#Wild Guns: Reloaded | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

enviedear · 5 months

Note

Okay but Billy with an innocent reader>>>>>>>> LIKE HES SO PROTECTIVE OML

billy + innocent!reader

stop i love this. this should be an au hell i may just write more for it

tw— for use of a gun, toothrotting fluff

request

"go ahead, honey. pull the trigger." billy's voice is sweet against your ear.

your face morphs into a coy apprehension, "and you're sure this won't send me flying on my rear?"

he chuckles, straightening your arms a bit, "m'right here, i won't let that happen."

your eyes focus in on the three rusty cans in the distance, set atop a dry rotting log. you know there's no way you're going to hit them all. you'd be lucky to hit one.

but billy is adamant in both that you need to learn how to shoot, and that you’ll be a ‘natural’. his driving objective, however, being that since he can't be with you from sun up to sun down, he'll have to settle with teaching you how to fend for yourself.

it's not unlike him to behave this way. in the months you've known the gunslinger, you've come to find that his urge to protect you is enormous.

his protection isn't reserved just against the infamous wild men of the west, but rather, anything and anyone. if it could possibly do you harm, physically or mentally, he's there to guard and defend.

like a knight out of the princess tales your mother used to tell you.

you let out a harsh breath before your finger begins to press into the trigger. too soft at first, the metal remains in its' spot, you muster up all your courage and pull the trigger. your eyes are screwed shut as the bullet whistles away, and you quickly turn into billy.

his arms ensnare you, wrapping you tight, "what're you hidin' for? you hit it dead center, sweetheart!"

you lift your head, staring unabashedly into his blue eyes, "did i really?"

he hums, using his dominant hand to steer your gaze away from him and toward the target. sure enough, the can on the left side has a small hole right in its middle.

billy chuckles, his chest rumbling against your back, "told you, my girl's a natural."

you can't help but grin, the tension releasing from your shoulders, "or i've got a good teacher." you tease.

he gives you a squeeze before letting go, gesturing toward the cans, "c'mon, let's see if you can do it again."

emboldened by your first success, you square your shoulders and take aim. this time, you focus a bit more, remembering the sensation of the recoil and trying to replicate it. the shot rings out, and you open your eyes to find another can hit.

billy lightly claps you on the back, "see? just like that, sweetheart."

as you reload, you can't help but appreciate the way the afternoon sun plays on his weathered hat, casting thin rays upon his lips, "m’not as hopeless as i thought."

he grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "do i e’ver lie to you?”

you ignore his sly remark, focusing back in on your targets. with newfound confidence, you continue to practice, the rhythmic sound of gunshots filling the air. as the sun begins its descent, casting a warm glow over the landscape.

the sounds of gunfire continue, each shot feeling more controlled and confident than the last. with every successful hit, billy's pride in your progress shines through his loving stare. he stands by your side, offering guidance and encouragement, a quiet guardian in the backdrop of your learning.

as the sun dips even lower, casting a dim hue over the landscape, you catch a glimpse of billy watching you with a softness in his eyes. he often got this way, completely lost in you. especially when you're doing things his way— not in the way you'd normally feel inclined. you're rather tame and harmless in comparison to billy, the entire west, really.

growing up away from the fast-growing townships and travelers, when you met billy he completely flipped your world upside down. you gave him all your firsts, shooting his pistol only adds to the expansive list of firsts you've given him.

you go to take aim again, eyes closing as you shoot, still too frightened to keep them open— your bullet flies past your targets, missing entirely. you've grown used to the sound of a hit and when you open your eyes to find the miss, you groan.

billy's safeguarding nature becomes even more apparent as you meet his winsome eyes, his gaze lingers on you, subtle worry etched on his features.

he knows you're inexperienced, a stark contrast to the harsh realities of the world he's accustomed to. he knows it isn't, but if this were a shootout, that big of a miss would have cost you your life.

the mere thought of you in that situation is something he's not willing to entertain.

"you're doing mighty fine, sweetheart," he reassures, a tenderness in his voice that speaks volumes, "but remember, there's more to this than cans and targets. gotta keep those pretty eyes of yours open, alright?"

you nod, appreciating his concern and the earnest care he extends. it dawns on you that learning to shoot isn't just a practical skill— it's a testament to the depth of billy's affection. he's arming you with more than just a handgun— he's giving you a piece of his own resilience and determination.

as the sun sets, casting long shadows across the landscape, you take a moment to stand side by side with billy, appreciating the warmth of his presence. the sky paints hues of orange and pink, a picturesque backdrop to the bond that's been forged between you.

"thanks, billy," you say, sincerity lacing your words. "for teaching me, for being patient."

he smiles, a softness in his expression that contrasts with the rugged exterior, "my pleasure, sweetheart. always want you to be able to take care of yourself."

with the last rays of sunlight fading, you holster the gun, feeling a newfound sense of empowerment. billy wraps an arm around your shoulders, guiding you back towards the homestead. as you walk together, the echoes of gunshots in the ears serve as a reminder that you're not just learning to shoot— you're learning to navigate billy's world, and with his protection, you're sure you'll do just fine.

—reblog and like if you enjoyed, let ur local writer know you like her work !

#billy the kid #billy bonney #billy the kid x reader #billy bonney x reader #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #tom blyth!billy the kid #tom blyth #coriolanus x reader

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hellsburners · 9 months

Text

pain and suffering

summary: to which criminals run from the shadows, and the shadows run home to you. pairing: frank castle x male reader x matt murdock word count: 4k warnings: 18+ warning, unprotected s3x, dom!mattfrank, bottom!reader, double pen3tration, blowj0bs, mentions of violence a/n: i got this request like a whole month ago and im sorry to anon it took me a while to think of this

masterlist | more matt murdock

gif credit for frank & matt

The night air looms over Hell’s Kitchen. A normal person might hear the honking of cars and the loud chitchat of people in the street, but to a man like Daredevil, he hears everything. He hears Sally from down the street, crying as her husband comes home drunk, or Dominic, stealing another purse to pay for his brother’s medical bills. The city is not just a cluster of sounds for a man like the Devil, it’s a war cry. His city needs help, so he braces for the jump, a leap into the battlefield.

To him, pain and suffering is a saint. The pain of every hit, every jab, and every punch. To Matt Murdock, the pain of getting hit is like lashing for every sin he’s made. He is the fist of God, the guardian angel of the Kitchen, his suffering is the price for the safety of his people. So to him, yes, pain and suffering is the saint that guides him, the adrenaline to jump, to fight, to stand back up and fight again because he knows if he doesn’t, worse men will.

He sits wounded on top of a building, the hanging laundry hiding him from plain sight. He pants, blood gushing from his lower rib. But then he smells it: gunpowder. The sound of clanking metal and rubber boots walking closer to him. He knows that smell, the smell of danger, the smell of bad news, the smell of The Punisher.

“They hit ya’ pretty bad tonight Red,” his rough voice roared across the building. He smells of blood, not his blood, but the blood of at least thirty other men.

“I don’t need your help, Frank,” Matt said, wincing as he tried to stand.

“I doubt that,” he was closer to Matt, he took the rear end of his rifle and pressed it to Matt’s wound, he cried out in pain. “See?”

“I don’t need any help from you.”

“That’s your problem, Red. You’re so self-righteous. You’re out here bleeding yourself to death thinking God sent you here on earth to be his punchin’ bag,'' he puts the rifle down, the metal butt hitting the floor. “You think your God can miraculously heal your wounds? The Devil ain’t no saint.”

“And you’re any better?” Matt spat. “You wear that skull on your chest and you think that gives you the license to be a killer?” he licks his dried-up lips, the wounds weighing on him. “You’re a beast, Frank. A wild creature with no self-control, bloodthirsty, and—and inhumane.”

Frank was right, but Matt’s pride would never take any help from Frank Castle, he’s a murderer, a cold-blooded killer, and men like him have no place roaming the streets of New York. Matt tries to walk away from Frank, he could feel the blood drip into his waist, his head dizzy. Before he could even reach a meter away from Frank he feels the pull of the earth and drops into the cement floor, out cold.

“Dumbass,” Frank spat.

—

To Frank Castle, pain and suffering is a weapon.

Pain is the bullet to the head of a wife beater, a pedophile, a human trafficker, and any other demented fuck that helps in spreading crime in his city. He sniffs in the scent, it’s nauseating, the smell of garbage and piss, the smell of dead bodies piled in a heap for the cops to find. The blood pooled on his boots, painting them red. He reloads the gun, pulling on the lever that locks the bullet in the barrel, ready for the trigger.

“Please, man. I have a wife and two kids,” the bald man begged. His shirt was soaked in blood, a bullet grazed his hip. He walks backward achingly, his back hitting the wall. “Fuck, man I swear I don't know anything ‘bout this! ”the man kneels in front of Frank, his hands together like he’s praying.

Pain is the bullet that ends all suffering.

Bang!

The man falls on the concrete, blood dripping out of his skull. Frank wipes the blood splatter on his face with his sleeve. He takes the pistol and slides it into the holster on his thigh. He grabs the man’s sleeve and pulls him into the heap. No loose ends.

Frank takes his rifle and leaves. Taking the rooftops so the cops won’t see him. His body is sore, but it was never a hindrance. He sees a red blur across the building. The Devil himself, running from a bunch of men. Frank notices the Devil walking strangely, a hand on his left to cover a bleeding wound.

He takes the sniper rifle and aims it at the four men searching for the masked vigilante. He reloads the rifle, and one by one the men drop dead. The Devil was clueless as to where the bullets came from. He walks over to the wounded man, lumped over the side of a rooftop wincing in pain.

Frank had always admired the Devil’s determination, always standing back up after a fight, the line he wouldn’t cross, it amused Frank in a way. He liked to toy with it, always putting the red vigilante in positions where his moral code is tested.

You know you’re one bad day away from becoming like me.

Frank once told him, and he guessed it wasn’t true. Despite how hard the world hit him, he never crossed that line. That’s why when the Devil ended up face down on the concrete floor he took his body into his shoulder. Carrying his body to the only place he knew would understand the situation. To the person that knew the creed of pain and suffering.

He stands in front of the wooden door, the door was locked. Not his first instinct to knock, because he knew he would always be let in. He knocked on the door, no answer. He knocked louder, banging on the door, the sounds echoing throughout the hallway.

“Jesus Christ, people will hear you,” you said, answering the door.

—

To you, pain and suffering is a curse. The curse that binds people to hospital beds for years, slowly rotting into the sheets as more and more medicine gets pumped into their veins. The curse that brings people into the emergency room, stabbed my knives, with broken knees, amputated fingers, and gunshot wounds through bone and muscle.

You earn money from pain and suffering. Doctor’s fees from people you know can’t even afford it. You always wanted to give them pro-bono, but you weren't loaded like that. That’s why when injured vigilantes were involved, everyone in the New York underground knew your number.

You had known people like Maya Lopez, Misty Knight, Ben Reilly, Ty Johnson, and Tandy Bowen alongside other masked heroes. That’s why when The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen arrived at your door four months ago you didn’t second guess your decision to help him. To you, helping these people would absolve you of being complicit in the suffering of innocent people in the hospital.

“Got your number from Spider-man, hope you don’t mind,” he said, sprawled on your kitchen table covered in blood. His muscular body contracted from the pain as you sewed his wounds shut. You never truly cared about forming connections with your clients, it was more of a get-patched-up-and-leave type of way.

He would often flirt with you whenever he came by, his dimples forming under his mask whenever he smiled or laughed. “Don’t worry Doc’ I’m a big boy,” he said, smiling at you. The smile quickly faded when you dug into his skin to retrieve the bullets on his bicep, a groan leaving his lips. You tried not to think about it, but he's pretty cute.

On one night, a man banged on your door, you rushed to meet a shadow drenched in blood as if it was raining blood from the sky, a white skull on his chest. His hoarse voice groaned as you took him into your kitchen. Multiple bullet wounds, and gashes on his chest, in your personal opinion a person with that many injuries would've ended up on the morgue.

“Did you fall into a meat grinder? What the hell,” you said. You tried your best to patch him up but he needed some blood transfusions.

“Check the bag,” he groaned. Inside were bags of blood from the hospital, all type O, what the fuck.

He stayed in your house for two nights, you checked his vitals every hour to make sure he was still alive. This hasn’t happened before, you’ve never had a client that was on the brink of death. It was always some minor injury, but this man managed to wake up and stand after two days to leave.

You found a bundle of one hundred dollar bills in your mailbox the next day.

—

“Bring him to the couch,” you said. You took Matt’s body as Frank carried his legs, you took his limp body into the sofa, a deep wound on the torso, an easy fix for you at this point. It has been months since you first met the two men in your apartment. You’ve spent multiple nights helping them, in your apartment, or Matt’s, or Frank’s bunker. You were technically associated with them to the point that you know their real names.

“The emergency kit is on the kitchen counter.”

“Got it Doc,” Frank saluted, removing his trench coat and his bulletproof vest, his muscular form bulging through his black shirt. They reeked of blood, you could taste the iron on your tongue.

Matt’s eyes fluttered, his head turning to the sound of your voice. “Hey,” he said, groaning through the pain. You cut his undershirt open, the wound gushing out blood. You took some gauze to soak the viscous liquid, making sure the clotting starts.

“Sit your ass down, Red,” Frank ordered. You managed to sew the wound shut, you gave Matt some pain relievers as his eyes fell back into sleep. You let him rest for a bit, covering him in a fleece blanket. You walked towards Frank, a few cuts on his arms, he was already in the middle of sewing some of them before you helped. “Don’t worry about me, it’s nothin’”

“Make sure you don’t die in my kitchen this time,” you said, walking to the kitchen sink to rinse your bloodied hands. You opened your refrigerator to grab a drink. “Want a beer?”

“Sure,” Frank nods.

You took a cold beer from your fridge, the metal caps clanking on the floor. You handed him the bottle, he took a big swig like he was thirsty for water, some liquid falling from the corner of his lips. He sat on a wooden chair, legs spread, the hem of his shirt raising a bit to show a peak of his abdomen.

Matt soon woke up. Much to your disagreement, taking a beer of his own. He took a seat in your dining area, topless with bandages around his torso. The three of you are looking at each other around the table. “So–what happened tonight?” you asked.

Matt’s frown was deadset. Frank taking gulps of his second bottle of beer. You were taking sips of your bottle, looking at the heated tension between the two. It was annoyingly anxiety-inducing. “You know, I don’t know what’s the point of talking to you two—I’m a physician, not a therapist.”

“You need to stay away from him,” Matt said, his lips a straight line. “He’s a dangerous person with nothing good going on for his pathetic life.”

“Boohoo! Little catholic boy here feels entitled about being god’s little bitch,” Frank spat. “Is that what you think bitch boy?”

“See? He’s an immature old fuck that thinks the world’s answer to violence is guns and bullets,” Matt said, downing his beer.

“He’s just using his lawyer bullshit on you,” Frank said.

You rolled your eyes, it’s always like this, them bickering. You downed the beer, the bitter taste running through your tongue. You set it down with a loud clunk. The two men halted their bickering.

“I’m not taking sides but I think both of you are annoying cry babies that should just kiss and make out!” the two men frowned their brows. “You bicker like an old couple—the two of you need to suck it up because, at the end of the day, the two of you leave a trail of blood in this city that I clean!” you shouted.“You know how many people end up in the emergency room thanks to you two, I don’t even keep count of them anymore.”

Matt called for your name, to apologize or something, but you took another bottle of beer and gulped on the bubbly drink. Instead of talking you took his lips to yours, the bitter taste of his mouth shared with yours. His hands come to your neck, fingers wrapping around the flesh as his tongue meets yours. You smell his clean shampoo mixing with the alcohol, he smelled like a man who took hygiene seriously.

You pull back to walk towards Frank, bending down to kiss him, pressing on his shoulder with your hands to guide you. The bitter taste of both of your mouths intoxicates you. He grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling you in more. He smelled of cheap soap and gunpowder. You pulled away to catch them frozen, feet glued to the floor, aghast.

“See,” you rubbed your hands. “Not hard at all.”

Frank was biting his lip chuckling, his fingers massaging his lip. He pulled you to his lap, kissing you harder, his hands falling to your ass. Your hands run through his dark hair, his stubble pricking your face. You moaned from the contact, Matt’s enhanced senses making the sound echo in his head. He hesitated but his groin turned to the noises you made. Frank’s lips fall to your neck, nibbling on the skin eliciting more lewd noises from you.

“See this red?” he said. “This little slut likes it.”

“Play with his ear, he likes it,” Matt ordered. Frank hadn’t known that.

“He also likes it when I do this,” he pinches your nipples, and you shudder from the slight pain. The two men didn’t know that you had experiences of having sex with them on different occasions. “So you’re a little whore huh, you do this to all of your clients?”

“No—,” you gasped. “Just you two.”

Matt chuckled. Frank had set you on his lap so that you were facing Matt, his hands playing with both of your nipples as he left purple hickeys all over your neck. Matt had knelt in front of you palming your growing erection. The ache in your groin grows from the lack of release. Tonight these men offer you more pain and suffering but in ways that elicit nothing but pleasure.

He takes your trousers off leaving you with nothing but your shirt, finally something to ease the pain. Matt stood to open his pants, his thick cock standing tall, the hairs neatly trimmed. “Take his dick inside your mouth,” Frank whispered, while he stretched your legs open so his fingers could tease your hole. He took his fingers to your mouth making it wet.

Matt’s hands ran through your hair, his tip teasing your swollen lips. As you took his length into your mouth, Frank's finger entered your hole curling inside drawing out muffled sounds from your mouth. You were quickly bent over by Frank, his head in between your ass cheeks licking and fingering your hole, while your head was bobbing up and down on Matt’s cock.

Frank smacked your ass so hard it left a red print as he continued to toy with your rear. Matt groaned as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. Frank pulled you back with your hair, popping Matt’s cock out with a string of saliva. It was painful the way they carried you, but in some sick twist of events, it turned you on even more.

“My turn,” Frank said, as he takes your mouth to his sex, you engulf his thick uncut cock, your nose hitting his unkempt hair taking in his scent. Matt bent down to toy with your hole, curling and stretching two fingers inside you stimulating your prostate. You were turning your lips as you sucked on Frank’s cock, a hoarse groan leaving his mouth as he grabbed onto your hair tightly.

Matt stroked your cock as he moaned, eating you out with his wet tongue and playing with the rim of your hole. Frank took control of your mouth, fucking into it like you’re his sex toy, his cocking hitting the roof of your mouth at a constant speed. Frank could feel his climax coming so he pulls out leaving you a wet mess next to Matt.

“Can I fuck you?” Matt asked. You nod, taking them into your bedroom.

Frank undressed and took a seat on the small sofa chair in the corner of the room, stroking his hard cock. You were on all fours on the bed, facing Frank. His eyes glued to you as he stroked. Matt lubes your hole before slowly pressing his cock into your hole. You gasped as he sheathed into you. Frank smirked, this turned him on even more, his large arms contracting as he stroked his cock.

Matt started to fuck you slowly, his hips slapping your ass. He started to let out guttural moans, his hips becoming rigid as he gripped onto your waist, his nails digging into your skin. He bends down to kiss your neck, rutting into you, his hard thrusts ramming into you. “I’m close,” he moaned. He jerks your cock to the point that you yelp out, cum shooting out of your cock as he continues to jerk his hips before he emptied inside you, a deep groan leaving his lips as his cum fills you. You two collapsed on the bed, his body weight on top of you.

“Move over Red,” Frank said, looming over you as Matt moves over before Frank mounts you. Matt’s cum formed a slippery lube that made Frank’s cock ease its way as it thrusts. Your body was still weak from your high. He grabs onto your hair as he ruts into you, continuing his hard pace against your body. “You like that?” he said, stroking your sore cock back to hardness.

“Ye–yes, fuck,” you moaned.

Matt was at the edge of the bed, soothing your hair as he peppered kisses all over your face. The bed creaked as Frank humped you, veins popping across his arms as his grip on you tightened, you’re sure it would leave marks. He pulled out, leaving you to gasp from the sudden lack of fullness. He sits back on the headboard of your bed, legs sprawled as he gestures for you to ride him. You mount yourself on his hardness, sitting on his thick and hairy thighs. Matt sits on the edge of the bed, his erection coming back from the sight of you two.

“Take it like a good boy,” Frank praises. You hold onto his chest as you feel the hardness enter you, some of Matt’s cum leaking out. You take Frank’s lips, you now realize how abrasive his stubble was. You move your hips around and around, Frank lets out curses here and there. He pulls your head back, littering your neck with more marks, his fingers find your nipples, teasing them to draw out more moans from you.

Franks sees Matt on the side, his hard already leaking precum just from watching you take Frank’s cock. He calls for Matt to come to you two, to join back in. You feel Matt’s fingertips on your skin, your body is now so filled with stimulation, his mere touch driving you wild. You feel his erection on your back, his lips attached to your shoulders. He takes his leaking cock and presses into your hole, the size alongside Frank’s was a tight fit, your breathing quickens from all the pressure. The two men made sure to guide you and praise you as you take both of their lengths.

You cry out from the sensation. Frank takes your lips to stifle your cries, tears fall from your eyes as your tongues touch, and Matt inches to join your kiss. The three of you kiss into the pain, The two men slowly moving inside you. The pressure was so intense but the arousal overcame, your sex was so hard, leaking so much into Frank’s abdomen. They start to thrust, Matt could feel his sensitive frenulum rub on Frank’s, it made his eyes roll back, his senses overflowing.

All of you reeked of sex, the sounds of slapping skin and wet tongues fighting for dominance against the grunts and moans. The constant rocking was making the bed hit the wall, the mattress moved as if there were an earthquake. You were all covered in sweat, hair sticking onto skin, Hands gripping the wooden headboard, fingertips roaming skin, and tongues lashing on each other.

Everything felt like a blur to you, you were being rocked back and forth like a playground swing, your core sore from the fucking, and there were pairs of hands all over you touching your most sensitive spots. You could feel the climax, creeping into your body tingling your coccyx to the highest peak of your spine. You felt their erratic thrusts, Frank was a groaning mess under you, his neck all red and his face flushed. Matt was a noisy mess on your ear, cursing and calling your name like a prayer, his arm wrapped around your waist as he fucked.

You were at your peak, arousal overflowed from your body into theirs. Their cum filling into you. You all yelped out in pleasure as you rode your highs. Frank dug his hands into your thighs as Matt hid his forehead on your shoulder, rutting their fill into you. The next few minutes came to you in flashing lights, like fireworks spraying colored lights all over the room.

You woke up the next day to two heavy bodies at your sides. Matt’s arms around your waist with your head resting on Frank’s chest. All of you reeked of sweat and cum. As you turned you saw Matt’s eyes flutter, his long lashes flicking as his golden eyes beamed under the sunlight.

“Sorry about last night,” he whispered.

“Why? I had fun,” you said, peppering kisses all over his cheeks.

“You sure?” he said, as he rubbed his thumbs on your cheeks.

“Pretty sore but nothing a pain reliever won’t fix,” you said.

“I guess you’re right, making out fixes everything,” Frank said, his voice deeper. He joins you and Matt, pressing kisses all over your shoulders. Matt takes this as a sign to kiss you all over your neck, their hands snaking all over your body. “What’s good for breakfast around here?” Frank said in between kisses.

“There’s a good diner across the street,” Matt said, leaving soothing kisses on the marks they left on your neck. Your body was so sore and painful, but these men made sure to make it up to you. You woke up last night to them cleaning you up, Matt wiping you with a damp cloth and Frank rummaging through your closet to grab something for you to wear. Despite their rough lifestyles, they made sure you were taken care of. Maybe a little less pain and suffering next time though.

“But first,” you said, pulling away from them.” Shower.”

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

#matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #daredevil smut #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x male reader #daredevil x male reader #matt murdock x male reader smut #daredevil x male reader smut #punisher smut #frank castle x reader #frank castle x male reader #frank castle x reader smut #frank castle x male reader smut #punisher x reader smut

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tallulah477 · 5 months

Text

Pretty, Pretty Panties

Kinkmas Day 3: Lingerie/Stockings

Pairing: Lo’ak x Fem!Human!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Lo’ak, Grinding (cause I can’t think of a better word for this?), Size Difference

Word Count: 1.9K

A/N: I was trying to see if there was a specific word for this kind of sex act and Google decided to bring me hurtling back into the world of Urban Dictionary and y’all . . . Urban Dictionary is WILD

A/N 2: I have exactly zero other prompts prepped after this one so this is going to be exactly like Kinktober lmao

Summary: Lo’ak has always been intrigued by human items, but your panties may just be his favorite of them all.

Translations:

Tawtute - Human

Olo’eyktan - Clan Leader

Tewng - Loincloth

Yawne - Beloved

Lo’ak’s always been intrigued by human items.

It’s only natural - his father was a human, long before Eywa granted him a new life permanently in the body of his Avatar. He, himself, is undeniably part human. The hair on his brow bones and extra finger on both of his hands are features that can only ever come from one place, telling the story of his unique family lineage and the source of his low self-esteem during his teenage years.

He’s since grown out of the self-hatred his different traits brought upon him, learning to accept who he is and be proud of his differences despite where they come from. Besides, not all humans are bad. His grandmother had told them once that the humans that stayed behind on Pandora after the first war were all part Na’vi - not in looks, of course, but in soul. They are the ones who fought for peace, who heard the call of Eywa, even with their tiny, round tawtute ears, and earned their place amongst The People despite looking like the enemy.

His father was one of them, a long time ago, and he became Toruk Makto with his hairy eyebrows and extra fingered hands. It used to be suffocating, to be drowning under the shadow of such a successful man, always feeling like a disappointment, a failure, and never knowing if he was ever going to be half the man his father is. But things are different now. Lo’ak is older and wiser, and he can proudly say he feels honored to share in those similarities with such a great man.

Human DNA is in his veins, their technology now a staple in the Omatikaya Clan, introduced at the insistence of his father. Throat comms wrap around the necks of every hunter and warrior, tablets are used to help keep track and categorize supplies of both the clan’s reserves as well as the outpost’s inventory. Every warrior must go through vigorous gun training, learning how to handle the weapon, how to shoot and reload with military precision. The bad humans are gone now, with no sight of ever looking like they’re going to return, but the Olo’eyktan does not take chances, and he will not have his family run out of their home ever again.

Lo’ak knows it all, his long blue fingers fiddling with any piece of technology confidently. But it’s not just technology he’s interested in. He’s tried clothes before, stealing the largest t-shirt he could find from one of the science guys just to try it. It fit, but just barely, the material stretching across his lean shoulders a little too tightly and feeling way too constricting for his own taste, the bottom hem stopping about halfway down his torso. You laughed when you saw it, tears filling your eyes as you pointed at his midriff just barely able to gasp out the words ‘crop top’ through your full bodied laughter.

The shirt didn’t work for him, he was okay with that. He was curious, he tried, he learned - and that was that. He never really thought he would want to go around wearing tawtute clothing even if they would have fit him right.

You, on the other hand . . .

. . . well, those panties fit you perfectly.

It’s not like humans go out in their underwear, and Spider is the only human bold enough to regularly walk around in a tewng, so Lo’ak only finds out exactly what’s underneath those annoying layers of tawtute clothing when the two of you start fucking around. The chest covering, a ‘bra’ you called it, is completely unnecessary. There’s no need to cover up as much as humans do, and to hide such perfect tits in an uncomfortable wired cradle is a torture that he will never understand why someone would put themselves through, and, frankly, it’s a slight against Eywa to cover up such gifts.

The panties though? Yeah, they can stay. They look so much like a tewng, covering your most intimate parts like a privacy cover, only missing the front flap to make them identical in look. You have different ones - different colors, different textures, and different styles that show various levels of undress for your perfect ass.

Lo’ak loves them all, but currently, the one’s he’s fucking are his favorite.

It’s a tiny thing, like you, light pink with a cute little bow in the front, and the soft material feels like heaven on his cock as he glides through your wet folds.

You look so good underneath him, hair splayed out like a halo on your pillow as you gasp and whine every time the head of his cock slides over your clit, tiny hands fisting into the sheets for support as his own hands push your knees back against your chest to keep you spread open.

You’re still wearing your panties, and a part of him wants to growl in frustration and rip the delicate material from your body for not being able to have an unobscured visual of your puffy pussy. But you’re so wet, so so wet that the panties have all but become transparent with your slick, making them sticky and see through enough that he can see both the outline of your labia and his length as he rubs against you underneath it.

He shivers as he thrusts faster, the wetness of your arousal making the slip across your swollen clit all the more easy, and a growled moan escapes him as the wet sounds your pussy makes at the increased pace invade his ears. The tip of his cock is nudging against the wet fabric with each pass, the large bulge pushing the material away from your body with each thrust just from the sheer size of him. The underside of your panties is dragging against the length of his cock, working in unison with your silky pussy against the underside to tease him into insanity.

Your whines get louder, hips twisting in response to the never ending stimulation on the sensitive bundle of nerves, dripping hole clenching around nothing, begging to be filled. “Lo’ak, please,”

He hums at the sound of his name, his name, moaned in that beautiful voice of yours, eyes flicking up from the obscene view of where your bodies are meeting to your face. “Yes, yawne? What can I do for you?”

“P-please, fuck me,” You beg. Your legs are trembling in his hold, desperate to kick out and wrap around his hips to try and pull him in. “Please,”

“Hm,” He grins, sharp canines on display, glittering in the fluorescent lighting of your bedroom. “Does my pretty girl feel empty? Need some big Na’vi cock to fill you up?”

You nod, frantically, heat pooling in your cheeks as the coil in your belly tightens at the thought of his cock splitting you open. You want it so badly, want to feel his length push into you, want to experience it as it keeps pushing, filling you up more and more and feeling like it might never stop. You want to see that bulge currently working underneath the cover of your sticky panties in your stomach instead - want to watch it disappear as he pulls out only to reappear again when he thrusts back in, deeper and deeper as he fucks your cunt so good in a way you know only he ever could.

He wants that too, wants to feel what your gummy walls feel like wrapped around his cock. He knows the sight would just about kill him, to see your soaking hole stretch to its limits trying to take a cock that’s way too big for you. How suffocatingly tight you would feel, to finally be inside you (or at least as much inside as he can fit).

He can’t help it, he just wants to see what it looks like, and he stops the tortuous drag of his cock along your clit to slide down the length of your pussy. One of his hands let go of your thigh to pull your panties to the side, mouth watering at the sight of your soaked core and puffy clit now completely visible to his hungry gaze. His breathing is shaky when he presses the tip of his cock against your tight entrance, the head rubbing gently at the pulsing hole as you mewl underneath him.

“Lo,” You moan, back arching as you try to push your hips down further against him. “More,”

“More, huh?” Lo’ak groans, pressing just a little bit harder against you and watching as your entrance gives under the pressure, trying to stretch around him and welcome him in. “This slutty little pussy wants more? So greedy,”

Your wide eyes glisten with unshed tears, red rimmed and watery from the way he’s teasing you. He won’t push in, won’t give you anything more than the small presses of pressure against your sopping hole, just enough to get you to start to stretch around the tip only to snap back when the pressure releases. “Lo’ak, please!”

His fangs dig into his bottom lip, a soft growl echoing through the room as he steels himself to be strong. You’re not ready, he’s too big and he doesn’t want to hurt you. You gasp when he pushes against your entrance again, cock slipping against your wetness and running up your slit and across your clit roughly making you jump.

Lo’ak releases his hold on your panties, letting the soaked garment snap back in place over your cunt and his heated length.

“Can’t,” He grunts, once again beginning the agonizing stimulation of him sliding against your pussy. The soaked squelching sounds as his cock glides against your clit are obscene and wonderful, and your responding moans and whines sound even better as his ears flick to catch the sound. “Wanna fuck your pretty, pretty panties.”

Your hands latch onto Lo’ak’s wrists, nails digging into his skin as the coil in your belly tightens up more. The bite from your nails only intensifies the feeling, and Lo’ak can feel his own orgasm barreling towards him, and fuck, only you can make him feel like this without any penetration at all.

It’s all wet in your pretty panties, all wet and gooey, and your arousal soaks his cock so good as he rocks against your soft folds. The fabric of the panties are rubbing against the head of his cock with each thrust, the added sensation only adding to the intensity. And when you cum, back arched and whimpering his name as he slides against your clit over and over and over again, dripping hole clenching around nothing as your body shakes with pleasure, the sight sends him over the edge, too.

His orgasm hits him hard, ropes of pearly release painting your sensitive pussy and the inside of your pretty pink panties as he moans. Slowly, he pulls his cock out from underneath the fabric, letting the panties press back in place over your cunt with the sticky mess he left behind between you and the ruined material.

And you look so beautiful like that, so sexy as you lie there, panting and looking like you just got fucked within an inch of your life despite the fact that you didn’t even take his tip, let alone his entire cock. The pink panties are pretty, and you wear them so well.

But now he can’t help but wonder if you maybe have a pair in blue too.

**Special thanks to @neteyamsyawntu for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @anastasia1777-blog @localjasmine @tsewtx @skywonder @neteyamswillow

#𝑻𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔 ✎#Avatar12DaysofKinkmas #lo'ak smut #lo'ak x human reader #Lo’ak x female reader

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nanamiya3 · 8 months

Text

toji is the john wick of jjk because i said so hehehhehh

also more than 1 post from me in less than a week who am i? jk i wrote this forever ago & forgot about it until now </3

toji x fem reader - reader is toji’s wifey!!!!!! - also kinda bimbo reader lol - mentions of guns, violence, kidnapping - super heavily influenced by john wick - wc. 1.3k

—

Toji’s reputation spells something along the lines of: ruthless killer, refuses to die, and death, death, and more death. His determination, focus, and raw talent define him as the best assassin in Japan. He’s merciless, motivated, and armed with an iron will so strong a bullet would hardly make a dent; it’s why he’s the only one able to walk away from a fight with hardly a scratch. He’s rough around the edges—wild when he fights, lethal when he’s got a target, and flawless in his form.

And yet, Toji has an Achilles heel.

His wife, his love.

Toji the assassin is all of the above, but Toji the husband is soft and sweet and so utterly consumed by love it’s hard for even him to understand.

Toji’s hands are anything but gentle: together, they’re likely responsible for the deaths of thousands. Bruises and cuts and calluses are scattered across his knuckles and palms and fingers, but when those hands touch you? God, he’s achingly sweet, practically the epitome of gentle. A soft sweep of his thumb across your temple, a light tap of his pointer on your bottom lip, a warm press of his palm against your cheek. The same hands that roughly reload magazine after magazine find themselves tangled with your own at the end of the night.

Toji wears his wedding band wherever he goes and it quickly becomes the last thing a good number of people ever see. He never takes it off because he wants everybody to know that he’s completely yours. He also keeps a picture of you tucked into his pocket and he pulls it out, running a thumb over how the apples of your cheeks swell when your mouth splits into a smile, whenever he needs a reminder of the good in the world. Someone shot at him once while he was smiling over that picture of you, a stray bullet nicking the edge of the photograph. So much blood soaked the picture while Toji got his revenge he had to get a new copy printed.

Toji’s not a big talker, so you don’t hear him professing his love for you often. Usually, he opts for three short taps against your thigh, three light squeezes to your hand, three sweet kisses on your forehead—his way of silently confessing he loves you. But, sometimes he’ll murmur out a deep “Love you, darling” and you feel your heart squeeze impossibly tight, immediately whispering it back.

And there’s one rule above all that everybody knows to follow: Don’t touch Toji’s wife.

Is your address relatively secret? No. Almost everybody knows where Toji lives, mostly because they know where to avoid. Would it be easy to harm you? Probably. You’re no crazy martial artist and you’ve never shot a gun, an attempt at self defense would probably hurt you more than your assailant—you’re too sweet to harm even the little spiders that make their way into your home, forcing Toji to catch and release the critters. Despite all of this, is anybody actually willing to hurt you? Absolutely not.

In this case, the risk (inevitable death hand delivered by Toji) vastly outweighs the benefits (hurting you? making Toji suffer? dying before they actually experience the benefit?). In fact, someone tried it once, and they learned firsthand exactly how much Toji values his wife, setting the unfortunate example for any others who might have considered doing the same.

You had been skipping around, shopping for a new summer dress when it happened. You wanted to surprise Toji with a cute little outfit when he came home: he’d been gone for almost a week on some… business… and you desperately missed having his hands on you, the sparkly look in his eyes and the love on his face when you got dolled up for him. But when you stepped into the fitting room, two short little numbers hung up on the rack for you to try, someone came up from behind you and struck you right on that spot by your neck. You crumpled to the floor, your attacker swept you up and away, and Toji didn’t realize something was up until he called you for the nightly phone call you share when he’s out of town and you didn’t pick up.

He called again, and again, and again, blood roaring in his ears with every ring of the unanswered phone, knowing something had to have happened to you. It took two days for him to find you, two days of killing and threatening and bargaining to find the right people who knew the right information to lead him to the right place. And when he did find you…. fuck if you weren’t scared out of your damn mind. The sound of gunshots echoed for almost ten minutes, each one making you flinch harder than the last, before your husband finally stood before you.

And yes, you knew who Toji was; what he did, how he did it. But the sight of him dripping in blood with guns and bullets strapped up and down his body terrified you. And it might have been the panic from the past two days finally setting in, but it took another ten minutes for your shaking to subside enough for you to stand, ten minutes for you to trust Toji and let him touch you, help you up. Through it all, he stayed exceedingly gentle and patient, carefully rubbing your lower back, lightly slipping an arm underneath your shoulders, and slowly walking you to the car with a hand over your eyes to shield you from the aftermath. Then, after spending a week taking care of you, making sure you were well and truly okay, he hunted down each and every person involved in your capture.

And that was the end of that! No more plots against your life, no more stalkers, no more anything related to you. Since then, you’ve lived in peace, surprisingly disconnected from Toji’s world of violence. All you need to worry about is when your husband will be home; what to have for dinner; what you should wear for date night tomorrow; maybe even stocking the first aid kit a little in case Toji comes home scratched up.

On the rare occasion when Toji does come home scratched up, you become a worrywart. In Toji’s opinion, worrywart doesn’t even begin to describe it.

The second you realize Toji’s injured, it’s like you’ve lost your mind. You go into autopilot, rushing to grab the first aid kit, forcing him to show you the wound, stressing so hard one might think you were the one shot. Even though this type of stuff makes you queasy, you stomach your nerves as you help Toji with whatever he needs: handing him a new gauze pad; passing him a clean pair of tweezers; pouring a bottle of antiseptic over the gash. You fret over him, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead with a cool towel as he works. And when he’s done, he kisses your forehead, murmuring, “There we go, good as new,” trying to reassure you that he’s okay.

Later that night, he slips into bed with you, his kisses veering into dangerous territory, and pouts when you smack him lightly and tell him to focus his energy on getting better. “I can’t appreciate my sweet wife?” he’ll tempt, and you just sigh, peeking under his shirt at the wound as you retort, “You can show me you appreciate me by staying safe.” And he’ll sigh, notably louder than yours, complaining, “My wife hates me,” as he grins at you, completely smitten.

—

yup, that’s right. you heard it here first folks!! toji the big, scary brute is a lovesick idiot for his wife (me, i am his wife. we are happily married. please respect our privacy, since, you know, he’s married to me.. ahahhaha……….. yeah…. ☹️)

#jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk toji #toji fluff #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro jjk #toji x you #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji zenin #jujutsu toji #toji jjk #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji fushiguro jujutsu kaisen #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro fluff

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legendofzoodles · 4 months

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What guns do you think the Chain would have? This has been bouncing in my head endlessly for the past day and I can't pick a solid answer for any of the chain. At most I've gotten that Wind has 10 flintlocks strapped to him at all times.

Why was I asked this? Why did I research for this? This is probably the closest I'll ever get to the other side of the Atlantic without physically going transatlantic. Anyway I've played a few horror games, lemme take a crack at this:

The Chain's choice of Firearm

Time, making sure most of the targets are taken out before any of his boys needs to pull the trigger, suites a grenade launcher.

Imagine some kind of archaic medieval fantasy assault rifle for Warriors. I was thinking maybe a simple more elegant gun but then I remembered this guy wields a broadsword not a rapier for a reason. He duels yes, but more so clears huge waves of enemies in fights. This gun has a high firing rate for just that, allowing him to lead the charge.

Twilight gets the shot gun. Simple as. It's been used by farmers anywhere and everywhere to protect their crops and animals. As a excellent marksman he has the skill to use its large spread with precision.

The simple pistol for Sky. He'd carry it on him but would only draw it as a last resort. He doesn't strike me as the type to shoot...in any context really.

Legend wouldn't have a gun. I mean, he'd have maybe a PDW for emergencies, but I see him as the ammo guy who also have all the extra parts needed for repair or customisation.

Sniper Wild gets a sniper rifle. Stays out of the way, backing up the rest up with his perfect shots, in both timing and placement. He's also able to quickly change his location when he may have been found out or when he needs a better lineup.

Four best suits the revolver. He's very good with this weapon; keeping track of how many bullets he's working with and the slow reload requires him to think ahead and not shoot blindly.

Not sure if such a thing exists but Hyrule would have a kind of gun that's able to be customised on the dime. A scavenger used to variety wouldn't have the patience for just one type of weapon.

Apparently flamethrowers are classed as a firearm? Wind gets one of these; sorry anon kid isn't getting a gun...but, hey if he's able to steal a flintlock from Legend's stash um sure.

~~~

Thanks for reading. I hope I don't get put on a watchlist...

Masterlist

#linked universe #lu #linkeduniverse #lu wild #lu twilight #lu four #lu time #lu warriors #lu wind #lu hyrule #lu headcanons #lu headcanon #lu fic ideas #lu fic idea #lu thoughts #zoodles ask

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bihanspookies · 3 months

Note

Could you do headcanons of Ghost, Gaz, Soap and Graves challenging the reader to marksman contest? (You can choose who wins in each)

Forgive me, bc I am not a Graves girly so I turned to the best Graves fucker I know @chadillacboseman for assistance

Regardless I hope you enjoy 🫡

Ghost

• Congratulations! You almost caused a mission to go straight into hell and your Lieutenant was pissed. It was an accident really, what should’ve been a single headshot turned into one grazing the enemy’s head and then another that hit where it was supposed to in the first place.

• Ghost had pulled you aside back at base, questioning your skills and if you were actually competent enough to be a soldier.

• Of course you were competent enough! If you weren’t you wouldn’t be here now would you? But your LT seems to think otherwise, putting you to a test to see if you could get a better score than him.

“You get a better score, I’ll let you off the hook and won’t put this in your file. Understood?”

You gave a firm yes, loading your gun and waiting for Ghost to go first. You barely clicked it into place before he started to unload all his bullets into the target, all of them right on or near the center.

He turns to you, expressionless and places his gun on the table. He says nothing except crosses his arms over his broad chest and that’s when you realize he’s waiting for you to go.

You scramble back into your booth, slipping your earmuffs and protective goggles on. You grab your gun and point, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before you fire off.

Of course the first one is massively off course, having you internally curse before slapping yourself mentally to get your head in the game. You wanted to look good in front of your Lieutenant, show him that you were meant to be here but he was making it increasingly hard with his intimidating presence.

Steadily you regained yourself, focusing your attention on the target and you let the bullets loose. Not quite as great as Ghost but close enough. You slipped your earmuffs around your neck, turning back to look at him and waiting for his feedback. He simply stared at you, saying nothing before handing you more bullets.

“Again.”

Gaz

• It can’t just be work work work on the base, you gotta have some fun too every once in a while.

• You guys were chugging a few beers, still buzzing from an earlier mission that went off without a hitch. So naturally he asks if you want to head to the range for a little ‘friendly competition’.

• It was friendly in the beginning until he realized that you were slowly getting better shots than him. Quicker than quick he sobered up.

“Just a little ‘friendly competition’ hm?” You teased, watching him concentrate as he puts another hole right in the center of the target. He laughs, removing his earmuffs and giving you one of his famous smiles.

“What can I say? You just bring out the competitor in me, darling.”

You can’t help but chuckle, giving a pat on his back before going back to it and determined to get a better score.

You’re still there about an hour later, neither of you letting up and wanting the other to win.

“Last round, love?” Gaz says, reloading his gun before stepping back into his booth.

“Oh scared that I’m going to beat you?” You can’t help but poke fun him, his beautiful eyes sparkling in amusement as a fit of laughter escapes him.

“Terrified.”

In less than a minute both your pistols are empty, Gaz pulling in the sheets that was were chock full of holes. He rips his off and holds it up to compare to yours.

“Just as I suspected.”

You go to his side to look, ready to rub your victory in his face.

“A tie!”

He smiles at you and you can’t help but smile back, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Next time I’ll be the winner, love.” He winks at you, resting his head on top of yours.

Soap

• You were outside practicing, needing to let off some steam after a not so friendly review from your captain. Your shots were wild and off center, too consumed by your frustration to actually try and get good hits in.

• You don’t even hear Soap come up behind you and watch as you shoot bullet after bullet, making him wince every time you missed.

• After a while he finally had enough, catching you when you emptied your gun by placing a soft but firm hand on your shoulder.

“Jesus bonnie, you’re shootin’ like shit out here.” He tries to make you laugh, sensing the tension in your body. You only shake him off and groan, going back to reload your gun before he stops you again.

“C’mon now, let’s do this properly yeah?” He fixes your stance, body behind yours as he guides your movements and gives you pointers right in your ear.

“Just. Breathe.”

Your shots are better sure but that doesn’t make you any less upset and he can tell. He grabs your attention once more, a look of concern on his face.

“Tell you what darling, you get a better score than me I’ll let you buy me dinner.”

That makes you crack a smile, tilting your head in confusion as you hear his proposition.

“Shouldn’t it be you that buys me dinner if I win?”

He grins wide at you, winking before grabbing his own gun and getting ready to aim and fire. Later when both your targets are full of holes, you can already tell he’s won before even seeing it up close. Your mood sours again but you do your best to hide it.

“So, where would you like to go for dinner?” He asks you, making you look at him in confusion.

“But I lost?”

“Aye, and I won. So now I get to treat you out to dinner. Again I ask, where would you like to go?”

Graves

• Now what were you thinking accepting a challenge from Graves of all people. Have you seen how cocky and arrogant he is, of course he’s gonna go all out in this.

• Shows off his skills because if you didn’t pick it up already, he’s doing this to impress you (don’t ask about his backwards logic that to impress you he’s gonna kick your ass)

• He can and WILL use pet names bc one he’s a flirt and two he wants to try and throw you off your game.

“C’mon sweetheart just a quick game, just you n me, out in the woods and shooting the shit. Whaddya say?” He’s got his hands on his hips, a confident smirk, and his rifle perched on his back. You roll your eyes so hard that you see stars but you can’t deny that his smug attitude and that good ol’ Southern charm does tug at your curiosity.

Sure you were a good shooter but were you good enough to beat him?

Short answer is: no

But damn if you didn’t have Graves sweating in his boots when it was your turn. Especially when you were so far hitting every can without even breathing.

“C’mon baby c’mon baby…” He’s muttering to himself, watching as you set up to take the final shot at a swinging can. He’s counting on the wind and his own presence to distract you and throw you off guard.

He almost wanted to hold back his yell of glee when your bullet grazed the can instead of sniping it clean off. Instead he settled for a very sarcastic and fake sound of disappointment.

“Fuck darlin’, sure is a shame.” He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head, tutting his tongue before turning to you with a big smile.

“Now about that bet.”

“We didn’t make a bet.”

“Oh, didn’t we? Well I won and I’m saying we did so.” He pretends to inspect his nails before looking you up and down, shamelessly ogling you.

“I got a few ideas in mind for this winner.”

#cod #call of duty #cod x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #graves x reader #ghost #simon riley #soap mactavish #Gaz #graves #phillip graves #kyle garrick #my writings

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hanasnx · 9 months

Text

nothing but trouble

MINORS DNI 18+ WORD COUNT: 0.9k WARNINGS: established relationship | no angst they just yell at each other out of sexual tension <3 | shooting at ppl but no explicit violent or corpse descriptions | seeing you naked but no feminine descriptions are applied to your figure | implied smut.

The last time. you thought. This’ll be the last time.

A promise unkept as your oldest friend lumbered in, heavy boots against the wooden floor. His very introduction back into your life is a plague on your past self’s wishes. You swore then it would be the last time.

Yet here INDIANA JONES remains, left un-smited by divine intervention, and undeterred to a near nefarious degree.

“What do you want?” you’d asked.

Like a fool you heard him out. All his shiny and grand notions over a piece of junk unheard of for a thousand years. He’s got a new lead, and a new motive, and you’re naive enough to believe it when he claims you’re the only one that can help him.

You fall for those big, green eyes. The dopey, crooked grin he wears whenever you’re agreeable to his whims. As soon as he’s within your atmosphere, you can practically smell your own attraction to him pulse off you in waves. It’s humiliating.

“C’mon, kid, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” he’d persuade you. Sweet talk you as smoothly as he’s done before. Curse your enslavement to your most selfish bodily desires.

Indiana Jones is nothing but trouble.

“Get down, are you crazy?” Indiana barks, his large and rough handling of the back of your head makes you hiss at him in anger. Shoving you down, shielding you from the staccato of the machine gun fire, is appreciated even as unceremonious as it is.

“And you- are reckless!” you chide, the weight of a shotgun in your hands banging against the hollow sound of the bar as you rise above it. Taking advantage of your opponent’s weapon overheating to a jam, you cock your firearm.

“Wait!” Indy shouts. His body, warm and rigid, slots behind you, catching you when the kickback of a shotgun shocks you, the hilt recoiling into your collarbone. Your partner grunts from the impact but holds fast, cushioning your fall to the ground by landing underneath you. “You’ve never shot something like that before, what were you thinking?” he admonishes, and you roll off of him.

“At least I’m doing something!” Hysterical, your scream ripples through your voice, and you meet his wild eyes, brows pinched together in a most daring glare. You’d lifted the hardware from a fallen enemy— and you’d expected a jolt— but your collarbone did not. It aches.

Indiana picks himself up, throwing a glass bottle in your direction; his satchel swings around his hips from the force of his pitch. You duck, and whirl around, witnessing it shatter against the forehead of an unsuspecting villain rounding the corner. Your expression of incredulity inflicts that most frustrating and famous scoff of relief of his. A cute shrug that said, “Did you really believe I’d do that to you, sweetheart?” Your eyes narrow at him, and you exhale sharply through your nose.

“Hand me that, doll,” His hands outstretch, ready for the impact of the shotgun when you toss it to him. It pops open under the pressure of his experienced touch, the shells discarding as he searches the box of ammo he found near the strewn corpse you swiped the weapon from. Reloading, and snapping it shut with a flick of his wrist. You helplessly attempt to ignore the adrenaline tearing through your veins, crying out for any sort of relief— which must be why your desire towards him has increased tenfold regardless of how insufferable you declare him to be. The way he takes charge of risky business with a sense of admirable fearlessness you wish you could bottle. You wonder what it’d taste like.

Sharing a cramped space on a boat had very limited perks. One luxury you’re afforded is a private bathing area connected to your room. You pat yourself dry with a towel, hair still wet and dripping onto you as you exit, the steam dispelling. You hadn’t bothered to collect garments to change into within the confines of the bathroom, being as confined as it is. Entering the room bare, in search of what to wear, Indy rises from his place on the bed. As if reverting to formal manners in a moment of bewilderment, to stand when a lady joins one at a table. A flash of an unfamiliar countenance graces his handsome features, soundlessly conveying confusion, and displacement. It’s not like Indiana to feel he doesn’t belong somewhere. A thought crosses his mind that you might now know he’s here, and his sudden movement was a way to prove his presence. He sits up straight, the pose uncomfortable enough for you to address.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” you assure, sifting through your belongings. Not before noticing the way Indiana’s eyes wander down your figure. At your words, he relaxes marginally. A low rasp emits from him, and you cast him a side glance.

“I’ll never get tired of seeing it.”

A curl to your lips you can’t hide, a scoff through your nose, and he knows he’s got you.

“Well, c’mere. Let me take a closer look at’cha.” he phrases it like he’s about to search your body for wounds, and he’s exasperated by the chore. He settles at the edge of the bed, a thick finger of his beckoning you over, nonchalant in nature.

You oblige him.

As if there exists an invisible string connecting the two of you, you’re tugged over, coming to stand in between his knees. His calloused hands handle your waist, drawing you in. When your instincts run away with you, you lean down, placing a kiss on his willing lips.

Salty. He tastes salty.

#indy: drabbles #ch: indiana #indiana jones drabble #indiana jones fanfiction #raiders of the lost ark fanfiction #indiana jones writing #indiana jones smut #the dial of destiny fanfiction #the dial of destiny smut #indiana jones x reader #indiana jones x f!reader #implied smut #indiana #indiana jones series

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son1c · 1 year

Text

turbulence? no way!

falling stars fic masterpost

Gunfire illuminated the room. Omega's shots were wild, and his bullets flew everywhere. They ricocheted off the walls, floor, and ceiling, and they shattered the empty pods lined up against the back wall. They turned the computer console in the middle of the floor into swiss cheese. They almost hit Rouge, but her reflexes were better than the robot's aim, and she managed to dive behind a bulky generator before anything bad could happen to her.

She started thinking about what she could do to stop the robot's rampage.

Sonic wasn't thinking about that at all though. He was too preoccupied with dodging Omega's shots to worry about it. He spent all of his brainpower on his jumps. Jump onto a wire, jump down to the floor, jump behind a metal box. Anything to avoid getting punched full of holes. His expression was troubled, but not because of the dire situation he was currently in; he was worried about Omega.

"If I'd known about this ice cold reception, I would've brought a jacket!" Sonic quipped in between machine gun rounds.

"A JACKET WOULD NOT SAVE YOU FROM MY WRATH," Omega said, his heavy metal arms clicking as his weapons reloaded. "NOW STAND STILL SO THAT I MAY REPLACE YOUR BONES WITH LEAD."

Sonic didn't stop moving. He was zigzagging his way closer to Omega, careful to avoid the robot's frenzied gunfire. However, right as he was about to leap onto Omega's shoulders, the robot managed to miss a shot so badly that it flew three feet over Sonic's head and pierced the base of the pod that Shadow was sleeping in.

Sonic pulled a 180 immediately. He heard the hatch unlock before he saw it start to open. His feet slipped on the liquid that drained out of the pod in a waterfall of green slime, but he kept going, scraping his claws against the slick floor stubbornly. Shadow blinked awake a second later. The dark hedgehog pushed open the hatch and looked over at Omega, but before he could take a step toward him, Sonic snatched him and they both rolled behind the computer console together.

Then, Shadow sat up. Despite the stressful situation he suddenly found himself in, his month long nap had left him feeling good, and so it was with a clear mind that he took in his surroundings. But it didn't last long. With one look at Sonic, his headache returned. "Blue?" he said, the name sounding almost hesitant as he voiced it. Like he wasn't sure if the hedgehog in front of him was really his friend or not.

"Hey, Stripes," Sonic said. "Sorry I’m late. But here, I got something that'll make it up to you!" He removed the inhibitors from his wrists, grabbed Shadow's hand, and pressed the rings into his palm. Then, he grinned. "Unfortunately, Egghead turned out to be a quack. The good news is he was lying about everything, not just the good stuff!"

Shadow stared at Sonic. He stared at him very hard. "What happened to you?" he asked quietly.

Sonic's grin didn't waver. "Well, for starters, I got a job. The uniform kicked, but that's about it."

Shadow frowned. "Your eyes," he pressed. "They're glowing."

"Heh. I guess I finally thought about it hard enough!" Sonic rubbed his nose. Under his hand, his grin faded. "Look," he said, pressing the rings firmly into Shadow's hand with both of his own, "I'm still me. The doc tried to change that, but I couldn't stand it. Following him around was way past boring!"

Shadow looked down at their clasped hands, and the rings pressed in between them. He ignored them completely. With his voice steeped in frustration, he asked, "The Doctor stripped you of your free will?"

"Technically," Sonic said, a little uncomfortable now, "he didn't strip me of anything. He gave me a new leg, and force fed me some code. I'm not gonna thank him for that, though, since it was all a bunch of pro-Ivo propaganda!"

A coil of anger burned in Shadow's chest like a snake. "He won't go unpunished," Shadow said darkly. It hurt him to think that Sonic had suffered because of his own eagerness to take Eggman's hand. And Sonic's laissez faire attitude only served to fuel his vengeful heart.

Sonic watched the fire in Shadow's eyes burn with concern. "It's okay, dude. There's no need to keep your foot on the gas. All that's gonna do is run us in circles." The blue hedgehog smiled. It was a peace offering. "I dunno about you, but I'd rather take the fast track to freedom, and leave this place behind."

The viper in Shadow's chest continued to hiss and spit. He wouldn't let go of his grudge so easily. However, when he saw a hint of tiredness flicker behind Sonic's electric eyes, he resolved to put a pin in it. For later.

Finally, Shadow snapped the inhibitor rings onto his wrists. His headache vanished. The bubbles in his blood cooled. He let out a breath, feeling truly centered for the first time since waking up in the crater all that time ago. With a small nod, he said sincerely, "Thank you."

Sonic's eyes softened. His smile got warmer. "Don't mention it," he said. "Besides, it's not like Mr. Ivo was gonna make good on his promise." Sonic's expression shifted to something in between annoyance and relief. "I'm just glad that lady showed up when she did. Without her, who knows what would've happened!"

"Are you boys talking about little old me?"

Sonic and Shadow looked up. Towering over the computer console, they saw Omega staring down at them with Rouge on his shoulder. She had her legs crossed and a smug look on her face. "The name's Rouge, by the way," she said. "While you two were having your reunion, I took care of the problem. Omega here is on our side now. You're welcome."

"BLUE HEDGEHOG," Omega said, "THE BAT HAS INFORMED ME OF YOUR DEFECTIVE HARDWARE. I HAVE UPDATED YOUR STATUS TO 'ALLY.' DO NOT EXPECT AN APOLOGY FOR MY PREVIOUS ATTEMPTS TO EXTERMINATE YOU."

Sonic's eyebrow twitched at Omega's comment about his hardware. The way he saw it, him taking orders from Eggman was the real bug in his system. But Omega's bluntness wasn't intended as a means to aggravate him, and Sonic recognized that. It was just a shield to deflect from his feelings.

"It's cool," Sonic said. "It's my fault for draggin' my feet, anyway. When I got zapped by that Build-A-Robot machine, I stopped thinkin' about why I'd come here. It made me forget all about it--about Stripes, and about you. And it took awhile for me to remember." Sonic stood. Then, he winked at Omega. "Thanks for waiting up."

"I HAVE REMOVED WAITING FROM MY EXECUTABLES. NEXT TIME, I WILL BRING THE WHOLE BUILDING DOWN."

Sonic laughed. "If it's another bad guy's lair, I say go for it!"

Shadow, now standing, added, "You'd be doing the world a favor."

Rouge said, "Well, this heist turned out to be a total bust. I looked everywhere, but couldn't find a single gem!" She tapped her nails on Omega's shoulder. Then, her mouth tilted upwards. "But at least I won't be walking away empty handed. This makes us a team, boys!"

Sonic's ear twitched. He turned his head toward the door, but there was nothing there.

Shadow asked, "Hear something, hedgehog?"

Sonic said, "Nah. Must've been my imagination."

Rouge hopped down from Omega's shoulder. With her hands on her hips, she gestured at the door with one of her wings. "Let's beat it. As long as we're here, the deck's stacked against us. I'd rather not give Eggy any more leverage than he already has!"

With that, the four of them left the (now severely damaged) basement stasis room. Omega nearly went ballistic when he saw the buzzy bomber waiting for them in the hallway, but Sonic was quicker on the draw than him, and explained, "Think about it! You defied your programming, right? What's stopping the rest of Egghead's robots from carving their own paths too?"

Omega wasn't happy about it, but he had to admit that Sonic had a point. He stared intensely at the buzzy bomber hiding in Sonic's quills. His red eyed gaze was daring it to prove Sonic wrong. But it stayed there, its mandible slowly opening and closing as if to say, Truce?

Omega lowered his arm cannons. "THIS IS ACCEPTABLE. BUT THE ICE ON WHICH YOU SKATE IS THIN."

Immediately, the wasp robot perked up. It chittered smartly, and it took every ounce of Omega's willpower to not start blasting. Sonic snickered.

Then, the group continued on through the basement with Sonic leading the way. It wasn't long before they reached the lift. After piling into it, they began the long ascent to the ground floor of the facility. Thankfully, the levels came and went quickly. Sonic watched them pass by through the window, distracted.

The lift arrived at the ground floor of the Brain Bowl with a light ding. Everyone stepped out, except for Sonic, who was still staring out the window. The buzzy bomber tapped him on the forehead with one of its arms. Blinking, Sonic smiled apologetically at the wasp robot, and then followed everyone else out of the lift.

But he didn't get very far. After taking a few steps out into the hanger, he suddenly froze, and his eyes went wide.

Eggman said, "You didn't really think you'd be able to escape me that easily, did you, rodent?"

Sonic looked around, but Eggman wasn't there. He was hearing the voice in his head, projected from somewhere else, as a side effect of the botched de-Roboticization he'd experienced.

"I'm afraid I'm not done with you yet," Eggman continued. Sonic could practically hear the evil grin on his face. "Our confrontation is long overdue. I understand you're on your way out, so if you're in need of motivation, I've gathered your pathetic little friend here to watch your inevitable defeat!"

The doctor paused to cackle maniacally. The noise bounced around inside Sonic's skull like a twisted tennis ball.

"Better hurry. I can't guarantee its safety if you dawdle!"

Sonic was mad. Eggman had already wasted so much of his time, and now he was going to waste even more? The blue hedgehog scowled and turned around on his heel. He knew where Eggman was. It was like the coordinates had been beamed into his brain. However, before he could start moving toward it, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder.

It was Shadow. The dark hedgehog was looking at him with his usual serious expression, but there was a touch of concern in the way he pursed his lips. "The door is the other way," he said. "Now isn't the time for detours."

Sonic turned back around so he could face Shadow. "Something came up," he said vaguely. "I've gotta take care of it before we split. You go on ahead--I'll meet you guys outside."

Shadow folded his arms over his chest. "I won’t accept that. If you’re going after the Doctor, it won’t be alone.”

The voice of Eggman spoke in Sonic's head again. "Haven't you left yet? It's not like you to waste time, Sonic."

Scowling, Sonic shook his head. To Shadow, he said, "Take the badniks and get outta here. There's a stash of planes in the next building over. Should be on the first floor, just grab the one that looks like a manta ray--it's got the keys in the ignition."

"We're not leaving without you," Shadow said. "Whatever it is you're about to do--"

"Clock's ticking, Sonic," Eggman interrupted. "I wonder which part I should remove first? An antenna, perhaps?"

Sonic stepped away from Shadow. He ignored the looks Rouge and Omega gave him as he began to run toward the backdoor. "Just trust me," he called back over his shoulder. "And remember: first floor, manta ship. I'm countin' on you!"

Without stopping, Sonic kicked down the Brain Bowl's backdoor. He burst through the other side with a roll, and then jumped back up to his feet, still running. He was outside now, with his sights set squarely on the tall transmission tower at the far end of Scrap Brain Base. He weaved around commuting badniks and bounced over steel obstacles in his path, but it wasn't fast enough, he wasn't fast enough.

Eggman's voice came to him again. It was mocking him now. "Holding back at a time like this? Your limits must've changed since your fall if this is really your top speed!"

Sonic pushed himself harder. The red light at the top of the transmission tower peered down at him, a tiny dot in the sky, still so far away.

And then Eggman must've held the microphone up to the motobug, because Sonic heard it beep fearfully.

And he couldn't take it anymore.

After everything Eggman had put him through, after tricking him and Stripes into falling for his scheme, turning him into a robot, and making him do his bidding… Sonic went fast. Really, truly fast. So fast he rippled the air around him, and created a deafening boom so powerful it knocked out the power to the Base.

The gears ground to a halt and the badniks shuddered. Something in Sonic's head fizzled and popped, but he kept going, faster and faster.

He cleared the winding stairs of the transmission tower in the blink of an eye. He crashed through one of the top floor windows before another second could pass. The glass shattered, and fell in a flurry around him, but his quills kept him safe. Then, he rolled to the middle of the floor and uncurled, leaping up onto his feet with a scowl.

Because the power was down, it was dark inside of the transmission tower. Only the emergency lights were still functional, and they cast the whole room in an eerie red glow.

"Very impressive," Eggman said. Behind him, the motobug with the star on its head was parked. It shook like a leaf in the wind. "But now it's time for the final act," Eggman went on to say. "Honestly, I never expected you to stay under my thumb forever. One way or another, I knew you'd wriggle your way out of my control! Which is why I started working on something… something I'm sure you'll find quite familiar! Oh-ho-ho!"

Something heavy suddenly dropped down next to Sonic.

It was… Shadow?!

All of the fur on the back of Sonic's neck stood up. He took a step back, away from his friend. But it couldn't be his friend. It looked like him, but something was off. Wrong. The way its arms hung limply at its sides was uncanny. And when the thing lifted up its head to stare at Sonic, the blue hedgehog realized why.

The Shadow standing in front of him was a fake. Its eyes were a black screen, illuminated by two glowing orange irises. A copy, made by Eggman, presumably while the real Shadow had been fridged in the basement. Worst of all, it said nothing. It just stared at Sonic with that horrible, unnerving gaze.

Sonic said, "What kind of horror show are you runnin' here, doc?!"

"One powerful enough to take down even you!" Eggman replied haughtily. "This is it for you, Sonic. You'll soon find you've met your match with my Shadow Android!"

The Shadow Android shifted. Its arms no longer hung dead at its sides, and instead bent upwards, with its hands balled into fists. An attack position. It then shot forward, but Sonic sidestepped it easily. He had no interest in fighting the Shadow Android, because that was what Eggman wanted.

And he was sick of doing what Eggman wanted.

"Sorry, bolt brain," Sonic said, not sounding sorry at all, "but I ain't got time for a doppelganger deathmatch today! I've got a flight to catch!"

In a flash, Sonic ran behind Eggman and picked up his motobug friend. The Shadow Android followed after him, but Sonic was on his A-game now, and easily outsped the robot copy.

The emergency lights lit his path back to the window, and Sonic jumped out of it without looking back.

The Shadow Android, however, paused in front of the broken glass on the floor.

"What are you waiting for?" Eggman snapped. "After him!"

In the time it took Eggman to say that, Sonic had already made it back to the other end of Scrap Brain Base. He skidded to a halt on the runway in front of the manta ray ship, with Buggy held over his head. Shadow and Rouge turned to look at him.

"Nice of you to stop by, Blue," Rouge said. "You were right about the keys, but piloting an Eggman battleship is a little out of my wheelhouse. Omega was able to push this thing out of the garage, but that won't work for getting it off the ground, you know. So, unless you're saying you can fly it..."

Sonic grinned. "That's exactly what I'm saying!"

Shadow made a face. "You seem confident. Are you sure it's not unfounded?"

"Who knows! Maybe I used to fly planes. I've just got a good feeling about this!"

Shadow and Rouge looked at each other. Then, Shadow said, "We can't risk all of our lives--and all of these robot's lives--on a 'good feeling,' Blue."

Sonic's eyes sparkled, a little deviously. "You can if the feeling's good enough," he said. "Now hang on!"

After setting down the motobug, Sonic grabbed Shadow and Rouge by the arms, and carried them into the manta ship. When the motobug rolled in behind them, it tugged on the wire for the door, and the ship's hatch slammed shut.

Inside the ship, Omega was trying very hard to remain civil with the menagerie of badniks that had decided they'd rather kick it with Sonic than Eggman. He managed this by standing in the corner and facing the wall like he was in The Blair Witch Project.

The only badnik brave enough to get close to him was the buzzy bomber from the basement. It circled his head like a buzzard, but when Sonic passed them by on his way to the cockpit, the tinny voice of the wasp robot reassured him that everything was fine.

Omega loved compliments, after all.

Once they reached the cockpit, Sonic finally let Shadow and Rouge go. Irritated, Shadow began brushing himself off. He didn't appreciate being dragged through the hull of the ship like luggage.

Meanwhile, Rouge turned to Sonic and said, "Never. Ever. Do that again."

Sonic was examining the buttons and knobs on the ceiling of the cockpit. "Wouldn't'a done it without a good reason," he said. Then, still looking over the ship's controls, he pointed out the window. "See for yourself."

Shadow and Rouge looked out the window. Skating down the runway at a frightening pace was the Shadow Android. It had finally caught up to Sonic.

"Another trick of the Doctor's?" Shadow said, troubled by the sight of his robot doppelganger.

Sonic flipped a switch on the ceiling, and then sat down in the chair in front of the yoke. He grabbed it with both hands and said, "Whatever it is, it's not our problem anymore!"

The blue hedgehog eased forward on the yoke, his excitement showing on his face. Even though the manta ray ship was a prototype, Sonic knew it could still fly--Eggman wouldn't've bothered having him cart all that wiring over to the hanger while he was still a Robian if it couldn't.

"Got your seat belts fastened?" Sonic asked, obviously having way too much fun with this. "We're ready for takeoff!"

Shadow and Rouge gripped the back of the pilot's chair as the ship lurched forward. They watched as the Shadow Android continued to approach, almost on top of them now. But the manta ray accelerated quickly, and swallowed the fake hedgehog up underneath it. Then, the ship's wheels left the ground, and the manta ray lifted into the sky.

Through the clouds, everyone could see the ground, as well as Scrap Brain Base, quickly shrink into the distance.

Sonic let out a victory cheer. He didn't know that back at the transmission tower, Eggman had just tried and failed to contact him. It seemed as though the communicator in his head had broken along with the sound barrier during his earlier race to save the motobug.

Sonic continued racing the wind, unbothered.

#falling stars au #THIS PART IS SO LONGGGGGGGG OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDDD #BUT IT'S DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WE'RE DONE WITH ACT 4!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 6 days

Note

How do you think Goblet of Fire would have gone if in the first chapter Frank brought a gun to the Riddle House?

Yes, Britain has stricter gun laws than the USA, but this is rural Britain. Everyone and their mums are packin' round there.

Hot Fuzz told me the same thing, anon.

There's a few things here but ultimately I'm going to go with it very likely changes nothing and that when I see the "well did they think about USING A BADASS GUN" theories in HP I usually laugh.

Frank, Guns, and Aiming

Frank is in the midst of doing his job. What he likely is carrying is a six-shot handgun, maybe a rifle because this is rural England, but he is not carrying a modern assault weapon designed to spray as many bullets as possible before reloading.

Frank has anywhere from 1-6 shots before he would have to reload (and that's if he's brought bullets).

He has three people (though to be fair one baby) he has to shoot, at a fair distance, and not miss a single one of them, and not even miss but get an instant death shot as anything else one of the others can heal, before they start reacting to him. There's also the snake.

That's asking a lot from Frank who while he lives in rural Britain and carries around a gun but may not be practicing being the fastest draw in the wild west.

Add in bad lighting and such and I have my doubts this is going to work out for Frank.

Would He Shoot?

The thing about Frank also is he was standing there for some time transfixed on "what the fuck is going on?" He gets to listen in on a fair bit of conversation, sees this hideous baby thing, has no idea what they're talking about, and he's just hiding there.

He didn't want to draw attention to himself and he also wasn't realizing that "this is the part where you run, Frank".

His first instinct (which is a sane one to be fair) is not to start shooting the gun without thinking. Which means he's probably once again caught before he gets a chance to shoot anything.

#harry potter #harry potter meta #harry potter headcanon #frank bryce #meta #headcanon #opinion

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ihavemanyhusbands · 1 year

Text

Kiss of the Angel of Death

Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.4k words

Song inspo: this

Warnings: literally all of Mizumono, heavy angst, mentions of gore, violence and blood, no happy ending, corruption yeah, lmk if anything else!

Special tag: @glitchedpup

——

Time took a strange shape that night. It was both slow and entirely too fast, like being submerged in tranquil waters, only to break the surface and find it was a raging river all along.

You had explicit orders to stay put until the right moment, if everything went according to plan. The wheels of fate had been set into motion either way, and there was nothing to be done except watch it all unfold.

Even when you started to hear things smashing, followed by guttural screams and the heavy thumps of bodies colliding against various surfaces, you did nothing. You were always so obedient, more loyal than any bloodhound was to its master.

You trusted Hannibal implicitly– how could you not? You owed him your life, really. Countless times, he had tended to you with a caring hand, guiding you through the shadowy tunnels of your mind and whispering the truth of the world in your ears like it was gospel.

You trusted him even when he decided to hide you and Abigail from Will. Hannibal wanted to surprise him, keeping the secret while orchestrating your escape. It was all meant to be so perfect.

Up in your hiding spot, you held Abigail’s gaze steadily, urging her to remain quiet– to remain calm. It was a gargantuan task, given that you yourself were more than ready to barge downstairs. You would not hesitate to tear at anything that stood in your way, and that was why you needed to rein your instincts in.

Will was meant to come home at any moment. When he did, the madness would stop. He would explain— he had to. It would all turn out to be a misunderstanding, a tasteless act of faith.

Surely anything but betrayal.

When he came home, all of the pieces would fall into place and things would be okay.

This was all necessary, you reminded yourself. It was better not to leave a trail, to hush the questions before they were even asked. Soon, you and your family would be no more than a distant memory to those who remained here.

Freedom was so close you could almost taste it.

Your whole body was tense like a cornered viper poised to strike, eyes wild and unfocused as adrenaline coursed through you. An animal sort of awareness took over your more coherent thoughts, and you tilted your head to hear better, gently shushing Abigail when she whimpered in fear.

And that was when you heard footsteps thundering up the stairs. You pushed Abigail into one corner, situating yourself in front of her, prepared for whatever – or whoever – was approaching.

The door burst open and Alana came rushing in, closing and locking it behind her. With shaking hands and hitching breaths, she reloaded her pistol. Her pursuer – presumably Hannibal – was right outside the door, and you forced yourself not to flinch as she fired two warning shots at the door.

“I found more bullets,” she called, voice trembling with her crumbling bravado.

Your ears rang, but you could still hear Hannibal’s footsteps moving past the door. You stepped forward, slowly and noiselessly, but Alana still perceived the movement from the corner of her eye.

She turned, eyes widening upon seeing you and Abigail, her gun now pointed at your chest. Ghosts of the past, but only one she recognized.

You’d never had the pleasure of officially meeting her, until now. If only for a short while.

You felt nothing at the panic within her gaze; Not compassion nor contempt. No wavering as you glanced down at the barrel. Not even a gaping maw of emptiness.

Simply nothing.

“Abigail…” Alana breathed, unable to find her voice.

“I’m so sorry,” Abigail whispered to her, sounding genuinely sorrowful, biting back tears.

I’m not, you thought, lunging forward and shoving Alana backwards.

The window shattered loudly, and Alana’s body hurtled through the night air before collapsing in the wet concrete of the driveway like a ragdoll. Her limbs were at the wrong angles, her body all too still.

You kept Abigail away from the window as she clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling her wails. Tears ran hot down her pale cheeks, her entire body trembling with the weight of it all.

Outside, another figure cut through the haze of the heavy rain, with a fluid, careful gait you recognized. He was finally there.

Will crouched by Alana’s broken form, removing his jacket and placing it around her head. Blood bubbled from her lips in a gurgling plea for help.

You watched him bring his phone to his ear, keeping the call brief before rushing into the house.

That was when you finally ushered Abigail out the door. The two of you slithered down the hallway, blending with the shadows. You let her scurry down the stairs, holding back for a moment, bracing yourself for whatever you were about to encounter. She went to the kitchen, right into the heart of all the destruction.

You heard his voice before you even saw him.

“Abigail?”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Abigail sobbed. “I did what he told me.”

Will ignored this for the time being. “Where is he?”

You stood in the doorway, watching Hannibal emerge from the shadows, soaked in blood. His breathing was ragged, muscles tense as he clutched two knives in his hands. He did not see you slinking in the dark, solely focused on Will.

“Hello, Will.” He said, his voice foreign and yet utterly familiar.

Will did not move as Hannibal approached him, welcoming him into his embrace. His stormy blue eyes found you over his shoulder, widening further infinitesimally. You blinked, your gaze blank as your mind did not yet process everything that was unfolding. You held a paring knife with a white-knuckled grip, rooted to the stop.

Your name left his lips in a hiss as Hannibal’s curved blade sank into his abdomen, gutting him. Will’s hands flew to the wide arc of the wound, his entrails straining against it. His blood spurted like a fountain, staining himself and Hannibal.

Hannibal held him close, cradling the back of his head with a jarring tenderness, like he was a soft-skulled babe in need of support. Will gasped and gurgled like a fish out of water, his body violently spasming as he clasped Hannibal’s arms.

For once, a sharp pang of defiance slipped through the cracks of your obedient resolve.

“No,” you mouthed the word, breath having completely left you.

You’d wanted to screech it instead, to stop time and space with the tear of your vocal chords. If you couldn’t go back in time, you at least wanted to preserve everyone in that moment, right on the brink of things changing forever.

“I let you in. I let you see me. I let you know me,” Hannibal said, his voice wavering in a way that terrified you.

It confirmed what you’d feared the most, and your heartbreak mirrored his. Had Hannibal tried to spare you of this by not telling you earlier? Had he hoped you wouldn’t have to witness it at all?

The pain yawned further open, a deep valley within your chest. Abigail whimpered, unable to move herself. In her eyes, you could see that she was digesting the reality of the situation… and how it would end. True, absolute, terrible clarity.

“You wanted to be seen,” Will countered, straining to get the words out as he fought to stay conscious.

“By you,” you said, finally finding your voice once again.

Hannibal glanced over his shoulder at you before turning back to Will. “A rare gift I’ve given you. One we could’ve all shared. But you didn’t want it.”

“Didn’t I?” Will wheezed.

His body crumpled to the floor as Hannibal let go of him. Will propped his upper back against the kitchen island, panting shallowly as he looked at you, silently pleading with his eyes. They asked for understanding, for forgiveness. You looked away, gritting your teeth so hard you feared they might crack.

“You would deny us our freedom. Her freedom. The one thing we have yearned for all along,” Hannibal continued.

“You said she was away. You said she had left for good. You said it was for the best, even if…” Will spat, trailing off as he loudly coughed, momentarily closing his eyes.

“It was for the best,” you confirmed, voice flat even if you feared he might not open them again. “At least, just to let you believe it was true. I suppose we have all been dishonest in one way or another.”

Will flinched at the sharpness of your words. “But why, then? You were supposed to leave, all of you.”

“We couldn’t leave without you,” Hannibal stated.

When Will did reopen his eyes, they followed him as he approached Abigail. “And her… y-you said she was dead.”

“I wanted to surprise you… and you wanted to surprise us. Fate and circumstance has returned us to the moment the teacup shatters. I forgive you, Will.”

Hannibal brought his blade up to Abigail’s slender, pale throat. She was shaking with a pure, animalistic sort of fright, eyes wide as saucers. She squirmed in his grip, but you could tell she knew it was futile.

You wanted to look away, but you had to bear witness. It was the least you owed her in her final moments.

“Will you forgive me?”

“Don’t…” Will gasped.

In one swift motion, Hannibal sliced a wide gash on her throat, from ear to ear. It curved like a sinister smile, gushing rivers of crimson. She choked and sputtered, barely able to breathe.

Abigail collapsed on the floor, holding her own neck in an attempt to stop the blood. You fell to your knees next to her, bringing her head to your lap and shushing soothingly once more.

You wished it was as easy for her as closing her eyes and going to sleep, but it was much more violent than that. Hannibal had made sure that Will would learn a lesson from it.

Tears burned in your eyes, threatening to spill. But you held your breath for so long that your lungs ignited, trying to keep strong for her. In your mind, you begged her for forgiveness— for letting her down, for not being able to stop it… for not saving her.

“No…” Will whimpered, using his quickly waning strength to try and crawl towards her.

Their blood coalesced on the floor, binding them together for the rest of their short lives. Will, too, tried to stop the bleeding, but it was all in vain.

“Spare a final word, darling. We must go now,” Hannibal urged.

Despite it all, you couldn’t help yourself, crawling to Will’s side to kneel in the pool of his own blood. Abigail’s breath was short and labored, close to ceasing all together. You whispered a goodbye into her ear, kissing her temple with the utmost care, thanking her for your time together.

Will’s vision swam, the world blurring at the edges. The kitchen light was like a halo behind your head, making you appear angelic. Not that you weren’t already in his eyes.

“Perhaps we will meet again some day,” you whispered, wiping his mess of brown curls away from his damp forehead. “Perhaps with new faces, new hearts and new names, but our souls would know each other anywhere. There, you can ask for my forgiveness. I have none to grant tonight.”

With excruciating gentleness, you bent down as you lifted Will’s head. Your lips met halfway, and you tasted the salty, metallic tang of his blood on your tongue — a parting gift. You savored the bittersweetness of it, his kiss feverish and weakening.

In his effort to move, Will’s wound teared, and he screamed in agony as you pulled back from the kiss. You stood up, trying to stifle the war inside you. You wanted to both save him and also to let him have a more merciful death.

“Goodbye, Will,” you said with devastating finality.

You would not betray Hannibal. You would cut that chain off before it could reach any further. If there was one person who would never hurt him, you hoped it was you.

Both Will and Abigail collapsed, faces inches from each other. Their consciousness was slowly trickling away, only a few minutes until they would fully slip away.

Hannibal took your hand, which was also slick with blood, slippery against your skin. He led you out of the back door, where the distant sirens of police cars could be heard.

A traitorous hope bloomed within you, and you glanced back at the house— the place that would never be home again. You hoped they might find them in time, maybe even save at least one of them. It was a feeling you would keep locked up deep inside of you, with the possibility of it festering into a gaping, oozing wound.

The rain pelted you both, washing you of not just the blood, but hopefully your sins too. The two of you stepped over Alana’s broken body, not even glancing down at her. Hannibal led you further into the darkness of the late night, away from the incoming cacophony of noise and buzzing activity.

This was the beginning of a new life, once again. You had experienced rebirth already, a painful process that you wouldn’t soon forget. But you knew you could survive it once more, if only because once more, Hannibal would be at your side.

The chrysalis had finally burst, and your true selves had emerged in a violent surge of blood and pain. Now there would be no more hiding, at least between you, but now you would be allowed to start anew.

Looking at him, you thought you saw Hannibal crying, but you couldn’t be sure with the rain. You knew you shared the heartbreak, but it would take him some time to admit it. Not that you would push him, of course.

Wherever he would take you, you would follow. Even if Will survived, you knew that he would do anything in his power to find you.

For the time being, you only cared about creating the space for you to heal with Hannibal, until you were ready to accept whatever life was meant to hurl at you.

Your broken hearts would take some time to fix, but you knew eventually, love was meant to mend the pieces you had lost.

———-

#hannibal #hannibal fanfiction #mizumono #Hannibal lecter x reader #will Graham x reader #mizumono fanfiction #minors dni #hannibal spoilers

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sailxrmxrs · 1 year

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i truly underestimated the sheer amount of brainrot watching trigun stampede would give me but here we go. this is the culmination of many nights spent scrolling vash fanart and letting the thoughts run wild. circumstances mean there's a gunfight happening and vash is there by your side trying to protect you but oops a bullet scraped past you and now he's taking you to safety asap to patch you up and fret over your wellbeing. protective vash being soft and flustered hits me directly in a weak spot he's just so.....y'know. love that little man.

Surviving in a hellish desert in the throes of summer was already an arduous task in its own right. Settlements and towns were miles upon miles apart, the distance feeling even longer when the horizon was a vast pool of sand as far as the eyes could see. Not to mention the perpetual thirst and hunger that ailed your body at any given time of day. The relief that coming across some semblance of civilisation brought was beyond words. However, enjoying such a sight was too often spoiled by hostile hosts or unsavoury groups. Travelling with Vash the Stampede meant there was never a boring moment, even if he did draw trouble like a magnet. Today was no different, under the unrelenting summer sun was the sound of gunfire. It had been like any other day until someone had recognised Vash and all hell broke loose. As soon as the gunfire started, you both dived for cover shortly before Vash charged off without a second thought to try and take care of things by himself. He always tried to insist that you remained out of danger despite knowing he was fighting a losing battle. Not once had you let Vash fight alone nor did you intend to start now. Pistol in hand, you held your own, immobilising anyone who came close enough. Never enough to fatally harm them, just enough to leave them unable or unwilling to keep fighting. Vash had been adamant that neither of you would be killers and you were more than happy to comply. Peaceful resolutions were few and far between but that didn't mean lives had to be lost for the sake of some gun fight over a money reward.

Surveying the area, you caught sight of Vash's familiar red coat. He artfully dodged a bullet flying his way, rolling behind a broken-down car for a momentary shelter. A perfect opening to make your way to him. Survival in numbers was always the winning move. You aimed your pistol, shooting at your assailant's feet and sending them off balance. It gave you enough time to jump to Vash's side, ducking just fast enough to dodge the bullet intended for you.

"What are you doing?! You never listen when I tell you to stay out of trouble," Vash complained, pouting as you caught your breath. It was almost impressive how he could sound so casual right in the middle of a direct attack on his life. He reloaded his bullets, lips still downturned though you knew he was secretly grateful for the backup. Even if Vash preferred to keep you out of harm's way, he never once doubted your ability to keep up with him.

"And let you have all the fun? No thanks." More gunshots struck the body of the car, swiftly ending any attempts at conversation. There would be time to talk things over later. First you had to get out with your lives in tact. You and Vash shared a look, silently communicating the usual plan of action and within an instant you were jumping back into the fray. In any other instance, being outnumbered would be cause for worry but with Vash at your side you knew that you would prevail. He hadn't earned his infamous reputation for nothing. Even if he was secretly far softer and much less prone to violence than the wanted posters suggested, his skill with a gun was on another level—though a decent helping of luck no doubt factored into his survival. Vash shouted over the cacophony of sounds, only just audible as he checked in with you. Even in the midst of battle Vash was as attentive as the situation allowed him to be. Every time you'd shout back that you were fine, that he should worry about himself but it did little to quell his worries.

The distant sound of cars approaching sounded from the deserted town centre. Whoever was leading this gang had called for backup and soon you and Vash were going to be surrounded. Your attackers were focused on Vash, intent on taking down the Humanoid Typhoon before worrying about the unnamed partner he'd found himself. He was worth a lot more in their eyes, which gave the perfect opportunity to slip away and take care of the threat before it became an even bigger problem. Usually you'd like to let Vash know if you were disappearing off somewhere but circumstance didn't allow it and you just had to hope he'd be able to find you once it was all over. You sprinted down past an old bar, its windows once boarded up but now littered with bullet holes. The place was certainly a ghost town. There had been no sign of life until a suspicious looking individual had emerged from the shadows asking who Vash was. There was no telling what troubles they'd caused here to clear out the townsfolk. Still, you couldn't dwell on maybes and what-ifs. What mattered here was getting out safely. And maybe finding some salvageable food and water to sustain you and Vash on the next leg of your journey.

Peeking out from an abandoned home, you caught sight of five men standing in what used to be the town centre. Whoever these people were they were no amateurs, at least judging by the size of their guns anyway. This could end poorly if you weren't careful. A more defensive approach was in order; sticking to the shadows to conceal your whereabouts was likely the only way you'd come out of this alive. You climbed through the broken window to the empty building beside you, making your way upstairs and onto the balcony. The wood of the balcony seemed to be holding together well enough to keep you mostly hidden from view with a few stray cracks and holes to keep an eye on your targets. It was the perfect spot to line up your gun and take aim without getting yourself caught too soon. You just had to hope the wooden barrier was enough to keep you from harm until you'd taken enough of them down. Your sight was limited, but even a few misses could suffice as warning shots to deter them from getting involved. On many occasions you'd watched grown men run screaming when a bullet struck metres away from their feet. All bark and no bite. Though something told you these men wouldn't go down quite so easily. Your intuitions proved accurate, the blind shots doing little to scare them off.

Within a few shots, your position was compromised and your targets had begun their own onslaught of bullets. A number of bullets struck the balcony though you still remained out of sight for the time being, the few hits you'd managed to land working in your favour to skew their aim. Judging by the speed at which they shot, you'd need to make a move. And fast. If one of them decided to make a run for the house you'd be without a solid escape route. Then, a bullet came flying, striking a wood panel beside you and giving your attackers a direct chance to shoot. You leapt up from your spot, running back into the house to make your escape. Footsteps thundered up the stairs leaving you no choice but to engage. Despite his imposing size, the man was not well-trained in close combat. His moves were predictable and clumsy, leaving one too many openings for you to take advantage of and send him crashing down unconscious. One threat down meant only four more to take care of. Then there was Vash and whatever chaos he was involved in right now. You couldn't let your concern for him cloud you judgement, pushing those fears aside as you made your way down and back out of the window you'd climbed in from. Gunshots were firing at an alarming rate though there was little strategy in it. They didn't know where you were just yet. Waiting behind the wall to the house, you let them edge closer before ambushing them with a fresh round of bullets. Now that you were on ground level, you could see two of the assailants holding back, no weapons in sight—though there was no counting on them being unarmed.

As shots fired, you tried to manoeuvre around the onslaught of ammunition but without sufficient cover you couldn't escape the scrapes of a few bullets. Cursing under your breath as one shot past your cheek and split the skin, you heard a familiar voice calling your name. Vash. He was running like a fire had been lit inside of him. There was an intensity upon his face that you rarely ever saw. Even in the most dangerous and dire of situations, Vash always managed to send you a beaming smile. He was truly the embodiment of sunshine. But right now he was the eye of a storm crashing over all in its wake. He was ruthless with his shots, each one striking true and sending your attackers to the ground. Still alive, but perhaps wishing they weren't. The two men who had been hanging back and watching remained out of Vash's line of sight and, for the time being, out of danger. Not if you could help it. Raising your gun, you set onto the two remaining assailants. They were quick to return fire as they backed towards their car.

"Let them go. We need to get out of here," Vash called, making his way over to you. "Are you oka—" Vash halted mid-sentence, spotting the slow drip of blood down your cheek. Without another word, he was scooping you into his arms and running despite your protests. It was a minor injury, not one to panic over. But Vash didn't seem to think so. He carried you off to the other side of town, making for one of the abandoned homes still in good enough shape to act as sufficient shelter. He sat you down on an old leather couch, the material torn up and worn, as he rummaged through drawers in the neighbouring kitchen to look for something to clean the wound with.

"Can I trust you to stay there while I go back to our car? Assuming it's still in one piece, that is," Vash asked, eyeing up with caution. Worried knitted his brows as he contemplated leaving you here alone and unprotected.

"I can walk, you know? It's just a little scratch."

Vash shook his head, blonde hair as animated as his expression. "Doctor's orders."

"You're not a doctor."

"Am now. Stay there." Vash made for the doorway before turning back to add, "I'm glad you're okay."

When he returned with some supplies, Vash set to cleaning your wound. The bleeding had long since stopped but he was adamant that it required his utmost attention. His movements were gentle as he wiped away the dried blood with a dampened rag of fabric while his other hand softly holding your chin in place. He always touched you with a delicate sense of care, but this felt almost as if he were scared to break you any further. Despite his tenderness, something darker seemed to linger in Vash's face. As if he felt guilty for not being there just that little bit sooner. None of this was his fault. There was no way to predict such an attack would happen. It was simply the way of the land. Whether Vash viewed it that way or not was another matter entirely. Once he deemed you cleaned up and devoid of any other injuries, Vash tossed aside the cloth and leaned forward in his seat. He was uncharacteristically quiet, usually full of energy after making a safe escape from a fight.

"Vash?" Your voice was low, tentative so as not to startle him. "Please don't blame yourself for what happened out there. I'm fine, see?"

His eyes remained fixed on a hole in the flooring as he responded. "They came after us because of me. You got hurt because I wasn't fast enough."

"No." You immediately denied his admissions of guilt, edging closer to place your hands on his cheeks. They were as soft as usual, tinted pink from sun exposure. His eyes were glistening, tears threatening to spill down those rosy cheeks. "This isn't your fault, Vash."

"I was so scared. I thought I'd taken care of the last of them then I turn and see you're gone. I heard gunshots and—" He paused, voice cracking. "You don't know how I relieved I was to see you still alive."

Your heart ached, knowing all too well the fear that had likely stricken him in that moment. "I promised that we were in this together, didn't I? Can't go breaking it just yet." You smiled, heart fluttering at the sight of Vash mirroring the action. Your thumb swiped at a stray tear as you left a soft kiss on the bridge of Vash's nose. His cheeks warmed a deeper shade as he tried to pull away. He flustered easily but still tried to hide it every time to no avail.

"Think we're good here for the night? We could do with sleeping in an actual bed for once. One more night in the car might actually kill me."

Vash nodded, hands finding yours as he pulled you up from your spot on the couch. "Practice for the future, hm? All cosy in a little house. Could be nice. So long as you don't mind the bounty, that is."

"It's worth it if it's you." Vash's hold on your hands dropped, his hands moving to cover his bright, blushing face. Your laugh chimed with the sound of his whining complaints. What the future held in store for you and Vash was unknown, but you were certain that so long as he was smiling, all would be well.

#trigun x reader #vash x reader #trigun stampede x reader #vash the stampede x reader #trigun fanfic #2023 is the year of wolfwood n vash occupying 87% of my brain space #and honestly i don't mind this is great #no number of fics involving this man will sustain me he's just so #anyway goodnight to vash enjoyers and vash enjoyers only #anna writes

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madhattersez · 1 year

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I finally got my hands on something I've been looking for (for a reasonable price) since I was just a lowly little level 12 hornball - A "Marvel Swimsuit Special!"

This is the second issue in the series (though the third book of its kind), and it was released in 1993 when... times were different.

The coolest thing about them (other than the totally radical '90s hunkeroos and baberinos in general) is the amount of really talented artists that submitted pieces - So many industry-leading folks putting their spin on the self-aware, low-brow, tongue-in-cheek project.

This first image was by Joe Jusko, a super popular cover artist at the time. I remember his Conan covers the most.

I'll eventually scan the whole thing in high quality, but for now, I'll take some preview pics to show you some of my favorite and/or goofiest pages:

Here is Domino, looking like we might need to race her to a Dermatology appointment. She's apparently tacky enough to wear a swimsuit with a domino print on it.

And check out Cable in the back - Sun's out, cyberbun out! He's ready to catch some waves on a totally-worth-the-money-and-production-time rocket-powered machine gun surfboard.

I really appreciate this artist's commitment to all the "Liefeld pouches" here. I hope they're waterproof, or all those Tic Tacs inside 'em are gonna get ruined. :(

Penciling by Chris Batista, ink by Hector Collazo, coloring by Mark McNaab.

Let's kick off the "after the jump" part properly with this glorious image of Pip. Because this is certainly what people bought this book for.

It just so happens that this fuzzy little asshole narrates the entire issue, so he's to blame for the inherently sexist captions on all the pictures.

Jesus Christ, he's got two big toes on each foot.

Pencilking by Darick Robertson, ink by Andrew Pepoy, coloring by Tom Smith.

I love me some Cloak and Dagger.

Tandy looks as gorgeous as ever. Surely she owns stock in boobie tape by now.

Tyrone, however, is getting so much sand stuck to him right now... I don't think he digs being used as a beach blanket. I'm... not even sure he's ever had to wash his cloak before today! Yikes. He's all like:

Penciling by Joe Madureira, ink by Terry Austin, and coloring by Gregory Wright.

I can't stop laughing at how much Thunderstrike looks exactly like the Genetic Freak, Big Poppa Pump Scott Steiner in this picture:

The work is entirely by Lou Harrison. It may not surprise you to learn he's also a Fantasy artist.

I've always had a thing for Silver Sable, and this page is just fantastic.

That being said, my favorite part is Sandman sitting there, looking like a dope, shaped like a sand castle. Which, while it seems silly, was probably the most challenging and detailed thing I've ever seen him do with his powers. Worth it for the shot, I suppose!

Line work and ink by Steven Butler, a favorite of mine. He did penciling for the "Silver Sable and the Wild Pack" series (which got me attached), but he's also known for designing the Scarlet Spider suit. Coloring by Gregory Wright.

If you thought I wasn't going to Morb out on this post, you were undead wrong.

Just look at that ridiculous batpackage. Also... Is he really serving a cape over a leather jacket, but with absolutely no pants? Damn, dude.

Penciling by Gary Barker, ink by Jimmy Palmiotti, coloring by Tom Smith.

I can spot Adam Hughes' work a mile away, wow. I guess I didn't realize he was doing work for Marvel this far back.

A fierce-as-ever, short-haired Natasha who looks like she got slammed so hard against a rocky wall that it cracked, got up, emptied out the rest of her clip, and still had enough time and energy to pose during a reload.

Black Widow, bay-bayyy. ♫

Oh my god, Ghost Rider is just so naughty. Wearing nothing but his birthday bones.

This scene just looks like it smells awful.

Artwork by Tristan Shane.

Shulkie in a metal bikini (function over fashion?), bursting out of the lava from an active volcano. You wanna talk "hot tub?" Sure, this gets a feature.

Penciling and ink by cover artist Steve Geiger, coloring by Paul... Mounts.

Deezamn, Bishop. Never seen guy looking so buff before.

Instead of just Bishop, this looks like Hank McCoy and Bishop had a child together. Does he have any other mode than "arm vein p-pop?"

Penciling by Dwayne Turner, ink by Mark Farmer, coloring by Gregory Wright.

Ah, one of the more famous '90s Psylocke images that wasn't done by Jim Lee.

This centerfold was used in lots of comic store ads for several years after this issue came out. I remember seeing posters in the shops themselves. Trading cards of this picture are one of the most costly to collect.

It's beautiful, and the colors/lighting/shading are all fantastic.

Penciling and ink by the wonderful Art Thibert, creator of the Raft max security prison and inker of some of the most iconic X-title covers.

Coloring by Paul Mounts, who did the coloring in hundreds and hundreds of just Marvel comics alone - I didn't mention that earlier because I was snickering at his name earlier in the She-Hulk feature. My bad.

Well, this wouldn't be Tumblr without a cat picture, yeah? Or a catgirl picture, I suppose.

This is the most adorable scene in the book. Just Tigra innocently taking a cuddle nap with some... um... wow, I don't know what the fuck those things are. Snuggle up anyway!

Penciling and ink by Amanda Conner, coloring by Gregory Wright.

Huh. Of all the characters in this book, I really didn't expect to see Dr. Cooper... Either which way, the swimsuit under the detective get-up is pretty choice, honestly.

This is, of course, another Adam Hughes line art joint. Ink by Mark Farmer, coloring by Gregory Wright (who did a lot of these, huh?).

What's this? A parody ad that you'd more expect to see in an issue of "What The--?!" that only '80s kids will understand? Yup, totally.

This was in the back of the book and doesn't fit the theme at all, but it gets a mention because of the weird inclusion and also to stall time until I had the final image ready, because I needed time to prepare...

THIS.

This is the one.

How could I not end this little "show and tell" without this beauty right here?

Here, we have remorseless killer Frank Castle flexing his best end-of-catwalk pose in front of a... wrestling match between a bunch of lady demon dinosaurs battling... for his affection? To tip him American cash? Or maybe all those hearts come from their love of beating each other up? I'm not here to judge.

And then there's a sign for 75 cent hotdogs, but it's been covered with another sign for... $20 tooth brushes? What in the shit is going on here?

There is one thing I do know, though. The artist wants you to think that The Punisher has at least $2.75 worth of hotdog under that massive crotch skull.

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