Who knows where the man had actually been, what he had seen after his supposed family had murdered him. Omega pulled his other hand away and then soon had them both on Terzo’s face so he could grip it and look into the mismatched eyes he had been longing for.

“Terzo, I am so sorry for what they did to you. I should have been there, I should have been there to protect you like I had vowed to do. Like I had promised you I would.” Omega started to stroke a thumb along Terzo’s bottom lip, laughing a bit when Terzo’s tongue slipped out and brushed against his skin. Terzo clumsily brought one of his hands up to clutch at Omega’s again and he let the man grip it once more.

“Hey man, uh I think you should be careful. Something feels a little off here.” Omega’s head whipped around to look across the room. The necromancer that had helped bring Terzo back was on their hands and knees frantically flipping through the pages of one of the books they had used.

“Off? What the fuck do you mean ‘off’?” Omega looked back at Terzo, he was holding Omega’s hand to his mouth, lightly kissing and licking at his fingers. Leave it to Terzo to be barely one foot out of the grave (crypt, whatever) and already putting the moves on him. The sounds Terzo made were starting to sound like deep moans, growls even. Just like when he was getting worked up on stage during a Ritual. Omega laughed and looked back over to the necromancer. “He’s fine, he’s awake! It work–fucking Belial!”

A searing pain shot from Omega’s hand all the way up his arm and Omega violently jerked away from his Papa. He stumbled back from the table and ended up on his ass staring up at his lover in disbelief. Terzo was attempting to sit up, his eyes locked on Omega as he chewed on something, blood and gore beginning to spill from his mouth. Omega heard a muttered ‘oh fuck’ from across the room and he looked down at his hand to see the damage that had been done.

The last two fingers on his left hand were gone, nothing but bloody, ragged stumps left in their place. When Omega glanced back up at the table Terzo was leaning on one elbow and staring at Omega, his mouth hanging open and blood still dropping out of it. It looked like he had finished eating his fingers.

Terzo already looked hungry for more.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

So, the easiest way out of Hell was getting summoned. Obviously Omega had already gone down that road so chances of it happening again, at least soon, were very low. He needed to use a different method and while he had somewhat of an idea on how to do that he needed a little guidance. Omega knew someone he could ask, someone that had been banished shortly after he was.

He just wished that someone wasn’t Cowbell.

“You realize he’s dead, right?”

“Yes, Cowbell.”

“He’s like more than dead. They chopped his head off, man.”

Omega gritted his teeth and nodded, not wanting to risk saying something that would piss Cowbell off and make him turn Omega down.

“Don’t get me wrong I want to help you. You guys were adorable. Sickening, but adorable.”

All Omega could do was just nod again and quietly hope Cowbell actually had a solution.

“Do you have a plan for once you get out? It’s going to take more than true love’s kiss to reattach his pretty head and give him the energy to sing Cirice to you.” At this point Omega couldn’t hold back the growl that had been building inside of him, but Cowbell just raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“Yes, I have a plan.” When Cowbell didn’t say anything or move Omega sighed and continued, “First, I need to get out of here.”

“Which is why you came to me, excellent choice by the way.”

Omega ignored him and continued on, “Next I’ll need to get to the abbey and get his body.”

“And his head.”

“Well his head will be with his body, right?”

“Maybe? It could be in a trophy case in Imperator’s office too.”

“Belial, ok. Ok.” Omega took a deep breath and powered on, “I’m going to hope that his head and body are in the same room. Once I have those I’m go–.”

“Alright, wait. Stop.” Cowbell started waving his hands around and stood up, “We need to go back to step one.”

“Step one? I thought you were helping me with step one.”

“Oh I am, don’t worry about that. You just need to understand what’ll happen when you get out of here.”

Omega stood there waiting for Cowbell to continue but after a few moments of silence he lost his patience and stalked towards the Ghoul.

“Stop playing games and just fucking tell me! I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get back there! To get back to him. They took him from me. They murdered him. I know there’s a way to get him back, to bring him back to me. Nothing is going to stop me. No one is going to stop me. If anyone tries I’m going to tear them apart.”

Cowbell stood there for a moment before bringing his hands up and slowly starting to clap, then laughing and stumbling out of the way when Omega reached for him. Little shit.

“Alright, alright! I’m sorry. That was a good speech though, very convincing.” He started pacing, rubbing his chin with one clawed hand as he walked back and forth. “Look, like I said, I’ll get you out, but you’ll probably get spit out somewhere in the woods nearby. Well, somewhat nearby.”

“That’s fine, that’ll work. I know those woods well.”

“Ok, but you’re going to be naked. Like, naked naked. Horns, claws, tail…those pretty purple eyes of yours glowing with determination…” Cowbell trailed off and sighed, crossing his arms and taking a moment to think. “It’s not even really about you getting into the abbey itself, I know you can find your way in. But you’ll need to glamour yourself before you even think about going for Terzo’s body. Wherever that even is right now.”

“I know where his body will be. He told me once what the protocol was for when a Papa died. They’ll have him lying in state in the chapel. Probably alongside his brothers.”

“Alright, cool, but you’re going to get caught walking around like that.”

“If I need to I’ll wait till it’s night before I head in. I can go through the catacombs.” Omega ignored Cowbell repeating that he was going to get caught in a sing song voice and continued on, “I can also get to Terzo’s room through the passageways around the abbey, I doubt they’ve done anything with his stuff yet.”

“There’s a passageway that leads to his room?” Omega nodded causing Cowbell to snort and mutter ‘kinky’ under his breath. “What’s in his room you need so badly?”

“Some of my…things are there. Uniforms. A mask.”

“Oh shit, yeah that’s a good idea. I don’t think they’ve banished everyone yet, so you might be able to get away with wandering around like that.”

“I won’t be wandering around. I’ll get dressed and head back for his body, then bring…all of it down to a room in the catacombs.”

“And then what?”

“Well that’s part three of my plan.”

“Yeah, Big Guy I get that, but what is part three?”

Omega stared blankly at Cowbell, not even really sure what he was supposed to say. This was obviously the most important part of the plan. It’s not like he wanted to lug Terzo’s body (and his head) around forever like some ridiculous 80s movie. He was a creature of Hell, a Nameless Ghoul. Omega had seen and done some crazy things in his hundreds of years of existence. He should be able to say the following words without feeling like an idiot.

“I need to…bring Terzo back to life.”

“Fuck yeah you do, Buddy.” Cowbell walked over and clapped a clawed hand on Omega’s shoulder. “Lucky for you I know a guy.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Read Chapter 3: Anyway, Here’s Wonderwall

my masterlist

my ao3

#petrifyingpapas #my fics #my writing #terzo x omega ghoul #terzo x omega #papa emeritus iii x omega ghoul #papa emeritus iii x omega #terzomega #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #terzo fanfiction #papa emeritus iii fanfiction #omega ghoul fanfiction

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lamemaster · 7 months

Text

The Lurking

Genre: horror/thriller

Pairing: Feanor and Reader (non-romantic)

Summary: Wet hair clung to your forehead as you tried to collect your thoughts, but if you had been more attentive, you might have noticed the hostile eyes lurking in the water, glaring at your bewildered figure

AN: Spooktober fic!! Yay! (kinda gorey so skip it if you're sensitive)

Thwack, thwack, heavy sounds surrounded you. The atmosphere in the dimly lit room was thick with tension. Mildew crawled up the walls, resembling playful vines in the wild, while the air was heavy and suffocating, burdened by the oppressive humidity. The sole source of illumination came from a flickering lightbulb, casting eerie shadows on the surroundings.

You couldn't help but wonder how it had come to this. How had you ended up in this grim situation? The heavy hammer in your hand felt like a merciless weight, and you had long ceased resisting your own actions. The lifeless mass of flesh in front of you, which had once been your hand, no longer looked human. Once, you had worn a promise ring on one of its fingers.

Now, after hours of grueling labor, it was nothing more than a grotesque mess of skin, bone, and blood. It was unusable for any purpose, and you found a strange sense of relief in that. It was as if he would never be able to use it again. No one would.

Surprisingly, tears that you had expected to have run dry returned with the dawning realization of relief. Despite the excruciating pain, this gruesome act brought you a twisted sense of solace. As your tears blurred the crevices of the room, you couldn't help but wonder how you had ended up here.

It had all started five months ago, or so you believed. You had awoken on a desolate beach, with lapping waves caressing your toes in the dead of night. The stars sparkled above your head, and the sun was nowhere to be found. Confusion gripped you as you woke up with the taste of the sea in your mouth, your body soaked and sand clinging to your wet skin. How on Earth had you ended up here, dressed in your pajamas, an hour away from your house in the middle of the night?

Wet hair clung to your forehead as you tried to collect your thoughts, but if you had been more attentive, you might have noticed the hostile eyes lurking in the water, glaring at your bewildered figure. The entire ocean seemed to despise you, although you had remained oblivious to its malevolence.

Your psychiatrist had attributed your experiences to episodes of stress that triggered sleepwalking, and everyone had urged you to find solace in pills that promised to calm the turmoil in your mind. However, nothing seemed to help.

Not even Luke, your boyfriend, could detect your nocturnal escapades. You woke up on the same beach, battered and bruised, but with no recollection of what had transpired. Each day pushed you closer to an overwhelming restlessness and fatigue.

You tried every method to keep yourself in bed, from clinging to Luke's arm to using tracking devices, but nothing could prevent you from leaving in the dead of night. And then, it began happening during the day.

You experienced lapses of memory, frequent blackouts, and noticed that chunks of your life were missing. You couldn't recall arguments with Luke, despite his frustration with you.

“You've changed,” you blinked walking up to your phone next to your ear. Standing in your living room. “Hello…” you called to the other side of the phone. “You know what I don’t care. Don’t call me,” you could not piece together the voice on the other end. Familiar but it escaped your mind. Who had been that woman? Why did you call her? And what did you talk about?

The haze of disorientation persisted, and it wasn't until evening that you discovered Luke packing his bag. Panic gripped you as you rushed to him, desperately seeking answers to his departure.

"Luke," you pleaded, "What's wrong? Where are you going?" He didn't respond to your questions, but fear clutched at your heart.

"Did I do something?" you asked, trying to grasp at any fragment of information that could explain the situation. "You don't understand, do you?" Luke's face reddened with anger, and his voice echoed with venom. "You've done enough in the past week to ruin us. You've taken everything I worked for. Even my mother wanted to plan our wedding, but you… you didn't spare her either. I had no idea… I couldn't have guessed you were this…"

And then, you were gone.

You awoke to an empty apartment, with Luke nowhere to be found. The ring on your finger had vanished, and the world you had known had crumbled. You knew it before you could piece together anything else.

But then you saw him, with glimmering eyes that held the intensity of the sun itself. His long, dark hair floated in the air as he looked at you tauntingly through your reflection. The mirror before you didn't show your own face but that of someone you had come to know as Feanor.

Chaos had engulfed your life.

You couldn't remember when he had come to you, and you didn't even know his name. Not until you collected enough pieces of him to find a link, the Silmarillion. Pages of text and history covered your walls, with every word marked in red, all bearing one common theme: him.

You flipped through the pages manically, seeking answers, until you found the passage that connected everything. It was all starting to make sense.

"And it is told of Maglor that he could not endure the pain with which the Silmaril tormented him; and he cast it at last into the Sea, and thereafter he wandered ever upon the shores, singing in pain and regret beside the waves."

As your trembling hands traced the words, they resonated in your mind. He wanted his Silmaril. Those times when you woke up on the beach were not mere episodes; they were moments when he had been searching for his creation.

A searing pain stabbed through your head, accompanied by a ringing, static noise that blurred your consciousness.

#the silmarillion #tolkien elves #noldor elves #feanor #reader #horror #thriller #elves in modern world #hehe #spooktober

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ryverbind · 7 months

Text

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): Viper of Fear [16]

I'm crouched behind the one piece of protection I was able to find in this abyss of unspoken horrors. This battle ground of malice and revenge.

My heart pounds against my ribcage, a war drum thrumming within my own body. My chest is splattered with the lost hopes and dreams of my enemies. My veins are filled with the icy bite of fear-- fear that strikes with the accuracy of a viper.

This is a wasteland. What once was is nothing anymore. The ground beneath me held up opportunity mere minutes ago, all for it to be stripped away in a moments notice. And it's all my fault.

The surface beyond my safe space is riddled with the neon blood of my foe. Synthetic shotgun shells cover the floor, acting as hell's very own field of bones. The desert scene that earlier reflected a symbol of goals I never thought I'd achieve now mimics Vlad the Impaler's wet dream.

I take a shaky breath, adrenaline pumping through every millimeter of my being as I listen to the war waging behind me. I don't spare even a simple glance over the box I'm hiding behind. This box is the stone that Arthur's sword once resided in-- this bitch will never break as long as I believe in it.

My fingers flex around the weapon in my arms, my muscles tense and my mind alert. If I'm not on edge at all times right now, I'll get caught. And getting caught means death. All hell has broken loose amidst the cloud of contentment that blinded me just minutes ago. I should have know that karma and revenge go hand-in-hand. They're best friends. They are a repeated process and know each other good and well.

I acted on revenge, and karma was quick to collect my debt.

"You've been hit by..." my heart stops upon hearing that deep, sultry, amused voice. He's having the time of his life, relishing in the screams of his victims. "You've been struck by..." I hear the barrel of his gun snap, releasing a plague of venom upon the person at his mercy. And the sufferer bellows in agony, spreading their unfortunate and horrific fate to me. I sympathize, my heart skipping a beat. I'm trapped in the clutches of hesitance, of terror. I squeeze my eyes shut. "A smooooth Larry Johnson!"

I swallow thickly, a guilty grin quirking my lips. Everyone's fair game to Larry right now. We aren't his friends at the moment, we're pawns in his chaotic chess game.

I set my gun on my knee, wiping my clammy palm against my chest. My hand comes up sticky though, so I look down at it, grimacing at my neon orange skin. I chew on my bottom lip, contemplating the memory of how I became covered in paint.

The issue with my win against Sal earlier is that I expected him to silently fume over his loss. I wasn't prepared for him to throw paintballs into his mag and pelt me with three almost immediately. I was too confident. Overzealous. And... I guess I had it coming.

I can't wipe the image of that moment out of my head, when I finally looked up at Sal to see him stalking over to me with a fire in his pretty blue eyes. As soon as our gazes clashed, he launched into fighting position with his gun up, aimed at me, and at the ready. His finger slammed on the trigger with no regret, effectively slathering me in the ugliest colors I've ever seen. What's worse is that he came at me short-range, so my gut and chest are throbbing in pain. Probably have some bruising, but hey, that's game. This is war.

What I want to know is how the hell Sal and Larry know how to work a paint ball gun. I underestimated my enemies.

First rule of gaming and life: never, under any circumstances, underestimate the enemy. And for fucks sake, double tap! Don't be like me, apparently.

Larry very thankfully moves away from me, probably laying his mayhem upon Ash somewhere else in this tumultuous room.

No one has found me yet, and it's already been about a full five minutes since the metaphorical shit hit the fan. I guess physical shit too, seeing as we've completely wrecked this photoshoot set. I kind of feel bad for The Faces; no one's ever going to give them this opportunity again.

I hear Todd yelp somewhere in the distance and my body stiffens up automatically. I can't afford to feel false security in such a dangerous situation. This box of props isn't my savior, nor will it ever be. I have to be prepared no matter what.

I feel a brush against my leg, so I whip my head to the side half expecting a threat and half expecting me to just have been stupid and hit the wall. Preparation can work or it can backfire, but it's better than walking through the unknown.

But seeing Sal crouched beside me makes me want to bolt into the crossfire that Larry's creating.

And Sal hasn't noticed me yet either. He's simply hiding from Larry too, trying to escape the fiend his step-brother has become. His gun is propped on his knee, his finger hovering over the trigger in fear of being found. His sapphire colored hair is stringy from sweat, sticking to his neck and prosthetic. Dots of neon green and orange are littered along the long strands, his fringe much the same. He pants heavily, probably from bolting across the room as quickly as he could. His chest rises and falls quickly, the action attracting my gaze. And then his eyes that map out the battle ground behind the box we're both hidden behind-- his cerulean gaze that swallows me whole no matter when or how I get to see them. And those beautiful, veiny, bruised hands of his that handle the weapon in his arms like he has the strength and confidence of all the mightiest men in this world.

He glances down at his gun, using his hand to swipe a patch of neon green off of his black gun. But when he looks down, he also spots my boot.

I gulp, the viper of fear sinking its venomous fangs into my skin. It was only a matter of time-- I should have snuck away while he was still distracted. But as I said, karma and revenge work hand-in-hand.

Sal's head snaps up, shocked gaze meeting my own. As soon as he realizes who he's looking at, the emotion in his eyes flips completely, turning into a horrendous glare. And there's nothing I can really do but wait for him to probably shoot me again. It's better than risking an onslaught from Larry-- I'm actually scared of him. Kinda relieved that Ash and Todd have to face him instead of me.

"Bitch," Sal bites out quietly, trying to make sure that Larry doesn't find him. "Fuck you."

My lips quirk into some kind of sneer and grin. If this is all he'll do then maybe it's time to repeat the karma-revenge process. I'm about ready to get back at him for bruising my ribs earlier. "Yea," I whisper back harshly, "I bet you want to."

Sal's piercing eyes narrow and a wave of impending doom and ferocity carves away at my insides. I can feel the sting of murderous intent like flames licking at my skin. Maybe I need to reevaluate my life choices.

He doesn't say a word-- doesn't drone about how much he hates me or how I'm nothing compared to him. He just lifts one hand from his gun and slams it into my throat, his fingers gripping my skin tightly and robbing me of fresh air.

I choke on the sudden pressure on my airways, leaning forward to try and relieve myself even if just a bit, but Sal doesn't let up. He only yanks me closer to him. It's almost embarrassing that he knows what turns me into putty in his hands-- we've only been doing this for two days. But it seems that anger and aggression is his go-to when it comes to me, whether he truly feels it or he's just trying to wrap me around his finger.

I swallow, taking quick and raspy breaths as I look into his eyes that are mere centimeters away from mine. His bright blue irises hold so much intrigue, so much contempt. Every shade of blue, every fleck of golden stardust in his gaze resents me. I'm borderline obsessed with the way he hates me at this point. It's such a strong emotion, to be loathed so deeply by anyone at all. It isn't love, but I don't need love.

Maybe this is why I didn't move when I realized he was next to me. Because I craved to fall victim to the indignation that constantly radiates between us. He just hates me so good.

I wrap my hand around his wrist, tears starting to form in my eyes as I do my best to hold his gaze. I won't bend to him-- that would be too easy. Nothing about this is easy, and it shouldn't be. He and I both know it.

"You don't want to fuck me," he says condescendingly, raspy voice full of veiled fascination. He hides most of it with his anger, but I know he enjoys the way I react. It's painfully obvious. "You couldn't handle me."

I snort as best as I can with my airways blocked off, a little smile pulling at my lips. Is he really trying to scare me? He should know by now that trying to freak me out only makes me want to show him how wrong he is. "Wanna bet?" I challenge with a scratchy, barely audible voice.

His eyes glance over my face, soaking up the position he has me in appreciatively. "I'll rip you apart," he warns, pretty gaze snapping up to meet mine again.

"Wasn't that always the plan?"

Sal takes a slow, deep breath before cocking his head to the side in an admonishing way. Then he drops his hand and a rush of air abuses my lungs. I choke on the oxygen invading my body and scoot away from him as quickly as possible. He looks away from me, peeking over the top of the box. "If it wasn't the plan before, then it is now. Someone needs to set you straight."

Oh, that's nice. So when are we fucking? "I don't want to be set straight," I scoff, taking the opportunity to glance around the side of the box too. Larry's been pulled aside by the photographers. And holy fuck, it looks like a neon tornado tore up this entire room. We're in so much trouble. "I want to be reminded of why I want this to begin with."

"No," Sal bites out. "You just need to fucking go to therapy. Bratty bitch-- I'll scare you out of this stupid BDSM fantasy you have."

I turn my head to him, eyes wide. Did he really just blindly read me and guess correctly? "How fucking dare you?" I seethe quietly. "Who are you to tell me I need to go to therapy? What does that say about you, huh? Hypocritical cunt."

Sal looks down at me in return, gaze as wrathful and irritated as usual when it comes to me. "Only delusional people like you think they want to be tied up and fucked into stupidity. But since you won't stop lying to yourself like a dumbass, I'll just have to be a good Samaritan and show you, I fucking guess."

"Ah, yea," I hum, feigning disappointment while excitement rushes through me. "Such a shame that you have to go out of your way to fuck me hard enough that I lose the last few braincells I have left." Sal rolls his eyes, letting out an exasperated breath. "You're such a hypocrite. You're judging me for being a freak when you're one too," I continue.

"Because it fits me. I've been a freak from the start, why not make it into something I can actually utilize?" He counters, voice still laced with agitation that only continues to grow.

"So no one else can have the same desires that you do? Are you really gatekeeping your sexuality right now?" I hiss at him, adjusting my stance to face him-- anything to be more intimidating than I already am. He's such an asshole involving absolutely everything. Who does he think he is? The bouncer of BDSM? Be fucking for real.

"Only you would take a warning as gatekeeping." Sal runs his paint-covered hand over his prosthetic, realizing too late that his face is slathered in neon. This only fuels his obvious vexation. He grumbles quietly to himself before saying. "You're such a simpleminded moron. Think with your head instead of your pussy. I mean, really think."

Rage suffocates me like I'm swimming in a sea of way-too-fluffy bunnies. I might be attracted to him in a way that's so down horrendous it makes me question myself sometimes, but that does absolutely nothing to distract me from how awful his personality actually is. I've never wanted to punch someone the way I want to punch him. Every single second I spend with him-- sucking him off or arguing with him-- fills me with some of the most potent emotions I've ever had the displeasure of experiencing in my entire life.

"Sal," I say calmly, turning away from him to watch as Larry turns around and starts calling out all of us. His gun has been revoked. "I say this honestly, and for your own good," I tell the man beside me. I could pistol-whip his ass right now. I'm so pissed. "I think I'll be the one to rip you apart."

That makes him laugh humorlessly, but I don't dare look down to see it happen. If I see him right now, my boot is going to be somewhere on him and it's going to hurt. "I'd like to see you try," he rasps out.

I scrunch my face up, trying to control the anger that radiates off of me in toxic waves. I'm innocent in all of this. Someone needs to set him straight. Not me.

"Try to wipe my handprint off your neck," Sal mumbles, standing up and walking around the box. "If anyone gets any ideas, I'm blaming you."

Asshole. I sneer at his back as he walks over to Larry. I bend down, swiping at my neck and only being able to smear the paint since it's starting to dry. But whatever-- if someone thinks it's a handprint, I'll just pass it off as my own.

"Yea, man," Larry says as I finally start to make my way over to him and Sal. "They aren't pressing charges because they got good pics out of the whole mess, but they are kicking us out. So..." Larry says in a serious tone, one that I don't hear all too often. He almost seems a little timid. "Ash got to talk with them while they stripped me of my fun stick. Thank God she's the bargainer because I would've landed us in jail." Emo buff daddy snorts, trying to smoosh down a little smirk.

So we're given a good reprimanding. I hate this part of getting into trouble because I always feel bad. Mainly since I'm usually the one who was the bad influence and started everything. Some things just never change and Ash can attest to that.

So many times in my life, I've done things that have landed me in situations where I definitely could have gotten a juvenile record. I've just been lucky all this time-- I need to stay lucky because I don't qualify for juvie anymore.

There was one time my band buddies and I had the bright idea to carve out the batter head of a school-owned bass drum and trick this asshole kid into crawling into it. Duck-taped him to it in record time and also got caught immediately. We were going to roll him outside of the building. This paint-ball situation reminds me of that time. It's literally almost the same situation-- defacing property, basically.

I need to stop doing this to myself.

The Faces and I do the walk of shame out of The Venetian, catching a taxi over to Excalibur since they apparently have these giant sword-shaped daiquiris and we all need a drink after what just went down. The one downside is that we're all in tactical gear and covered in neon paint. But, whatever. It's Vegas.

We all stand in line at the daiquiri stand, waiting for our turn to order. It's pretty cool in here, set up like a castle with life size chess pieces lining the front walkway. Not to mention, male strippers are taking pictures with old ladies beside us and, holy hell, no matter the time or day that is just a glorious sight to behold.

Ash and I stand beside each other, giggling over the horny old ladies beside us when a group of people walk around the corner. They're all dressed in old, medieval clothing. All men. Kings, in fact. I think back to what Ash told me earlier about there being jousting tournaments in this casino. I didn't think they dressed up though-- they all look so cool.

But then there's a straggler-- a man dressed as some kind of dark, medieval knight. His hair is long and curly and he has face make-up on. Black around his eyes. He's hot as fuck and Ash and I both quiet down while he walks by, strutting like he owns the place. He's tall as hell too. Larry's height.

The group of actors crawl into line behind us. I lick my lips, trying to get a glimpse of the dark knight, but Sal's stupid head is in my way.

Ash leans over, whispering not-so-quietly to me. "Did you see that hunk of walking fucking sex? Damn," she says, voice starstruck and eyes filled with hearts. "Men don't affect me all that often but imagine if I could sneak him into bed."

I suck in a breath, standing on my tiptoes to look between Todd and Sal's heads. All I can see is the right side of the knight's face, but that alone is satisfying to me. "I'd sleep on the couch so long as at least one of us got to get with that. He's beautiful," I admit, sending Ash a sideways glance. She giggles, nodding her head in agreement.

"Who's got you two twitterpated?" Larry asks, winking at me when I look over. Good use of new vocabulary, Lar.

I nod to the men behind Larry. "If you look behind us, there's an actor dressed as an emo knight, so to speak. He's pretty hot," I tell him.

I could slap men. They live off of one singular, shared braincell. I'll even include Todd in this statement because all three guys turn so hard that anyone else would think they'd all snapped their necks. Keep in mind, all of these actors are just a couple feet behind us so the staring is painfully obvious.

Ash and I fold in on ourselves, turning to face the daiquiri stand and grumbling to each other about how stupid they all are. Oh, this is terrible. So bad, in fact, that I'm blushing profusely. Yuck.

Sal's the first to speak, shamelessly saying, "Fuck. He's hot as shit."

"I'm not into guys," Larry says, "But he is pretty."

Todd hums in agreement, deciding to stay quiet since he has a boyfriend, of course.

"Just pretty?" Sal hisses, clearly offended by Larry's response to the knight. "Ash is right. That's walking sex."

Apparently I have to compete with men now too for a fuck. I can't tell if that's a tad disappointing or fascinating.

"Then go get his number or something if you're so shocked by my taste in sex partners," Larry hums. "You're the eternal rizz master. You get any woman and man you set your eyes on. Might as well bag the dark knight."

"Stop it with the Batman references, Larry," Todd says, giggling shortly after.

Larry groans. "Come on! Stop hating on the game, Todd. That was a perfect opportunity."

I hope this line moves quicker. The longer they talk right in front of the topic of discussion, the more horrified I feel. Ash isn't any better either. She's chewing on her bottom lip, face red as a beet as she finally gets an opportunity to run up to the counter and order us all a daiquiri.

The five of us start walking past the group of actors with giant daiquiri swords hanging around our necks. It's almost comical having to do the walk of shame again, but I'm more terrified of the fact that this poor man probably knows that we were all fawning over him.

We're almost out of dodge but someone calls out to The Faces. We all simultaneously turn, quaking like leaves on dead tress because that definitely came from the group of actors.

And there's Mr. Emo Knight, walking toward us in all his glory with an excited little grin on his handsome face.

I'm going to vomit.

He walks up to Sal and Larry and shakes their hands, sharing quick introductions. Then the knight looks past them and at Ash, Todd, and me. My heart skips a beat in childlike elation when his gaze lingers on me.

"Oh, hey," he says in a surprised tone. "VioletViolence! I've seen pictures of you online for the past couple days. You're even prettier in person."

My entire body tenses up with excitement and I struggle to hold back the huge smile that wants to rip my face apart. This is phenomenal. Good job, y/n. I don't know what I did to deserve the compliment, but I'm glad I did it.

"Oh, thanks!" I tell him. In a stroke of confidence, I say, "You're pretty, too."

I want to rip up the floorboards and make a shrine for this guy when a light blush paints his cheeks. To think that I've done absolutely nothing but stand for a picture and he's already blushing over a compliment from me. That's incredibly encouraging.

"Thank you," he says bashfully, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Could I get a picture with all of you? If you don't mind, of course."

"We don't mind at all," Sal jumps in to say, already moving closer. "You look cool as hell, man."

I narrow my eyes at Sally Face. How do I read this play? Is he jealous or is he trying to steal this guy from me? I can't tell.

"Thanks," the knight says, scooting in beside Sal so we can all take a picture with him. One of the other actors does the honors, snapping a few quick photos.

We separate after a moment and Sal breaks the silence by saying, "We should grab a drink so you can tell me about those tournaments. I was thinking about trying out some new things and maybe horses are the way to go."

It's almost fool proof. So good that I choke on the sip of strawberry daiquiri that's halfway down my throat. Larry wasn't kidding. Obviously I'm unfortunate proof of it, but Sal really can pull anyone he wants.

"Ah, I wish I could," the knight says a bit awkwardly. "We have another tournament coming up in about fifteen minutes though."

Oh, that's a burn. I wince over the rejection simply because it's so obvious that the knight is lying. If they had another tournament, they wouldn't be buying heaps of alcohol.

I chew on the inside of my cheek as Ash's eyes go wide. Larry turns around to face Ash, Todd and I while trying to hold back a laugh, his face perfectly mimicking the red shade of his daiquiri. Todd wiggles his nose, sniffing quietly. That's funny to see-- he's trying to hold back his reaction too.

Sal's lucky he wears a prosthetic because it can hide anything he's feeling. That is, as long as he's able to keep his emotions out of his eyes.

"Yea, that's no problem!" Sal responds, shaking off the rejection like a pro. "You guys have a good night."

Larry's already snickering as we continue our walk out of Excalibur, and as soon as we cross the threshold of the front door, he and Todd burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"That was bad, bro," Larry cackles, ruffling Sal's hair. The bluenette shoves his step-brother away from him in response, sending him a pair of aggravated eyes.

"It was worth a try," Sal grumbles. "Hop off my dick. It's not the first time I've been shot down and it won't be the last. No pun intended."

I don't quite understand what the no-pun part is about, but the entire group gasps through giggles that they desperately try to squash down into the depths of their soul.

"The worst part about him rejecting you was that he would've absolutely gone out with Vi. He was so into her," Todd says after a moment, trying to deflect Sal's most recent comment.

"He only called her pretty. Doesn't mean he wants to dick her down or anything," Sal says in response. Poor guy, he's so jealous that I pulled the hot knight.

We're all walking side-by-side along the entrance to Excalibur, making our way down to the strip instead of catching another taxi. It's evening, fun city lights are on as the sky darkens, and we need to pick up dinner. Not to mention, we have loads of alcohol so why not make our trip back to Caesar's palace eventful?

I tip my head forward to get a glimpse of Sal-- more importantly, to meet his gaze so he can see my smug expression. I want nothing more than to bask in his rejection.

I see the side of his prosthetic instead-- the bottom half of it is lifted slightly as he sips from his transparent pink straw. It's likely stained from the strawberry daiquiri he has in his hands. His pale, scarred jaw and chin are visible to me, but dark from the shadow of night and his prosthetic. No matter how little I see, I still feel a fluttering in my chest because this is the most I've ever seen of his face. It gives me some kind of theoretical rush-- sets me into a daydream.

His lips are probably tinted red from his drink. His tongue must taste like an inebriating mix of vodka and artificial strawberries. And the shape of his lips, if his teeth are straight or crooked, what kind of nose he has, the curve of his eyebrows. What it would be like to taste him, to feel him in ways that I haven't yet. I could go on forever.

But I shouldn't go on because wanting more from a man who's only willing to give me the bare minimum is setting me up for disaster. He told me himself that I shouldn't expect anything from him. One thing he's failed to do is lie to me, so I'll take his word for it and consider Sal-centered expectations to be detrimental.

This entire time, I haven't wondered about what he looks like beneath his prosthetic-- not even once. It's like a delayed reaction; now I'm overcome with this horrifying yearning to rip the hunk of plaster off of his face and get a glimpse of the real thing. I was fine literally two hours ago, so what's changed? It's not because he's been kind to me because he hasn't shown any emotion that could resemble kindness at all.

Maybe it's the fact that I'm leaving Las Vegas tomorrow and my brain is just subconsciously reminding me of my dwindling time here.

"So anyway, since Sal's butt-hurt," Larry says, interrupting the silence that had overtaken the group. And it was never truly quiet, just felt like it. Cars were still zooming beneath the walkways under our feet, people were still bustling about, music still swelled in the air around us-- but we were all caught up in our own heads. "Let's play a game. Vi is the victim since we virtually still know nothing about her."

I swallow, leaning back so that Sal is out of my view before he can turn to look at me with those evil eyes of his. I don't need to be pining after him anyway-- this is just a nice agreement he and I have. That's all this will ever amount to and that's perfectly fine. No strings, no attachments. Just casual sex, hopefully. If we ever fucking get there.

I turn my attention to Larry. "There isn't much to know," I murmur. I have to be worried about this, not Sal. Larry's trying to quiz me because he thinks this is our first time meeting. I have to be careful. "What kind of game do you want to play?"

Larry slurps his daiquiri loudly, gaining the attention of a few people around us. "Got any weird kinks? Guilty pleasures? Fun scars? Creepy interests?"

My eyebrows raise of their own accord. I'm not sure if these questions are an opportunity for him to relate and feel better about his own odd interests, but I'm a little shocked. Where do I start and what do I keep to myself?

"Um, no weird kinks that I know of--" I start to say, but Ash holds a hand up to my face and slaps her palm against my mouth.

"Liar," she proudly yells. "You are such a degradee."

Heat envelops my entire body. Why did she have to say anything? Keep it in the fucking bag or something-- anything.

"Come on, Ash," Todd huffs. Oh, thank you, sweet angel. If anyone has my back, of course it would be Todd. "We already know Vi's into degradation."

My gaze snaps to Todd and my mouth falls open. So much for trust.

The situation is hilarious, honestly, but also mildly concerning. Am I so submissive that I wordlessly scream it to everyone? Since when have I become this people-pleasing monster?

I choke on an embarrassed laugh, staring at my feet as we walk. My cheeks are flaming and I really just want Thanos to snap his fucking fingers right now.

"Fuck all of you," I sniffle, eyeing my giggly friends. I can't be mad-- this is all in good fun. Still can't wait to get back to the hotel and disappear until I have to leave tomorrow though... "And Larry, the best I've got for you is that I got my finger stuck in the lock of my classroom door in fifth grade," I proclaim bashfully leaning over and holding up my hand.

Larry's eyes light up, much like a cat's pupils dilate when they're focused. He grabs my hand and exams it. "Which finger?" he asks, all focused and adorable as he takes a quick sip from his daiquiri.

"This one," I chirp, lifting my middle finger with no shame.

Larry's smile drops immediately. Then his eyes slowly lift to meet mine, absolute numbness in their chocolatey depths. The nonchalance in his pretty gaze makes a little shiver trickle down my spine. It's both scary and entrancing-- he's just... he's hot...

Larry pinches his lips together then yanks me toward him. My eyes mimic saucers when I trip over my own feet before stumbling into the behemoth of a man. My weight slamming into him pushes him into Sal who snaps at both of us, but I couldn't care less about him when I'm trying not to peel cement with my fucking teeth.

Larry stabilizes us, holding himself up with Sal-- who's still grumbling-- and grabbing onto my waist to keep me upright.

I take a breath, gripping onto Larry's thick biceps for dear life. And you know what? I hold onto the moment (his biceps) for a good couple seconds and appreciate it because at least I have an excuse to touch the build that this man has going on.

So after a second of squeezing this poor mans arms and pretending that I'm recovering instead of literally copping a feel, I furrow my brows and look up at emo buff daddy. He's grinning down at me nervously.

"I swear I just wanted to intimidate you a bit," he snickers, finally releasing me from his hold.

I say a silent, solemn farewell to Larry's arms then huff. "By throwing us into oncoming traffic?" I snort. "That's not intimidation. That's a literal trip to the pearly gates, my brother in Christ."

Larry looks off to the side, upside down smile on his faces as he hides his hands in his pockets. He knows he's guilty.

"But... do you actually have a cool scar then?" Larry asks after a moment, finally falling into step with the rest of us who walk the strip.

I purse my lips. "Not really. I have scars, just not cool ones," I admit. If I've ever gotten a cut or gash, it's always healed pretty quickly. Most of my childhood scars faded years ago and the ones that stayed have no interesting meaning. "Do you?" I ask, leaning forward to send him a smile. I'm able to see Sal again, but he looks aggravated now. Daiquiri dangling from his fingers as he looks out at the city.

I lick my lips before looking back up at Larry. Ignore the brooding little bitch, y/n.

"Um," Larry trails off, sucking on the straw of his daiquiri in an almost suggestive way. Even Todd looks over to raise an eyebrow. "Me and Sal have matching scars."

My eyebrows raise. That's interesting. "What, was it like a brothers pact?" I giggle.

Sal looks over now, his eyes meeting mine. He looks angry though, much angrier than he did just seconds ago. Something tells me this is a story that he never wanted out for prying ears. That makes it all the more intriguing.

"No, it was actually pretty stupid," Larry swipes at his nose and looks off to the side. "Sal hates this story so much because it landed both of us in the hospital."

Hm, hospital tales with The Faces. Sal's reaction was fishy up until Larry mentioned that it was just a stupid little thing in general. I'm a little desperate at this point-- I need to know more. "Tell me about it," I chirp, looking out at the city lights around us. We're walking up to The Venetian now. I have some strange feeling that we're all going to try to sneak past this building pretty quickly after what happened earlier-- especially since we're still in paint-covered tactical gear.

"Hold on," Ash jumps into the conversation, pointing at an Irish Pub a little further down the street. "We're grabbing dinner there. Take out. All the same order. No if's, and's, or but's. I'm ready to get home." She leans over and snatches Todd's wrist. "And fruit roll-up is coming with me."

I watch Larry turn his attention to Ash. "Just as long as you get me some kind of alcohol," he says, grinning all the while. He's going to get so slammed.

Larry is an odd specimen. Of course, we all know that, but he has this kind of aura about him that's so different from the rest of The Faces. He's such a welcoming person-- you look at him and want to trust him with everything. But it's also incredibly obvious that he's devious and chaotic to the core. He'll keep everyone's secrets safe, but he'd probably commit homicide too, I think.

Larry turns to me as Ash rushes ahead of us. There's this gleam in his eyes that screams excitement and focus.

"So I'm gonna spare you the confusing details because Nockfell is just... in a state of sin constantly. You'd be so lost if I told you why exactly this happened," the man waves me off, smacking his lips and looking off to the side. I look up at him with raised eyebrows, patiently waiting. If I'm being honest though, I want to know the confusing details. What was going on in Nockfell?

"Larry, can you not?" Sal bites out. "You tell this story constantly. Just give it a rest. Not everyone wants to talk about scars."

"Sir," Larry scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks down at Sal beside him, giving the blue-haired gremlin a 'try-me-bitch' look. "You can go and be insecure somewhere else because I fucking love telling this story. And Vi wants to hear about it, obviously." He turns to me and grins, showing off his sweet, little gap-toothed smile. "Look at that precious face. It's so eager." Larry grips onto my masked cheeks and drags me toward him.

My heart jumps into my throat when Mr. Metal-Head himself winks at me before dipping his head down to kiss the nose of mask. I can't feel his lips, but just the fact that he's so close to me and showing me this type of care through physical touch makes my cheeks heat up. Makes my fingers go numb. Makes my thoughts race out of my body, skittering along the pavement in excitement-- all with love hearts littered about them. If romantic love were a thing between him and I, things would be much different right now. But this feels more like... I'm a princess and he's my devoted, caring knight. Instead of kissing my hand, he brought his feelings to the very tip of my nose.

This is twitterpated.

Sal and Larry start bickering as soon as the little peck is done and over with. While they do their step-brother thing, I mull over Larry's small token of affection. That kiss meant so much even though our skin never touched. Did Sal feel the same way even though our lips were still separated by his prosthetic? Did he feel like he was cared for, loved? Was he high off the prospect of someone actually wanting to kiss him, innocently or lovingly, just like I am right now?

I almost feel bad. To have all of that mental opportunity ripped away from him the moment it was revealed that I was VioletViolence. Sal must have felt terrible. Maybe... maybe he's actually justified in hating me.

"So anyway," Larry grips my shoulder, making me flinch in surprise. I turn my gaze up to him, meeting Sal's frustrated, glaring blue eyes for just a moment in the process. I'm going to think about how bad I must have made him feel all the time now.

"Sal and I were running, right." Larry leans forward, swiping his hand horizontally before us. I follow his pretty hand that's littered with patchwork tattoos. "Midnight, pitch black outside." Larry tilts his head, pinches his lips to exemplify these points. I simply nod. "Nockfell has this giant forest that's super thick, 'kay, thicker than your juicy thighs, in fact." His eyes snap to me and I have to turn away while my mind runs rampant again. I can't stand Larry, but in the best way.

"Before you get to the forest though," he continues. "There's this old fence that's lined with barbed wire. My guess is to protect old farms from predators and whatever. But Sal and I were young and thought we could simultaneously clear this six foot fence like fuckin' track stars." Oh. I kind of get where this is going-- they were idiots, basically. This story also lines up perfectly well with what Sal told me earlier. I'm incredibly relieved to hear that his scar story was true. This also means that I have no unnecessary stress regarding him and his well-being. Not that I should worry about that to begin with.

"So next thing you know, Sal and I are hooked by our calfs and ankles on the top of this fence. Ripped us up. We couldn't get free, so we were just kinda hanging upside down on this fence for like thirty minutes until Henry came to pick us up." Larry breaks off into scattered giggles while trying to finish the story, meanwhile my stomach threatens to leap out of my body. I feel sick.

"Larry, shut up," Sal mumbles again. "You don't have to give so much detail."

He's so fucking guilty and it shows.

"Come on, bro," Larry chortles, giving Sal a light shove. "It was so stupid, I still laugh about it every time. Look," the man turns back to me and stops walking. He bends down and grabs the edge of his black cargo pants. He yanks them up over his knee and shows off this gnarly, jagged scar on the back of his calf. It's a couple inches long for sure-- must have been deep. "Sal's is on his ankle. We were actually pretty worried he might have sliced his tendon. I remember screaming and yelling at him about how he would never walk again," Larry snickers, pushing his pant leg back down.

I gulp, forcing a smile onto my face. I don't have it in me to laugh at the story. Not when I know that Sal lied to my face about the scars on his thigh earlier.

I'm battling myself. Sal and I aren't close-- he doesn't have to tell me at all if he wants. His mental health and his scars are his business, not mine. It's my fault for feeling so torn up about it. I feel like it's my job to save everyone, but I forget that not everyone wants saving. That, and I just can't save everyone in general.

I don't have a God complex, I just have this unbeatable savior complex that I'm still at war with to this day. I need to get over myself-- not everyone is going to trust me with their secrets. Not everyone needs me. Not everyone will like me. Literally, this tracks with Sal and I's timeline. And besides, if he's ever having mental struggles, I'm sure he trusts Larry, Todd, and Ash enough to seek them if he needs help. I don't have to worry.

I catch Ash rushing toward us with her arms full and Todd trailing behind her with a bag full of God knows what.

"That's a silly story," I finally speak up, smiling up at Larry who gives me this devious little grin. I really just need to ignore the conversation I had with Sal earlier. It was never my business in the first place. "I don't have any cool scars, but I did have something similar happen." I shrug, patting the side of my hip. "Got a fish hook stuck in my side. Pulled it out on my own because I was afraid to get in trouble."

I'll actually never forget the day I yoinked my dads fishing pole with the intention of developing my rad fishing skills all to accidentally yoink myself in the end. I'm just lucky the hook was unused prior to getting stabbed into me. The story is mainly to help me forget about Larry's right now though.

"Perfect timing," Larry whispers excitedly. He crosses over to stand in front of me and my brows furrow in confusion. "I can finally get on my knees for you."

"Nope," I spit out immediately, taking a step away. I'm too insecure and timid for that-- his sweet nose kiss was more than enough. This man needs to have mercy on my hopelessly romantic and decrepit soul.

Larry rolls his eyes. "Fine. But I do want to see. Plus, it's an excuse to finally see your tattoo."

I purse my lips. That's risky. I'll have to lift up the edge of my bra strap for that and I'm a little nervous about being so open.

Ash pops up beside me though. "I just bought, like, thirty jello shots. You fuckers better start throwing some back while I throw this ass back and get laid by a pretty bitch." These words come out in one breath and Ash never breaks her nonchalant facade as she holds a bag out to me.

"Can I be the pretty bitch?" I ask with a smile, sidetracked as I look into the bag to find a plethora of multi-colored plastic containers full of alcoholic jello.

"I thought that was the plan from the start, beautiful," Ash purrs, stealing my attention. I glance up at her, noting the playful little gleam in her bright green eyes and the smirk playing on her full, glossy lips.

I swallow thickly, frowning at how easily I end up falling into these traps that my friends set out. They're too attractive.

"Give me one of those," I murmur, fishing out a handful of shots from the bag to distract myself, and hopefully everyone else, from how shy I've suddenly gotten over a little bit of Ash's shameless and effective flirting.

"Yea, share-- but fuck off, Ash," Larry sneers. "Vi's mine. Stay away." He grabs both of my shoulders and walks me a step closer to his chest. I cannot be fucking doing this right now. I feel like I'm snorting coke just from being stuck between two of the hottest people I know-- and I've never even done drugs.

I open the top of an orange flavored jello shot then very quickly down the contents. Sal's hiding behind Larry right now, but I'm still able to see half of him. And he watches me go through all five stages of grief as soon as the flavor settles on my tongue.

I swallow quickly then choke on the leftovers, making the most disgusted face possible. It burns, and it tastes awful. So not worth it. That was a good reminder as to why I shouldn't consume alcohol in the first place.

"Ash," I splutter, traumatized and betrayed. "These are terrible. I'm sorry but... it's bad. Try one," I say, popping the lid off another and shoving it toward her. This one's green.

Ash doesn't say a word, just wraps her pretty fingers around the container and takes the shot like a pro. She doesn't even flinch. All she does is contemplate it for a moment then shrug at me "Tastes like alcohol."

I roll my eyes. At least she doesn't care all that much-- the shots won't go to waste.

I turn to Larry, intent on finally pulling up my shirt for him as we start preparing to walk again. But when he finally enters my field of vision, his arms having left my shoulders a few moments ago, I notice five empty containers stacked in his palm. If pregaming was a person, it would be Larry.

I blink at the man, then look up to see him quite literally tonguing a very clearly empty container. I don't know what more he's looking to get out of it, but at least he has some good work ethic.

Larry catches my eyes and pauses, tongue buried in the plastic like he's looking for water after going days without it. It's pretty comical.

He quickly pulls the plastic away from his face and swipes his hand along his mouth. I press my lips together to hold back giggles.

"Here," I say, lifting the edge of my shirt and bringing it up to right under my armpit before I can think harder about it. The one shot I had isn't even enough to give me a buzz, but assuming it'll have some kind of affect on me later gives me false confidence. I'll walk this fear off like a pro.

I lean over to look at my side, noting the small and uneven crescent shaped scar right under my ribs. Then I grab the very edge of my bra strap and move it, revealing the top half of my tattoo so everyone can get a good look at everything if they so wish.

Larry bends over, hands on his knees as he inspects my bare side. "Nice to know we officially aren't being catfished," he murmurs, eyes glancing over every inch of my skin. He's way too close.

I gape down at him. "Did you really think I was someone else all this time?" I ask, swallowing down that statement when I realize how much of a hypocrite I am. Because I am someone else.

Now that I'm leaving tomorrow, I just suddenly feel so guilty for tricking and deceiving everyone.

I run my tongue along the surface of my teeth, looking at anything but Larry as he lightly rubs his fingertips over the words engraved into my skin. His touch tickles, but I try not to pay any mind to it-- especially when Sal's eyes are glued to my waist from a couple feet away too. He watches me shamelessly, all while I fall apart on the inside.

"You're bruised here, Vi," Larry murmurs to himself, pressing on another part of my skin that makes me wince. It's sore, for sure. I try to see if Sal has some kind of reaction because we all know it's his fault.

His bright eyes look emotionless from over here. The splashes of neon orange and green on his black tactical gear brings out the cerulean color of his hair and the midnight blue of his irises. He's so pretty in such a unique way. Watching him look at me feels like I'm gazing at something forbidden, like I'm not supposed to catch him with his focus directed at me. It feels secretive.

But all of him feels like this one, giant secret that I'm not supposed to figure out. His prosthetic, his scars, his life story. I don't know any of it and I shouldn't. My brain is hardwired to understand things that confuse me, and Sal really confuses me. He also really pisses me off, but there has to be some kind of reason as to why he's so angry with me to begin with.

I have so much I want to figure out and so little time, so little trust. So little self-confidence. Things are fine right now-- Sally Face is silent, Todd is too. Larry is running his fingers over my skin and Ash is resting her chin on my shoulder, watching Larry. I should be enjoying my time. So why am I regretting my decisions and worrying about someone who couldn't care less about me?

_______

A/N::::::: HIIIIIII sorry it's been so long babies... college :(

i have soooo so much planned for this story right now. i've been writing a lot, i just have to write in short spurts because i also have so much school work to get done. i miss getting to write for hours soooo freaking much!!

fair warning, next chapter is smutty again >:) i'm excited. I'M ALWAYS EXCITED TO WRITE FOR YOU GUYS AHHHH

anyway, i love and miss everyone so much, so deeply!! have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening/night <3333

p.s. emo casino knight is actually a real person but we're not gonna talk about that hehe....

#sal fisher #sally face #larry johnson #ash campbell #todd morrison #travis phelps #enemies to lovers #sally face fandom #sally face fanfiction #fanfic

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kawaiikenna · 2 years

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Chapter 3 of Under the Earth; Far from Home! Take a look on ao3 too. Leave a kudos and drop a comment if you’d like. ☺️💜💜

Jazz was freaking out. Absolutely, one hundred and ten percent freaking out. You’d never be able to tell from the outside though. On the outside she appeared calm and collected, mostly. As long as you didn’t stare or squint you wouldn’t notice the red puffiness and heavy dark circles cleverly hidden under her makeup. Or the slight oiliness that her hair had from just a few days too long from the last shower she had. Or even the way her bottom lip would quiver ever so slightly whenever someone so much as mentioned Danny, her baby brother.

The baby brother that she had failed. The baby brother that was missing now for almost two weeks. Two weeks. There had been no leads. Nothing to go off of. No note, no weird conversations, there hadn’t been anyone, or anything, new or sketchy in town. Nothing. Vlad had been quiet. Very few ghostly visitors from the Zone. It was strange and worrying.

Statistics say that the first 48 hours are the most important in a missing persons case. After that time limit, the person’s chance of being found alive would diminish rapidly. By the end of the first week they start thinking about looking for a body and not a person.

Jazz didn’t want to think about finding only Danny’s body. She knew that he would technically keep living as Phantom, he just wouldn’t necessarily be the little brother she’s known all her life. And that was one of the more terrifying thoughts. That if he was dead then he should have come to find her by now. Which meant he was alive somewhere. Even if she didn’t know where.

There was a soft knock on her door. Jazz glances up from the useless stack of papers spread in front of her. It’s Tucker. He looks mildly nervous with his laptop clutched in one arm and a black bag over the other shoulder. Sam stood silently behind the dark skinned boy.

“Sam, Tucker,” Jazz internally cringed at how rough her voice sounded. “what’s up?”

Tucker stepped further into her room. He silently set his laptop down on her feet and opened it. “I was finally able to crack where your parents were during that weekend before Danny disappeared.”

Jazz felt her breath hitch and get stuck in her throat. Her eyes widened as she stared at the screen now displaying a map. She had to remind herself to breathe. And even when she started breathing again, they came quick and shallow.

“From what I could get from the local cell towers as well as tracking the specific kind of ‘signal’ the GAV gives off; they took this route.” He traced his finger over the outlined map. “And ended up somewhere here in New Jersey. I lost the signal when they crossed the state border. I can probably track them further, that way we’ll know what city they went to. But it’ll take me a few more days.”

Jazz stares up at one of two of Danny’s best friends. She can see just how haggard he is. So she stands and pulls him into an almost bone crushing hug. It was then that Sam finally stepped in. Jazz lets go of Tucker and looks to Sam.

“I know we don’t know what city they took him to but I’ve been calling around to see if anyone had reported the GAV. I haven’t found anything. That points to your mom having driven instead of your dad.” The goth says. “There’s a charity gala being held in Gotham next week. I’ll be going and taking Tuck with me. Hopefully we’ll be able to get more information there. Otherwise I have a couple relatives that live in different cities. If we don’t find anything out at the gala I’ll call around to see if they’ve heard anything.”

Jazz had tried really hard to not breakdown. It mostly worked, but after that, hot tears fell down her face. The two teens hugged her. Jazz could tell that Tucker was silently crying too from the way his shoulders shook. Sam on the other hand just looked drained. As if she had cried all of her tears and had none left. Jazz pulled both of them into a tight hug.

This was progress. No matter how small, it was a step to finding Danny, her baby brother, and hopefully bringing him back home.

~~~

“His name is Daniel ‘Danny’ James Fenton. Just turned 17 last month. Reported missing in Amity Park, Illinois by his parents Jack and Madeline Fenton a week and a half ago. From what I could find, his parents haven’t put any other effort into finding him. Whereas his older sister, Jasmine, and his two close friends, Samantha Manson and Tucker Foley, have been doing a lot of groundwork. It appears that Jasmine didn’t know her younger brother was missing until she came home from college for the long weekend.” Tim sipped on his seventh cup of coffee.

Jason’s insides roiled and tied themselves into even more knots than before. He could have found Daniel sooner, if he had just investigated the feeling in person rather than sending someone else.

“So how the hell did he get buried alive in Gotham? That’s five states away and far too much effort for a simple kidnapping.” Jason snapped, being away from the kid was making him anxious enough. Everything they had learned was just making things worse.

“It’s actually a federal crime as soon as they took him across state lines. Which is going to make adoption pretty difficult.” Tim side eyes Jason.

Jay just rolled his eyes. As if. He doesn’t do too well at taking care of himself. Why the hell would he want to throw a kid into the mix?

“So are there any clues on how he got here in the first place? Let alone be buried alive here in Gotham?”

“Nope. It was like he had disappeared into thin air. No clothing was taken, no note to explain where he was going, his phone was left on the charger in his room. The only coincidence is that his parents were out of town when Danny went missing. They didn’t report him missing until the day after they came home.”

“So then we investigate the parents.” Bruce entered the Cave. “From what we learned about his home life before, it wasn’t the best. Something could have happened to make them do something. Whatever it may be.”

And then Jason felt it. The peace and content the kid, Danny, had been putting out came to a sudden, grinding stop. Silence followed for half a second before intense waves of fear filled the room. It hit Jay so hard he physically hunched over. In the next few seconds he went from hunching over in almost physical pain to sprinting to the kid’s infirmary room.

He could hear various shouts from his family but the kid was more important. He was putting out the same kind of fear when Jason had pulled him out of the casket the night before. When he got to the room he found Dr. Tompkins speaking in low tones with her hands up to show that she wasn’t a threat. He glanced at the corner to find Danny curled up protectively. Once blue eyes now glowing toxic green and wide with fear.

Fear, fear, afraid, doctor, hospital, no, no, NO!

Jason grunted under the emotional impact.

Safe, friend, safe.

There was an immediate change in atmosphere. The teen’s eyes snapped over to lock gazes with him.

Fear, friend, help, dislike, hate, no!

A chirp rang through the room. It sounded like a frozen lake cracking, an ethereal sound that was saturated in fear and distress.

Unknowingly to him, an audible rumble sounded from his chest in an attempt to calm the teen.

Safe, safe, safe.

“I haven’t got a clue as to what the hell is going on, but if you can calm him down some I’ll be back.” Dr. Tompkins excused herself.

Jason moved further into the room as the doctor left. Danny uncurled slightly at his approach. Jason knelt a short distance away from the teen. A chirping trill came from the boy.

Safe?

Jason nodded. The toxic green glow of the distressed teen’s eyes died down a bit. Danny warily stares at Jason.

Safe, safe, where?

“Gotham.” Jason barely whispers. His chest rumbles again with the feeling of safety, now accompanied by a new feeling of home.

A spike of panic comes from the teen. Jason tenses again as Danny curled into himself and let out a keening, high pitched almost-whine. Now shaking and quivering like a leaf in a storm. Pulling into himself even more than before.

Lost, home, gone, lost, home, haunt.

Jason reaches out a hand to hesitantly rest it on one of his shaking shoulders. Instead of pulling away, Danny nearly flung himself into Jason’s arms. He gripped strongly to the older man with all of the strength he could muster. Quiet sobbing filled the room as well as the purring chirps Jason was producing, anything to help the kid calm down. Jason scooped up the teen to rest him in his lap and scooted to sit against the wall for some support. Danny curled protectively in Jason’s embrace.

Jason gently rubbed the sobbing teen’s back. Crooning softly and sending out waves of safety and calm. And just like when he had initially pulled the teen out of the coffin, once he had calmed down he fell asleep, one hand still gripping Jason’s shirt while the other was tucked between his own chest and the vigilante’s. The gentle purring vibrations in their chests gave Jay a content feeling. He fell asleep not long after. Protectively embracing the hurt and broken teen.

~~~

“So what’s the damage?” Bruce nearly demanded as soon as Dr. Tompkins stepped out of the infirmary room door.

She gave him a flat stare. “In all honesty he should be dead. A human cannot go longer than two to eight weeks without food. Water on the other hand is a much shorter period of time, with only three to five days without it inflicting serious damage and even death. If you’re right and he was trapped down there without food or water, he would have been pushing the envelope with food. That long without water should have killed him.” She looks back into the room she had just left. Jason seems to have been able to calm the boy down some. “From what I could gather before the boy woke up was that he’s not entirely human. He’s not a meta either.”

“Then what is he?” Bruce asks, staring at the boys sitting huddled against the wall. The painfully thin teen being gently cradled in his second eldest’s arms.

“Hell if I know. Whatever he is, it’s made it so that he mostly recovered from Severe Acute Malnutrition in the time he was unconscious. After only two IV bags and a few nutrient packs he reached an almost fully stable level. He still has a long way to go on the road to recovery, but he’s gotten out of the woods much quicker than any normal human could or should have.” She glances through the door to see the two boys sleeping. Dr. Tompkins sighs heavily and quietly shuts the door. “Looks like I won��t be able to ask any questions tonight. Call me as soon as they wake up. Specifically Danny. If he’s hungry when he wakes, have Alfred prepare him something. I’ve left him with a strict meal plan for Danny.” She walks down the hallway towards the elevator. Bruce follows her. “Even though he’s recovered extremely well, his body is still coming back from nearly starving to death. So it will take time and patience. Encourage many small meals and snacks throughout the day, and night, depending on how well he sleeps. Same for liquids. Though right now he’ll be on a strictly liquid diet until I can figure out how exactly his body is doing with the recovery.”

“Thank you Leslie.” Bruce says softly. “I can’t express how much this means to us, to Jason.”

“Uh huh. This is my job. At least this time I’m not stitching together bits and pieces. Severe Acute Malnutrition isn’t pretty, but the treatment is fairly easy and straightforward. This is nothing compared to other things I’ve seen and had to treat.” She steps into the elevator. She turns back to Bruce, putting a hand out to stop the elevator doors from closing. “Let me know as soon as he wakes up. I may not be a psychologist but that boy has been through hell and back. I can guarantee he’s seen some serious shit. Do not, under any circumstances, let anyone other than Jason, myself, and Alfred go into his room. If what happened earlier was anything to go by, he won’t be too welcoming to strangers. Hopefully it’s something that will go away with proper care and socializing, but there’s no guarantee.”

Bruce nods. “Of course. I’ll make sure the other children are aware of the situation and that they act accordingly.”

With a satisfied nod, Leslie let the elevator doors close and take her upstairs. Bruce makes his way back over to where a few of his children were still gathered around the batcomputer.

“So I guess we won’t be meeting our new nephew anytime soon?” Dick asks, a tiny amount of disappointment hides in his voice.

Bruce shakes his head. “No. He more than likely has PTSD. It would be better to leave him be until he becomes more mentally stable.”

“So sad. I think we can wait a few days before barraging Danny with questions and attention.” Tim says with a smirk.

His eyes are still glued to the computer screen. Articles of Danny and a purple backed gorilla have been pulled up. On another screen there were articles of ‘ghost’ attacks wracking the tiny town of Amity Park. Pictures and articles of three other people were also displayed. Jasmine Fenton, Samantha Manson, and Tucker Foley. Danny’s older sister and two best friends. This seems like it will take a while to pin any solid evidence down. So Tim sighs and settles in to get as much as he could done; eighth cup of coffee sitting next to him.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #danny fenton #dc #dp #dc comics #dc x dp #batman #jason todd #dpxdc #batfam #jazz fenton #red hood #dp x dc crossover

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gumnut-logic · 1 year

Photo

The first blow came unexpected.

Virgil was in piano practise, playing a particularly difficult chord and rift combination when the sudden sensation swamped his mind. His fingers stumbled badly and the entire composition collapsed.

“I think you need more practise, Virgil. But that is to be expected. It is a very difficult piece.”

He didn’t answer her, too busy trying to work out exactly what had happened.

His lack of response was enough to shake his teacher’s confidence. “Are you sure you want to attempt this for your final recital? There would be no shame in choosing another piece.”

It was at that point the second blow made him see stars.

What the-?

John.

It was John.

A sharp indrawn breath. He stared at the piano keys as his heart picked up. “Ms Pickett, I need to leave early. I-I have to collect my brother.” He didn’t look up, biting his lip as another blow landed. Echoes of pain emanated through his heart.

His teacher didn’t answer immediately and her disappointment was obvious. “Very well, Virgil. Practise at home and we will try again tomorrow.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Still not looking at her, he grabbed his books and stumbled from the room, almost literally as another blow landed.

His feet hit the asphalt running.

He knew where John was supposed to be, but his senses led him elsewhere, to the far side of the high school grounds, to a shed on the far side of the sports ground.

A place John had zero reason to be.

He had never run so fast in his seventeen years of life.

As he skidded around the corner of the building he tore up dirt.

Three large boys and a huddled red-headed body on the ground.

A foot rose to kick his prone brother and Virgil saw red.

Two hundred pounds of pissed off Tracy barrelled into the lead perpetrator and took him down with one angry fist. A crony made to grab him from behind. Virgil stepped backwards, catching his foot and elbowed him in the face. There was a satisfying crunch of bone.

It also gave him the draw back for the fist that black-eyed the third asshole.

Fingers that had moments before been playing a sonata, throbbed, sporting both his blood and that of others.

“You fuck!”

The lead perp grabbed him around the waist and they both went down, Virgil underneath and in the dirt. A fist landed in his gut and his lungs lost most of his breath.

“Think you can defend the weiner?” The bastard’s breath was hot on his face. Spittle landed on his cheek.

“I don’t think, asshole.” Virgil grit his teeth. “I know.” His knee came up and lowered the man’s chance at parenthood.

His grunt was somewhat satisfying as Virgil threw him off.

The two cronies were clutching at their faces and backing away while their leader rolled around in the dirt.

Virgil drew himself to his full height and snarled at them. “Stay the hell away from my brother.”

Three eyes widened in alarm, staring at Virgil as if he was the devil incarnate.

“What the fuck are you?!”

The voice came from the asshole on the ground. He was scrambling backwards, wincing at the movement, but staring up at Virgil with the same fear in his eyes as his buddies.

A shadow drifted over the man and Virgil realised it was his.

He didn’t need to look to know what had happened. A stretch and he flapped his fully extended midnight black wings. Dust lifted into the air and tossed their hair around. “I am your worst nightmare. If you even look at me or my brother again, you will find out exactly what that means.” He punctuated that with an arch of his pinions, high above his head.

The assholes turned and ran.

The moment they were gone, Virgil folded his wings and with a shrug, let them go, and hurried over to John.

His little brother looked up at him from the dirt with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Virgil.” John’s voice was raspy. At least one of those blows had hit him in the gut.

“Not your fault. How bad?” Virgil inspected his brother with his eyes, senses reaching for whatever information they could provide.

“I’ve had worse.” He pushed himself up, groaning and leaning back against the wooden building.

“Don’t bullshit me, Johnny.”

“Don’t call me Johnny.”

Virgil placed a finger under John’s chin and lifted his face gently to inspect it. “What was the reason this time?”

“Not sure.”

“What did I say about the bullshit?” At least one blow to the face, John’s cheek was swelling and the skin was split. Virgil grit his teeth.

“What does it matter? There is always an asshole. Always. The reasons vary, but every damn time there is always one.”

Virgil gently undid the buttons of his brother’s shirt. John put up a protest, but the older brother ignored it.

A bruise was spreading over the right side of John’s ribcage. “This is assault, Johnny. I’m going to press charges.” These guys were going down.

John sighed. It was almost a whimper. “You can’t.”

Virgil’s lips thinned. “It is what should be done.”

“You can’t, you know you can’t.”

John’s shirt was gripped by a pair of bloodied fists. Slim, pale hands, fingernails lined with dirt, rested gently on those fists. “You can’t. We can’t. It would draw too much attention. They’ve seen you, Virgil.”

He grit his teeth and, with difficulty, swallowed his anger. John was more important. A cleared throat. “Anything broken?”

“I don’t think so. Can we just go home?”

“Scott’s going to blow a circuit. You should see a doctor.”

“Scott always blows a circuit. A doctor would ask too many questions.”

Virgil closed his eyes a moment.

“This is never happening again.” It came out with no small amount of pain.

“I’m sorry, Virgil.”

“It is not your fault.” A sigh, and he straightened, standing up, before offering to help John up. “Though we are going to have to think up a story to explain this to Gordy.” And yes, the third member of their little triumvirate was bouncing worriedly at the edge of Virgil’s mind. “He’s too old for vague excuses now.”

“Just tell him the truth. His big brother is a wimp.”

Virgil glared at John. “His big brother is a genius. His big brother has more brains than most of this school combined. His big brother is going to make a difference in this world. His big brother is going to make this world a better place.” He held out his hand. “And no minus IQ point asshole is going to stop him.” Not while Virgil was alive. He may not have his brother’s smarts, but he had other assets.

John reached up and took his hand, gripping it tight. A grunt and Virgil had his brother on his feet. An arm around his shoulders made sure he stayed that way.

“Thanks, Virgil.”

“Anytime, bro, anytime.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #marks and wings #nuttyfic reblog

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hiimrenireny · 10 months

Text

of course i hyperfixated on a new spider movie and used the fuel of it to crystalize a spidersona idea i had way back when the first came out. of course they have weird powers that just involve playing host to a swarm of actual spiders. of course i did a little writing exercise with them meeting and helping to name a new villain. you can read it if you like.

Spiderlings knew they were being followed. Their suit was heavier with the spiders that were less brave, their webs thinner as a result, each arc between buildings growing shorter and shorter still. It was a feeling remarkably similar to running out of breath, save that those same spiders, hiding in anticipation, were soaking Spiderlings' anxiety. Nothing would be worse for the lot of them than for Gabby's shuddering breath to send them plummeting.

The journey home isn't tenable. Spiderlings pulls a rope taught to yank themselves up, grazing along the side of a building to leave a trail of spiders behind themselves. By the time the web goes slack enough of their cluster has gathered to catch their side against the building, allowing them to crawl the rest of the way up in a stuttered slide-like movement.

Kipping over the railing, they stumble forward. Heights were still a challenge. Of course, they catch themselves, a string of their arachnid companions guiding their foot into place and pooling around them in bursts with each step, retracting in with their breath, flowing out with the tense of their muscle, a tertiary limb providing its own senses. A damn good resource, but one Gabby tries not to over-rely on to the detriment of their other senses. It's late, so it's dark, but a city is never pitch. They can see the door that accesses the rooftop they've stopped on. They can damn near feel it in their bones as spiders that have strung along to the hinges feel vibrations approaching the door. They feel the growing survival instinct of dispersing from the front of the door a second before it bursts-

DUCK.

Spiderlings drops immediately to their knees, leaning back to get as low as possible. A half second later and the door is rendered a modern art piece, splinters shattering around an assailant in some variety of half-mechanical suit. Facemask, wings clipped along a stylish jacket, a massive boot and pneumatic leg brace with an intimidating stinger jutting out of the bottom. It easily rent through the door and leaves a circular impression as the air whips Spiderlings' hair out of the way. They curl to kick a leg out, letting momentum throw them that way as a leg-sized flood of spiders catch the motion and carry them along, affording more time for them to focus on scrambling to their feet to whir around and face this sudden threat.

A second glance doesn't reveal much more than what Spiderlings already gathered, save that the stripes and color of the jacket remind them of, well, a yellowjacket. She's just staring at Gabby. That stinger must be a lot to lug around, her breath sounds heavy... No, wait, vocal filter on the mask, she's giggling.

"I was actually just wrapping up for the night, if we could make this quick...?" Oh, there went their mouth. Funny how it just did that on its own. At least the yellowjacket seemed to find the humor in the situation, she's laughing more. She's even clutching her stomach. Or, her hand is sliding under her jacket it sounds more like. Spider hairs stand on edge. Three parts of the cluster disperse and start to move.

LEFT.

A dart thrown where Spiderlings had just been standing, tossed along with it an idle, "I'm afraid I'll have to impose!"

LEG.

Spiderlings throws their leg up in a circular kick, padded-skirt covered thigh taking the brunt of a dart meant for their hip and throwing it aside. Just completely normal darts then. Thrown very well, but still.

WEB.

A flinging motion of their right arm and a flick of their inner two fingers has Spiderlings tossing a collection of spiders, a single-file arachnid chain keeping them connected to their arm, all ferrying web between them. In but a second, a bundle has formed at the end to catch the last dart from the air. "Could I ask who's imposing??" The exhilaration of those stunts stains Gabby's voice into something frantic.

"I am..." The woman in the yellowjacket begins, in typical self-important fashion. Static and digital whines peel off of every intonation, making it all the more obvious when she huffs and lets her posture slack a bit. "Unsure. I mean, I just finished the stinger tonight, hunting you down was sort of a spur of the moment thing."

"Sn-Snappy and bold decision making can be an admirable trait," comes Spiderlings' reply, alongside a flick of cluster and web from their left hand, aiming for one of yellowjacket's wings from between her arms and body. The must be helping her balance on that ridiculous stinger, so taking them out will limit her mobility. Unfortunately, the stinger hisses with a pneumatic gesture, slotting up into place along the back of the woman's shin. She's fast, but new at this. The web still catches her shoulder and Spiderlings tugs forward, introducing her forehead to a padded elbow, tugging again to bring her over Spiderlings' shoulder.

Unfortunately, those wings aren't just for balance, fluttering with all the force of a rotary saw. Yellowjacket gets a grab on the back of Spiderlings' suit as she goes over their shoulder and rolls forward into an aerial spin, turning the attempted toss back on poor Gabby. They hit the railing with the heavy ring of plastic on metal.

"Thank you! So, wasp is a bit too obvious, isn't it?" Yellowjacket begins, regaining her bearings.

"Hornet, maybe?" Telling her that Spiderlings had been thinking of her as simply yellowjacket felt somehow rude, especially coming from an individual that was still standing back up. The only reason their ears weren't ringing is because they were allowing themselves to be deaf to the sensation, relying more on their spiders' hearing. It gave the woman an odd, slowed, bassy reverb from Spiderlings' perspective.

"Feels a bit tacky... I'unno... Swarm?" Her other jacket pocket this time. Ambidextrou-?

RIGHT.

Spiderlings tucks to the right, falling into a lean against the railing that turns into kicking off of it to close in with their assailant again, all as a dart tinks off the metal behind them. "Might fit me better," Spiderlings offers, alongside a punch, which the woman catches, ducks under, twists-

BACK.

But a sudden knee to her lowered face has her retreating. She doesn't seem to expect the flick of cluster and web off the end of Spiderlings' boot, spiders quickly severing the rope and retracting to leave web splattered on her lenses.

"Augh- God-" She tugs at the web a few times to no effect, before pressing a button along its side, a burst of gas from along the mouthpiece shriveling the web. "How about something more grandiose? I do plan to build drones or something, but I suppose I am just me for now. Khepri!"

In the time it has taken yellowjacket to unblind herself, Spiderlings has hopped up on the railing, having pre-spun enough web to swing a few buildings with relative confidence. "Deific so soon? That's an ego." Oh, god, why do they always say that stuff to people that can kill them?

"Fair enough, I'll aim for a lower title for now..."

They both shout "Queen!" at the same time, just as Queen throws another stinger-kick at Spiderlings and they leap from the building in turn.

#reny writes #fiction #fanfic #itsv #atsv #spiderverse #spidersona #ive never actually properly tagged anything in my life i hope all this is accurate #earth 716 #716 #cluster of spiderlings #gabby gardner #queen

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owl-with-a-pen · 2 years

Note

Can you write a fic about when Nia tells Brainy about the nightmare vision she had during Fear Knot? Please <3

Certainly! This one's been on my mind for a while. Thank you for the prompt, I hope you enjoy!

No one had come out of the Phantom Zone unscathed, least of all Kara.

Honestly, though? Nia had been so drained by then that she’d hardly been able to register what was going on around her at all. All she knew was that Kara and her father had been whisked away for sun-lamp treatment the second they’d come aboard, and Nia certainly didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to process that right now, let alone what it meant.

Turned out, Kara’s father wasn’t dead, and as much as Nia wished she could feel happy for her, she barely had the energy to feel anything at all.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d sat with Brainy before the Tower had reclaimed its original perch in National City, long enough that she’d probably cut off the circulation in his hand for how hard she’d been squeezing him.

Brainy didn’t mention it. In fact, he sat at her side just as vacantly, an arm wrapped loosely around her, his fingers catching every so often against odd ends of her hair as they twitched against her back in unmeditated patterns.

He didn’t say anything about the tears staining her cheeks and in turn, Nia didn’t mention how she could feel his pulse threatening to break the speed of light against her palm.

They didn’t say it, because it didn’t need saying. Everyone inside that ship had seen something that day and, considering the dour silence that had permeated the Tower’s console room the whole journey home, it was obvious that no one was ready to talk about it just yet.

Nia only started tuning back in again when she felt Brainy gently tug on her arm, guiding her up off the sofa in the same motion. As J’onn had apparently explained - and Nia clearly hadn’t heard – Kara and her dad would be out of it for a while, which meant there would be plenty of time for welcome back banners once everyone was given the chance to go home and get some rest.

When she and Brainy returned to their apartment that same night, Nia had fully intended on doing just that.

She’d been counting on her bone-dead exhaustion to whisk her away to a far-off darkness way too deep for her dreams to catch her.

Turned out, luck wasn't on her side.

Even safely tucked in her boyfriend’s arms surrounded by the comforting familiarity of her own bedroom, the nightmares still managed to find their way in.

She saw him again. In a warped and fuzzy unreality where only his image appeared crystal clear. His silhouette stood out against the ship’s dark basement; even against the nebulous backdrop of infinite space tearing him away from her, his face was all that Nia could see. The fear in his eyes, the catch of his voice as he’d screamed out that he couldn’t hold on, that he was gonna--

She felt it all again. She saw it all again. Brainy’s fingers loosening on his hold, his very last breath stolen from his lungs as he was flung out into the void, his body disappearing behind a flood of tears as Nia’s heart had shattered into pieces.

The scream that had torn out of her hadn’t been real, and yet when she shot up out of bed the moment her nightmare finally let her go, her throat still burned from it. She clutched weakly at the base of her neck, her pulse roaring in her ears as she scooted over to the edge of the bed in a desperate attempt to collect herself. She slammed a hand over her mouth when the air came flooding back in, forcing a heaving sob through her chest and stomach, harsh enough that she could taste acid on her tongue.

Her efforts to keep quiet were made pretty much redundant when she felt a tentative hand on her shoulder.

“Nia?” Brainy asked, his voice heavy, a clear sign she’d caught him out at a portion of the night he’d actually been sleeping. Considering their rough return from the past, plus their venture through the Phantom Zone with zero reprieve in between, Nia only felt guiltier for waking him now. “Are you alright?”

Wordlessly, Nia shook her head. The burn in her eyes intensified and she blinked hard, twin tears dribbling down her cheeks.

“Was it a vision?” Brainy’s fingers dug searchingly across her back, already marking out the tension she was holding in an attempt to sooth it.

The feel of his touch finally knocked some words loose and she found it in her to answer. “Not exactly,” Nia croaked.

“A nightmare?”

She huffed air out of her nose. “Worse.”

Nia could almost hear Brainy’s thought processes as he considered the information she’d given up. Eventually, he inhaled. “Ah,” he said tightly. “The Phantom’s nightmare vision.”

“It was awful,” Nia admitted, unable to keep the shakiness from her voice a second longer. She shuddered against Brainy’s hand, closing her eyes. “It felt so real.”

“As it did for everyone else,” Brainy said in understanding. She felt his thumb dig into her shoulder, rubbing small reassuring circles against her back, sending pleasant sensations dancing up her spine. “Full sensory immersion would’ve been necessary to ensure that your mind was at no threat of escaping.” His voice softened. “What… what did you see?”

Nia’s lips trembled. “You,” she managed, “I had this… this vision. I guess it was a vision inside of a vision. Kinda like Inception, but way, way worse.”

“Christopher Nolan, two-thousand and ten.”

A short half-sob-half-laugh caught in her chest, and she smiled through her tears, wiping awkwardly at her face. “Exactly,” she said. “Only… it wasn’t just a vision. It started off that way… I even thought I’d read my dream right, that I could save everyone from the Phantom we had on board. But, it wasn’t the Phantom I should’ve been worried about.” She screwed her eyes shut again, baring her teeth. “I… I saw the hull door blow out on the ship, Brainy, and I thought I knew how to fix it. But, we were too late, I made us too late and then...” She stumbled, choking out. “Then, you-” Nia's voice was almost strangled as she tried to get the words out, but she couldn’t. The dark behind closed eyes might as well have been the void she’d lost him to. She could still hear her own screams of anguish clamouring between her ears, threatening to deafen her.

Brainy’s fingers scratched surface-level lines across her back. “Nia…”

“You died, Brainy,” Nia said hoarsely, her teeth clenched so tightly she thought they might crack. “And-and it was my fault. I-I couldn’t save you. You died because of me, because I couldn’t figure out these stupid powers—”

“Nia,” Brainy repeated firmly, urging her to turn towards him.

When she did, however hesitantly, she was met immediately by her boyfriend’s solemn expression, his eyes wide with understanding. He reached out for her with both hands, wiping the tears from her face with his thumbs. “Nia Nal, your powers are anything but stupid. They are incredible, as are you.” He cupped her face then and Nia leant needily into that small comfort, sucking in a breath. “The Phantom did exactly as it had intended,” Brainy continued gently, “it targeted one of your fears and made it a reality. But it was not real.”

“But, it was right.” Nia smiled her defeat, grasping weakly at her boyfriend’s arm. “Brainy, you said it yourself, it targeted my fear, and that fear is real. Every time I create something new with these powers, I’m never in control of it. It-it just happens. You say I’m making strides, but I have no idea in what direction I’m going. I don’t even know where to start.” She could feel more tears leaking down her face, her chest hitched tightly outside of her control. “I just feel so lost.”

Brainy’s eyes shimmered, his brow furrowing with concern. He opened his arms out to her, wrapping her up in a hug the moment she fell forward against his chest, burying her face into the familiar crook of his throat.

“I can’t lose you,” Nia whispered, fingers digging frantically against his chest, searching out the warm pulse of his life projectors. As she did so, her mom’s voice echoed back inside her head, the few seconds she’d memorised of her voicemail playing on an endless loop. She clutched as closely to that remnant as she did Brainy, gasping out when the heel of her hand caught against his central core. “I can’t lose anyone else that I love.”

She felt Brainy’s lips in her hair, running kisses across her scalp. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured, his breath hot against her forehead.

But, even that wasn’t enough.

As the sobs continued to assault her, Nia knew just as well as Brainy that there was no easy fix to assuage this particular fear.

---

Sleep didn’t come easy to either of them after that.

By the time Nia’s chest had calmed down, she couldn’t even picture trying to go back to bed, no matter how much the fog inside her head told her otherwise.

Brainy had cradled her against him the whole while, murmuring gentle comforts into her ear even as the worst of her sobs had begun to subside.

Despite the dread still clinched deep inside her stomach, Nia couldn’t ignore the tension that ran deep in Brainy’s arms. His shoulders were so rigid with it that her favourite spot felt nearly alien to her. Brainy’s pulse had definitely slowed since the Phantom Zone, but Nia could still hear it, thrumming away at abnormal speeds inside his chest.

Maybe he didn’t want to talk about it either, but as the minutes ticked well beyond the witching hour, Nia knew she couldn’t just sit there and say nothing.

So, she lifted her head carefully from her boyfriend’s throat, peeling her cheek from the fabric of his pyjama shirt in the process. She pursed her lips, keeping her gaze aimed somewhere towards her lap. “What did you see?” she asked.

Expectedly, Brainy froze, his jaw clenching where his chin was still half buried in her hair. His fingers found her back again, knuckles aimlessly scanning for tension as he pointedly ignored his own.

Nia wound her fingers into his shirt, tugging absently. “Brainy?” she prompted.

After a long moment’s consideration, Brainy sighed out his frustration, shaking his head. “A lot of things at first,” he admitted, lifting his face away from hers with a short grimace. “The Phantom tried to find a way in. And in many ways, it certainly found… weak spots.” He cringed. “It tried to pull me into a nightmare vision, and I began to experience flashes of my worst fears. Of-of being too late to save Kara… or succumbing to my mother’s will, bottling my father or… or losing you... in a multitude of terrible ways.” He smiled down at her weakly. “Uh, to name a few.”

Nia swallowed, her eyes searching him out. “Brainy…”

“I did not fall prey to the nightmare in quite the same way,” he added quickly. “I remained in control of myself, and in doing so, the Phantom found a different form of torture to cause mayhem for my waking mind.” He paused suddenly, eyes tracking ahead of himself, a serious furrow creasing his brow. “There were so many balloons…”

Nia frowned, squeezing his shoulder. “Balloons?”

“A poorly disguised metaphor, perhaps.” Brainy shuddered, lowering his head. “That is what J’onn suggested, at least. For, I cannot stand the concept of something so close to the brink of imminent explosion, that the slightest provocation might…” He gritted his teeth, breathing out sharply. “I viewed myself in that sense when I first removed my inhibitors. A part of my father’s mentality I could not shake, the fear that he was right… that maybe I would be worse with my emotional capacity fully restored.”

“That isn’t true,” Nia said immediately. She tucked her hand beneath the hem of Brainy’s shirt, trailing her fingers over his abdomen until she found his life core again.

Brainy grazed his hand appreciatively over hers. “And yet, as you say, it does not make the fear any less real.” He offered her a half smile. “I was able to combat those images with my twelfth level intellect as well as the assistance of Kelly’s grounding techniques, but I do understand. We are both afraid that what we hold within ourselves is too great to control.” His eyes flickered down to their joined hands, illuminated by the stark white of his life projector. “Perhaps,” he mused, “the only way to fight those fears is to remind each other that we do not have to fight them alone.”

Nia smirked. Her stomach was already warming at the thought, loosening the knot that had nearly taken a semi-permanent residency there. “I’d like that.”

Brainy raised his head at that, a sudden confidence brightening his expression. “Then, get some rest,” he said firmly, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “Training will resume tomorrow morning.”

Nia grinned, the tingle of his lips chasing away even the most stubborn of brain fog. She curled appreciatively into her boyfriend’s arms, finally allowing her eyes to flutter shut and for the lull of sleep to pull her under. “Alright,” she said, masking a yawn into Brainy’s shoulder, “but you’re buying the coffees.”

“And breakfast burritos?”

Nia chuckled, nuzzling his throat. “Those too.”

#supergirl #brainia #supergirl fanfiction #nia nal #brainiac 5 #my asks #my writing #anon #i have probably written and re-written dialogue for a scene like this a million times over since this episode first aired #and will forever be bitter that it never got properly addressed #but i'm finally taking a crack at it so let me know what you think 😉

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oddsconvert · 2 years

Text

May 31st - "...Sir?"

Middle of nowhere | Freezing | Lighter

@themerrywhumpofmay (the last one?!)

CW: Cold Whump, Implied captivity, Destroying comfort item

Perched on a tree log, bitter chills festered in Whumpee’s bones, teeth chattering together relentlessly and hugging their thin coat closer to their body - clinging to the slight defence it offered from the vicious cold winds and falling snow. Whumper slumps down beside them, wrapping an arm around Whumpee’s shivering frame and pulling them close to flop against their shoulder. Who could tell whether the intensity of the shivering came from fear or the cold. Whumper sighed with pity, watching the little thing succumb to the elements.

“How about I start on a fire to warm you up…? Would you like that, hmm?”, Whumper offered, cupping their hand to feel Whumpee’s frozen cheeks, tucking away stiffened, frosty strands of hair then softly tracing the shell of their ear, a rush of warmth casing the skin as blood swam to the touch. Whumpee lets out a shaky breath, a cloud of fog following and shallowly nodding their head. Pushing Whumpee away, stealing back the miniscule warmth the hold provided away from, they arise and head towards the van - collecting materials to set the fire.

Only when Whumper returns back into view, they are holding onto a few stacks of wood and clutching onto what looks like numerous tiny glossy cards. A handful all shuffled together that Whumper carelessly tossed onto the ground. Whumpee is unsettled, a sickening feeling manifesting in their stomach… thinking they recognise what they are. Despite their legs screaming at them to snap back down, they tremble forward and crouch to pick them up.

“...Sir?”, Whumpee squeaks out, their face dropping with horrified realisation. Crushed.

“What’s up?”, Whumper sneered, fully aware of what they had just discarded onto the floor.

“T-These are my - my photos, sir…”, a pile of priceless family pictures, adored memories with friends - treasured moments that Whumpee kept close to heart and kept them sane through everything. Motivating them to carry on… for them. It had been surprising to Whumpee when they had been allowed to keep them, they’d become their only and prized posession. And although it was a comforting kindness to see the faces of the people they loved, it was a knife through the chest everytime knowing that they would never see them again. Only through paper.

“Your point is?”, Whumper raised an eyebrow, their tone growing dark.

“D-Don’t burn them. Please. They’re all I have”, Whumpee croaked out, trembling fingers lovingly tracing the face of their mother in the picture. Biting back threatening tears welling in their eyes, the cold wind making them sting.

“Well, Whumpee - we need kindling for the fire and that’s the only resource we’ve got.”

“I - I changed my mind… I don’t need a fire, I can cope-”

“That’s incredibly selfish of you, Whumpee. What about me? Not going to consider how I might be freezing?”, Whumper snapped, beginning to advance on them with their fists clenched. Whumpee gasped and stumbled back, the photos slammed into their chest protectively, blocked by their arms whilst they tried to create some distance.

“… Y-You can use my clothes… burn my clothes!” Whumpee shakily but quickly begins to work at unzipping their coat but Whumper growls out and snatches a fistful of thick hair and yanks harshly, Whumpee screaming out from the sudden pain and reaching their hands up to pull Whumper off - the photos still tucked in between their fingers.

“Selfish AND ungrateful? You want to burn the very clothes that I put on your back?!”, “We’ll be having a long ‘talk’ about your attitude when we’re home”, Whumper fumed, releasing their grip and shoving Whumpee’s head forward with a scared whimper. Everything they did landed them in trouble, they did not mean to be rude and ungrateful - just wanting to compromise.

A lighter is shoved into Whumpee’s palm, they shoot their head up and desperately plead with Whumper through wide, frenzied eyes.

“Start the fire, Whumpee…”, Whumper growls, the impatience and fury only growing stronger by the second. Hatred beaming behind their soulless eyes.

“Plea-”

“Now.” Whumpee’s begging was cut off and a shaky cry slipped out as they flicked the lighter on, watching the flame dance about and envying the heat it possessed. Screwing their eyes shut and holding the flame to their beloved pictures before they can stop themselves or continue begging. Immediately going up in flames and engulfing the whole pile, throwing them instinctively to the floor as the fire kisses their skin. Hot soothing tears run down their face, watching and suffering as the faces of the people he cherish disintegrate, burning to cinders. Flaky ashes whooshing into the air, thick smoke climbing high into the jet black night sky. This was it. The last connection to their life… their last bridge burned. The little hope and yearning in them snuffed out. Now they have nothing. No-one.

Whumpee dramatically crashes to their knees distraught, quietly sobbing with jagged breaths. As much as they want to enjoy the fire’s warmth, the way the heat embraces them and they feel their body thaw and spring back to life - they are repulsed by it - despise it even. It took away all they had left. NO… Whumper did.

Loathing engulfs Whumpee as they turn their head to scowl at Whumper, clenching their teeth and narrowing their watering eyes. Though Whumper seems unfazed, rather entertained by the anger radiating from them. Instead, they rustle into their bag and outstretch a marshmallow on a stick accompanied with a brazen smile, offering to toast it over the flames.

taglist: @rainbows-and-whumperflies

#the merry whump of may #merry whump of may #whump #whump community #whump blog #whump writing #whumpblr #whumpee #whumper #cold whump #captivity #whump drabble #whump writer #whump event #whump writing event #comfort item #...sir?

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cassieuncaged · 1 year

Text

Grave Bound - Prologue

Sgt. Elias x Maggie (my oc)

Summary: A benevolent sergeant becomes romantically involved with a volunteer nurse before seemingly losing her forever.

TW: wartime violence, misogyny, marijuana, drinking, language, etc.

WC: 5.3 K

A/N: repost from old blog. working on getting the others queued up. sorry this is long. it was originally a stand alone piece that I thought worked well as a prologue.

1967

“Wilson!” a medic, Carpenter, was calling the nurse over. The base camp was bustling whenever one of the choppers came, corpses and injured men being filtered in alike. Lieutenant nurses scrambled to aid anyway they could.

A plume of red curls rushed to the man’s side as the woman assessed the damage. Gunshot wound, several to the torso while the private’s left foot was a bloody pulp. Likely stumbled into a Claymore, though the woman was surprised the poor kid hadn’t gone into shock.

“Gonna need a tourniquet applied to Jefferson, here. Get that tied off and prepped for surgery.” Carpenter’s eyes were gaunt, dust collecting in a dark mustache. The man was sleep deprived, barking orders to one of the other nurses.

“Roger that.” nodding dutifully, the woman took purchase beside the private's cot. The linens were stained from her last patient who hadn’t made it, clutching a small hand desperately as the life slowly left his eyes. Carpenter had gracelessly rolled the private off the stretcher before disappearing through the tent's mouth. Quickly grabbing a tourniquet, the lieutenant wrapped it around a bloody ankle bone. Tears ran down the kid’s mud-stained face, eyes still frozen with horror. She didn’t recognize him, though he couldn’t had been more than nineteen years old.

“It’s alright, private.” Her voice was soft, nearly lost in the surrounding commotion. “I’m gonna get you cleaned up and ready for surgery.”

“Ohkay,” the boy nodded, watching as the young nurse marched away before returning with a basin. Water sloshed over the edge as she cleaned his torso. A pair of scissors relieved him of the tattered shirt before a lukewarm rag dabbed at the wounds. Nothing too deep or serious, mostly grazing his side. That could be mended rather quickly.

The foot was a lost cause. The tang of iron swirled in the nurse’s nostrils, mingled with the burn of human flesh. It was grisly, leaving small shoulders shaking as the urge to vomit was fought. But she had to be strong, for the kid laying on the cot. For all of them.

Uncle Sam was asking an awful lot from one young woman. Yet she continued, dutifully rinsing the mangled appendage the best as possible. The young man’s chest heaved, tears being held back.

“This might sting a little,” that soft voice was the only beacon he had, nodding as iodine drenched the open wound. Thankfully, the medic had pumped the kid with morphine to curb the pain. He continued to watch as freckled fingers cleaned and sanitized before withdrawing completely. Blood-stained digits snaked out to grasp at a slender wrist.

“Can you sit with me for a moment?” it wasn’t an uncommon request of the injured and dying, wanting to be comforted for the first time in months, sometimes years. Nodding solemnly, the woman took a seat on a stool next to the cot.

The kid drifted in and out of consciousness, sometimes talking about a girlfriend back home or his parents before the doctors were parading over to take the next soldier back.

“I never got your name,” his eyes were heavy with delirium before being gracelessly transferred to a gurney. They couldn’t waste anytime if they wanted to save this man’s life. The nurse dawdled, ginger curls muddled with sweat.

“Maggie.” She added bashfully. The soldier said nothing, grinning dopily as he was hurried to the operating table. This hadn’t been the first time an injured man had looked into lush blue eyes like they were looking at an angel. But 1st Lieutenant Wilson knew better than to believe that. She was doing her job. And that was easier to do if they didn’t think she was a pure entity there to see them off of this mortal coil. Maggie was as doomed as the rest of them.

……

The remnants of one platoon were ushered back in while the next batch of unlucky bastards were shipped out. In between the unending insanity, new recruits arrived from basic. Mostly men who had run out of luck, some military brats that didn’t know any damned better. The red head wasn’t cut out for it. Maggie had known as much upon volunteering; the brutality of war threatened to pulverize brittle bones to dust. She refused to be crushed under the weight of it all, lending a warm vitality that put the soldiers at ease.

“Eating light today?” Rachel watched as she grabbed a piece of stale bread, watery green beans, and lackluster stew. The mess hall was hotter than any of the other ramshackle buildings, heat permeating from the makeshift kitchen.

“I can’t force myself. Not today.” She could feel her stomach rumble, barely full from the powdery eggs hastily eaten at dawn. Everything made her appetite sour, the texture, the taste. The other nurse filled a plate with slop as the two hustled to a table. Thankfully, there was hardly anyone there other than a few stragglers sneaking a late lunch.

The only exception was Red O’Neill. Tight, brassy curls swaggered over to the two women when his wolf whistles proved futile.

“Wilson, Mariano,” the man snickered with a faux salute before settling on the low-slung bench. “You ladies look like you could use some company.”

“In your dreams, Howdy Doody,” Rachel slouched over her lunch, shoveling the tepid gravy into her mouth. This earned an expression of pseudo hurt, blue eyes glittering on a matching pair.

“What about you, babe?” Maggie sighed, setting a crusty heel of bread aside. There was something depressing about O’Neill, like a dumb mutt that didn’t know any better. That goofy mustache wasn't doing him favors either. “We can always sneak away to the barracks anytime you like.”

“No offense, sergeant.” Small hands dropped to her lap, heavy lidded eyes tiredly grazing across to the man, “But you look like you could be my brother. And frankly, I’m not into that.”

The man blinked, mouth opening and closing as a blush crawled up his neck. No one ever expected Maggie to bite back, often flailing in surprise when that vitriolic wit made an appearance. Rachel choked on her beans, coughing wildly as Red awkwardly ambled to his feet.

“O’Neill!” Harris barked from the entrance, relieving the women of the soldier’s attention. Brown eyes fell on freckled shoulders as he sauntered over to his commanding officer.

“Everyday I go without getting laid, that man starts looking like the finest piece of ass here.” Rachel sucked her fork between gapped teeth, compatriot suddenly frozen, “You alright over there?”

“Overheard Caldwell talking to Captain Harris in the infirmary.” Eyes flitted to the perimeter nervously to assure there was no one listening. “They’re planning to send a handful of nurses out with some of the platoons. Set up a camp, help the medics. I think we’re all going to get killed.”

“Christ.” The brunette gulped, “Do we know who? Or when?”

“No official orders yet. Just don’t get too comfortable.” Nibbling at the bread again, Maggie’s appetite was nearly nonexistent. Exhaustion was slowly seeping into her every muscle while she feared everyday would be her last. Being sent away from base would make that all the more likely.

They remained silent for a long time, something that was uncommon for Rachel who scarfed down the rest of her food somberly. The two women cleared out of the mess hall before reporting back to the infirmary tent. There was likely another soldier to comfort. The meeker woman swallowed a sob while her friend lassoed an arm around hunched shoulders.

“We’re not until we’re out.” Mariano’s voice was thick with emotion, “We’re here for a reason. Even if it doesn’t fucking feel like it.”

A mass of copper waves bobbed, blue eyes settled on a group of men with rifles slung over their backs. This fight against so called communism just felt like classist bullshit, a reason to pit unknowing pawns against the NVA for the shallowest of reasons. But Maggie had to hold her tongue. Being a woman among feral men felt like lambs forced to live among wolves.

There weren’t many consequences with death right around the corner.

Rachel and Major Caldwell were the best two nurses to be aligned with; they were wolves in sheep’s clothing, snarling and rabid enough to keep the rest at bay. The red head hardly left their sides if she could help it, fearing the worst would happen if she did. Fear was all consuming and painfully palpable.

Maggie wasn’t ready to be swallowed whole.

……

Slipping into the cover of night, eyes darted around across long shadows.

The nurse couldn’t sleep and needed a chance to breathe without eyes prying, without the weight of the entire world falling atop her shoulders. Sporting a tank top, the humid breeze tickled bare shoulders as she ducked behind the nurses’ barracks and towards the edge of camp. An orange pinprick glowed in the night, moving closer. Maggie’s gaze shifted to it. Frozen like a frightened doe, she hugged herself tightly. Had she even been seen or was there still time to flee into the night like a phantom?

“That you, Crawford?” a reedy voice broke through the darkness, one she didn’t recognize.

“First Lieutenant Wilson, sir.” Maggie responded hoarsely, hearing a chuckle close in. Coming closer, the soldier was revealed more clearly under the moonlight. Clear eyes glittered, lips split into a grin.

“At ease,” he chirped, “Haven’t been lucky enough to meet such a pretty face yet.”

“It’s dark; my face might not be all that pretty.” It was a sharper response than expected as the man shook his head as the cigarette dropped to the ground.

“Ain’t you a pistol.” The stranger sounded oddly chuffed; most of the men couldn’t stand girls with a smart mouth. “Elias.”

A large hand was thrust forward in the dark, one that was met tentatively by small fingers. His skin was hot, calloused from hard labor. Yet he cradled her hand like a small bird, gentle though there was a firmness she couldn’t deny.

“You got a first name or is ‘first lieutenant Wilson’ all you’re gonna give me?” he chuckled, squeezing the hand wedged in his.

“Maggie.” Her voice was practically a whisper. Anyone else would’ve scared her, but there was a sense ease with the soldier. Wild hair was held back by a cloth headband. She deigned to run her fingers through the feathery strands. “One of the nurses.”

“Kinda figured that. Where you running off to in the dark?” His eyes darted over the woman, assuring no one was lurking in the shadows. Their hands slowly unclasped, both delighting in the spark of the moment.

“Couldn’t sleep. Decided to take a walk.” The grisly images witnessed inside the infirmary tent haunted her whenever sleep was futilely chased. Limbs shattered and obliterated, entrails falling from open torsos, cries of pain ringing in her ears long after last breaths had been taken.

It was nightmare fodder.

“Care for any company?” that gravelly voice sent a shiver down the woman’s spine. How long had it been since someone treated her like an actual human? Not a flawless angel tasked with keeping innocents alive or a slice of cheesecake for men to lust over in a land without consequences? Just a living, breathing person?

She couldn’t remember.

“I don’t want to get you into any trouble.” Brassy hair tickled ruddy cheeks. She was glad it was much too dark to see the burgeoning pinkness of fair skin.

“There’s loads of guys sneaking out of their bunks tonight.” His head hung for a moment, in contemplation. “The captains and generals have bigger fish to fucking fry anyways.”

“Know any good places to watch the stars for a bit?” it was added shyly, almost out of embarrassment. While everyone seemed far more worried about getting laid one last time, Maggie just craved to escape. And she longed to be among the constellations, composed of stardust, millions of lightyears away from Earth.

“Couple good hideouts. You don’t mind hiking to far end of camp, do ya?”

“That’s what these boots are for.” She chided herself internally for the silly comment as Elias regarded her fondly. There was a genuineness about the woman among cynical and jaded men fighting a pointless war.

He liked that, and she liked him.

……

The moon hung heavily in the sky as the two reclined against a mossy boulder. Hidden by the tree line, it was out of the sight of the night watchmen. This was the most privacy that could be afforded on enemy territory and Elias was willing to share it with this gentle lamb. Or maybe a rabbit; he half expected her to wildly hop back to her bunk. She was jumpy. Then again, they all were.

“The stars are so bright out here,” her eyes latched expectantly on the sky, as if beckoning it down. Eyes bright and full of wonder, the sergeant hugged his knees against his chest as bare shoulders collided with the rough material of his uniform. They were close, almost uncomfortably so. “Never seen them twinkle quite like this.”

“Where you from?” he whispered, chin propped on one knee.

“New York,” Maggie offered quietly.

“It’s hard to see the sky at all in that city,” Elias offered sagely about a place he’d never been to.

“Actually, I’m from Buffalo.” Turning to face him, it was a delight to see her so brightly in the moonlight. Tendrils spun of copper framed her like a halo, eyes a deep suede, lips curved into a pink bow. Her gaze settled on his, face still half hidden by folded arms, breaths slowly syncing as the silence settled. “The sky’s still a little murky there too. Where’re you from?”

“Wisconsin.” Elias sat up, resting his head against the boulder. One hand rustled into a pocket, pulling out a joint and a lighter. “The Dells. You ever been?”

“No,” Maggie shook her head shyly, watching as the joint was placed between full lips, sucking firmly as it was lit. His facial features were sharp, almost like thorns on a rose. Yet a softness lingered. Maybe it was the heavy-lidded eyes or the freckles that could be made out under the sparkling canvas of night. “Haven’t been to many places in the states. The farthest west I’ve gotten was Ohio.”

“Bout the same as Wisconsin. The Midwest all looks the same.” After taking a hearty drag, the joint was offered to the woman who politely declined. “My folks took me and my siblings to Arizona when we were kids. Mesa. The desert’s incredible; the plateaus, the caves. My brother saw a Gila monster and nearly shit himself.”

“I can’t say I blame him,” Maggie giggled nervously, running a hand through her hair. “Lizards and snakes scare me too. My sister always said I was a little wimpy.”

“Can’t be that wimpy. You’re here, ain’t ya?” their eyes met again, this time there was a serious glint in crystalline eyes. A sob crawled up her throat like bile, something that was swallowed down almost guiltily. She had to be strong here.

“Yeah. At least I have good company,” Elias choked on his cigarette, unprepared for her blatant wholesomeness. Coughing out a plume a smoke laced with laughter, he caught a quick expression of hurt flicker across the woman’s face.

“I’m not laughing at you, sugar.” A smile was flashed in the nurse’s direction, garnering the smallest of grins in return. “God, if you’re not the cutest damn thing. Makes me wanna corrupt you.”

A bout of genuine laughter was murmured amongst a thicket of teakwood trees. Youthful and innocent, death seemed unimaginable. He was the warm sun melting the frost from a delicate flower.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

“Can you come with me?” Maggie asked Rachel shyly. The showers were one of the few places of solace they had on base. It was an attempt at privacy though none of them ever travelled alone. It was dangerous. The brunette tossed her book aside, ambling down from the top bunk.

“Sure.” She groaned, boots thudding onto the ground. “Not sure what you see in that story, Mags.”

“Little Women is a classic.” Maggie was genuinely offended, protectively shoving the paperback into her trunk. “You said you were bored.”

“Stand down, Wilson,” Rachel joked as the red head grabbed a towel and a bar of soap. “I was hoping you had a deck of cards in there, not a library.”

“I have some cards!” one of the off-duty nurses chirped.

“Know any games, Sue Ellen?” the brunette asked wryly.

“Texas hold ‘em.” the woman shrugged. They all grinned; it was better than nothing. “We can bet with pennies and bobby pins.”

“Get it set up for us?” Maggie added sweetly before Sue Ellen nodded. It was hard to deny Lieutenant Wilson anything she wanted, considering how genuine she was. Then the two nurses were ducking into the humid evening, clutching a threadbare towel and the cleanest change of clothing that could be found.

A few squads were stepping, chanting a cadence as the two traversed in the opposite direction.

“Used to date a beauty queen. Now I date my M-16.” Rachel sang out of tune as they trotted away. A bony elbow rammed into the quiet woman’s ribs.

“Took away my faded jeans. Now I'm wearing Army greens.” Maggie added listlessly as the men broke out of formation in the distance.

“God, I can hear it in my dreams.” Rachel groaned as they weaved between a couple buildings, emerging beside one of the soldiers’ barracks. Hoots of laughter could be heard from inside as they passed, hoping they’d go unnoticed. A few high-ranking men hurdled past in a Jeep. “You?”

“I’m not lucky enough to have dreams,” blue eyes caught on a familiar face amongst the men milling around for the evening. Cloud of dirt settling around them, Elias leaned against one of the buildings with a few others she didn’t recognize. “Only nightmares.”

Chest of his uniform unbuttoned, tan skin was exposed and glistening with sweat, tawny hair hanging across a broad brow. Likely feeling the burn of her gaze, those clear eyes glittered at the women. Brow furrowing for a moment before that infectious grin spread across sharp features.

“Are you listening to a thing I’m saying?” Rachel’s voice was sharp, pulling Maggie back to reality.

“Huh?” Turning from the young soldier, deep brown eyes suspiciously took in the pink blooming across a round face. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

“That’s obvious. Looks like we’ve got a visitor.” Maggie hardly had chance to prepare herself before the man was sidling up to the women, ignoring the playful hollers from his compatriots.

“Holy shit, it is you.” Heavy lidded eyes ran the gambit from the crown of copper hair to the toes of dusty boots. Any other guy would’ve gotten socked by Rachel for even attempting to leer at the woman but his demeanor remained kind and awestricken above all else. Apparently chivalry wasn’t dead. “Damn, if you’re not even prettier in the light of day.”

“Funny how the sun does that,” Rachel quipped before she was shot a warning glare in retaliation. “Introduce me to your friend, Mags.”

A weak fist collided with a tan shoulder, earning a surprised chortle as Elias’s own gaze met those of his equally immature buddies. Crawford made a few kissing sounds while King lewdly waggled his tongue before their sergeant turned back to the bickering nurses.

“Sergeant Grodin.” He mock saluted, the brunette smirked in approval, lips curling upwards to reveal gapped teeth rivalling his own.

“At ease, sarge. Lieutenant Mariano.” Hands clasped briefly, “Looks like your boys are going wild.”

“They’re harmless,” waving them off, blue found blue again. Rachel looked between the two over to the men.

“I can handle harmless.” Waving playfully, the woman started marching over before turning back with a final warning, “Be good to her; I’m packing and I sure as hell know how to use it.”

“Your friend has balls.” They watched as Rachel swayed her hips, earning a new chorus of howls as a few more soldiers left the barracks to investigate the display.

“She has something,” Maggie’s eyes fell on the ground, clutching her towel closer to her chest. It was the most nervous she felt in years, being the center of another person’s attention. Especially that of a handsome sergeant in the middle of enemy territory. This was dangerous. The idea of getting attached terrified her to the very core, even more so when she looked up to meet those clear eyes. His soft smile was stretched over those sharp cheekbones. She wanted to learn more about him, to have another ally here.

“Where are you ladies headed?” looking up found another one of the Jeeps skidding down a dirt road. “Could probably find you a ride.”

“Showers. They’re pretty close by.” She shrugged, hoping her nervousness wasn’t palpable.

“You need anyone to stand watch?” eyes widened as the man awkwardly realized what he implied. “Christ. I mean to make sure no one gives you girls any grief.”

“Rach has a push dagger, just in case.” Maggie winked, giggling playfully. Elias found himself chuckling too, delighting in the way the sunset framed red curls like a halo. She was an angel walking amongst men. He didn’t believe too much in religion, but she made him feel like he could. A little golden cross was hooked around a freckled neck, rivaling the wooden rosary he sported.

A part of him wondered if she actually believed in God or if it was a formality. Suddenly, he wanted to learn everything about this stranger.

“You in the infirmary tonight?” one brow arched upward, in attempt to not seem eager.

“No. A few of us nurses were gonna play some poker and drink a few beers.” Maggie looked around nervously, pressing one forefinger against pink lips. “We have a bit of contraband.”

“If a rebel like you can break away for a minute, I’m gonna be out watching the stars again. Don’t know how true it is, but I heard the captain mention something about a meteor shower if you’re interested. Wouldn’t mind some company and a little contraband if there’s any to spare.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Spine a little straighter, Maggie felt playful for the first time in years. Elias Grodin had an infectious demeanor.

“Groovy,” those gapped teeth bit into a full lip before he was turning back to his buddies and Rachel was returning.

“Got yourself a hot date?” the woman teased as they continued their trek to the showers.

“No. But I might have a friend.” Maggie puffed her chest out proudly, feeling genuinely elated while Rachel pretended to retch.

……

“Is that a flush?” Mary slammed her hand down on the ground, tight curls messily piled atop a sunburned scalp.

“No,”

“Not even close,”

Rachel and Sue Ellen announced in unison as Maggie laughed.

“Be cruel about it, why don’t ya!” the blonde rolled her eyes, throwing herself backwards dramatically.

“Watch the beers!” Sue Ellen hissed, braids bouncing as she protected the bottles. “You hoarding yours over there, Maggie?”

“Mags has a date.” Rachel threw an arm around pink shoulders before pressing a kiss to a sweat dappled brow. The other women hooted childishly as the read head hid her face beneath shaking palms.

“Is it Red? Because you can do better.” Sue Ellen snickered before taking a swig of the lukewarm alcohol.

“Noooo.” Maggie whined from behind her fingers.

“Our girl bagged a cute one. Little, muscular fella.” There was another surge of laughter. “One of us should have some luck out here.”

“You’re embarrassing her!” Mary put a stop to the teasing, her Tennessee drawl cracking the slightest bit. “Let our sweet girl have fun.”

“We’re just watching the stars…” the woman mumbled awkwardly, face burning from both the sun and the blush she’d been unable to shake all evening. That smug smile and clear blue eyes were emblazoned on her brain while cold shower water couldn’t even cool burning skin.

“Whatever you call it, have fun.” Rachel squeezed her friend close one last time before the nurses started a fresh round of cards. Blue eyes fell on an old wristwatch, nervously waiting for twenty-two hundred hours to roll around. She didn’t want love; Maggie just wanted a bond. Anything to quell the burgeoning loneliness.

……

The superiors were full of shit.

Elias hadn’t so much as seen the tail of a shooting star. Or Maggie for that fact. It was getting closer to eleven and there hadn’t been so much as a shadow staggering past the thicket. Sucking sadly on a dwindling joint, his head hanged until ears perked at the distinct noise of boots in the foliage.

“Sorry I’m late,” Maggie chirped as she scuttled over to the soft patch of sod, rucksack landing on the ground in a heap. “Was stuck in a riveting game of Texas hold ‘em.”

“Was about to give up on ya.” He grinned, “Hope you won.”

“I’m the pits when it comes to cards. Walked away with five pennies and a bent bobby pin.” Settling beside the soldier, the bag rattled as two bottles of beer were retrieved. One was dutifully handed off.

“Aren’t you a sweet thing,” his thumb easily eased the cap off before the bottle was being tipped to his lips. Foam dribbled down a sharp chin as his Adam’s apple bobbed. There was something about the man, muscular yet angular. Maggie couldn’t help thinking that he was equal parts beautiful as he was handsome. “Anyone ever tell you staring was rude?”

“Sorry,” the red head bashfully shook her head before opening her own drink, “You’re just so, so…”

“So…what?” Elias teased, resting his cheek on one knee, hair falling in his face again.

“Silly.” Scrunching her face playfully, they both found themselves in a bout of laughter. It wasn’t what she was thinking but it wasn’t untrue either. One large hand reached between them, retrieving a transistor radio. Flicking it on, the antenna was adjusted until a melody was picked up. “I love The Grass Roots.”

“Smart girl. Guess I knew that, though. What else you like?”

The opening sitar notes of Let’s Live for Today played as she mulled over the question. It wasn’t deep but she wanted to be as honest as possible, to share her soul with him. Maybe he’d share his with her, not leaving the woman too exposed and alone.

“I’ve nearly worn out my Freewheelin’ and Bookends records.”

“You listen to Dylan?” brows rose with piqued interest as they both took another swig of warm beers.

“Do I not seem like the type?”

“I don’t know. You seem like the type to listen to Mozart’s Requiem or Chopin. Some classical shit.” His head fell back against the boulder with a muffled laugh before Maggie did the same thing.

“I mean, I do. But I love Bob Dylan too. I love a lot of music.” Their eyes fell to the sky, raking over the glittering stars. One shot across lush blue like a tear drop. It wasn’t a meteor shower but it felt like magic.

“Ain’t that something?” his voice was tender whisper, a large hand sliding to rest on a bony knee before being pulled away. “Sorry, wasn’t trying to get fresh.”

“It’s okay.” Their eyes met, dark like wet river stones under the moonlight. “It was nice.”

“Well, if you don’t mind.” His warm palm rested on her leg once more, a calming gesture for two touch starved souls. “You watch any movies?”

“Recently?” Maggie snorted at her own joke.

“You know what I mean.” Long fingers squeezed the woman’s knee, earning a quiet giggle. It had been a while since either of them had attempted to get close to someone new, both rusty and awkward.

“I really liked Charade.”

“Stanley Donen picture. It’s a good one.” He mulled it over, watching how her eyes sparkled when taking in the moon. “I think Singin’ in the Rain is my favorite.”

“Really?” Maggie sounded shocked. Elias scoffed, feigning hurt.

“Not all of us guys love Clint Eastwood or Bridge on the River Kwai. I give Gene Kelly a lot credit; takes a lot of practice and talent to dance like that.”

“Forgive me, please. I’m surrounded by a bunch of meatheads who love their AK-47’s more than their mothers. It’s refreshing really.”

“I’m full of surprises.” Then he was leaning back against the cool surface of stone, topping off his beer before switching back to the joint. Elias kept his hand on the green uniform covering Maggie’s knee. It had felt like an eternity since she’d been touched and she never wanted it end.

1968

They were shipping out at dawn. A small camp constructed, Captain Harris was corralling his men while Major Caldwell readied her nurses.

Sergeants' O’Neill, Warren, Grodin, and Barnes were taking orders while the sheepish Lieutenant Wolfe was bossed around by Bob and Elias. Fresh out of college, the man had never been in a position of power and was in over his head. There wasn’t time for she and the sergeant to meet before, sharing quick glances and nods. Whatever was blossoming between them had no place during a time of war and could get them both in hot water. Instead of risking their titles, Elias had only chanced a hug. She was safe in his arms, lips pressed to the crown of ginger waves. It was the epitome of comfort.

That was all they truly needed.

Especially now, as a sleepless night carried on. Lying in the bottom bunk, Rachel’s head hung over the edge.

“You up?” Mariano’s voice was hushed, faint almost.

“Yeah.” At this admission, the brunette dropped to the ground with a thud, earning an angry groan from the other side of the bunks. Rachel nudged Maggie over, crawling onto the slim mattress. They laid there, nearly falling off the sides as eyes stared at the exposed springs of the mattress above them.

“This is really happening.” Rachel wanted to talk, but Maggie couldn’t. Sobs caught in her throat, tears threatening to escape. It had taken so long to come to fruition that the threat seemed that it would stay that way. It was like being a horse shipped to the glue factory.

Not to mention the way she’d seen so many soldiers lose their humanity, forget their purpose completely and become unhinged by power. That was already prevalent in Barnes’, the most terrifying of the sergeants under Harris’ command. The way he snarled and sized her up like a hungry wolf sizing up a plump rabbit. It scared her. And for the first time since she’d left home, Maggie sobbed. Tears stained dark circles beneath sunken eyes as her friend wrapped slender arms around the woman. She was strong yet she was breaking.

#fanfiction #otp fanfiction #otp: dog tags and flower crowns #maggie x elias #platoon 1986

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