#a full fucking line brawl

[jonasiegenthaler]

njd@nyr | 03.04.24

#john marino #kevin bahl #chris tierney #curtis lazar #devils #everything about this is so funny #everyone giggling getting off the ice with game misconducts #a full fucking line brawl #2 seconds into the game #and still not being the fastest #.gif

[tacticaldiary]

To Hate A Heart That Beats For You

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Jealousy, Tension

"Say please." It's all teeth and a sharp teasing voice with her. Ghost stills at the command, annoying flickering its agitated flames.

Every fucking thing about her rubbed him the wrong way, made him so...out of control? Agitated? All of the above? She always somehow manages to make him concede. She did it back then and she's doing it right now with his breath ghosting over her lips, hot and heavy.

Masterlist

There are not many things that shake the foundation of control Ghost keeps a tight grip on.

Throw him in the middle of a gunfight, a brawl or a series of rough drills and he's normally the first one to make it out. All his life he's been the kind of person to keep to himself, to deal with problems as efficiently and effectively as possible.

She was the exception.

Standing in front of him after two years, with the same pride lining her shoulders, the defiance in her eyes.

"You remember the Lieutenant, don't you?" Laswell stands between them, an unknowing mediator.

"We're...acquainted." She says dryly, locking eyes with Ghost himself. Her voice is the same as well. Everything about her is a shock to his system so part of him is glad that she's the one who spoke up.

Two years. Two years since they'd been promoted to the rank of Lieutenant together and gone their separate ways. He'd joined the 141 and she had taken fancy to some tactical intel gathering specialist group.

Laswell pauses, looking up from her file at the clear snap of tension in the air.

"No need for introductions then." She shuts the folder, giving them both her full attention. "She'll be joining your team for today, talking to your recruits about the intel gathering division she's a part of. Sergeant Gaz is already doing vice versa. I expect you to play nice for today, I don't want any... incidents, copy?"

"Copy." She says, watching Ghost nod.

And then suddenly they're alone, with only the thump of distant footsteps from the recruits to punctuate the silence hanging between them.

"As friendly as ever I see."

"I'm as friendly as you are pleasant." Ghost responds.

"I'm plenty pleasant. It's you that's never been able to get that stick out of your ass."

"Careful." He narrows his eyes, pushing himself off the wall. "We know how the last time you picked a fight ended."

"That's cute." She smiles. "I seem to remember you getting put on desk duty for two weeks."

"After I choked you out on the training mat."

"I'm sure you've been dreaming of doing that again." Her self-satisfied smile widens when he doesn't respond for a moment, taken aback. With a shake of her head, she directs her gaze back onto the field where the soldiers are slowly finishing their last lap. "I feel sorry for them. Having to see your ugly mug in the morning with that mask can't make their breakfast settle very well."

An arm brushes against hers, and before he pushes past her, Ghost leans down right next to her ear. "You were yelling quite the opposite the last time you saw it." He whispers with a slightly thicker accent than usual, letting the satisfaction of seeing that smug expression falter for a moment settle deep into him as he knocks past her roughly.

They had a...messy history to say the least.

Two forces as headstrong as them were bound to butt heads. Her earliest memory is arguing with him. The both of them have always had a competitive streak, whether that be on the mat or running timed drills.

That tension had to blow up in their faces sometime, and that time just happened to be the day after they both got promoted...

Her eyes follow his form as he orders the recruits over, telling them to split into small groups, informing them of why she was there.

Red creeps up her neck her mind flashes back to that night. They had been taunting each other in passing all day, silently arguing who the better candidate had been, which one of them deserved it more. It doesn't sound like Ghost at all but they'd always had something more fiery than what they were like by themselves.

One too many jabs had led to a small tussle, which had led to a moment of weakness and...well, now's not the time to remember the frantic touches and calloused hands. The first time she'd seen his maskless...

He certainly had been anything but ugly and that makes her so fucking mad.

Shaking it off, she composes herself and decides to take the reigns.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It's been an hour of standing around, supervising the talk, and Ghost is ready to tear into something. Or someone, more preferably.

His jaw clenches, watching how she floats from soldier to soldier, group to group. The effect on them is instantaneous with the way they straighten up, surprised at being addressed before melting into smiles that are a tad bit too wide and eager, and eyes that wander farther than appropriate.

Her hand lingers on some of their shoulders, elbows nudge and compliments flow out of her mouth.

Maybe he's finally going insane?

A few times their eyes meet, and neither of them look away, too stubborn to be the first to fold. Every time, the corner of her mouth quirks up when she turns to keep doing what she was.

A sick, ugly feeling rears its head inside him at the sight.

What gave those pathetic recruits the right to look at her that way? And why are his fingers twitching for the knives strapped along the expanse of his body?

Why the fuck does he care?

"...Ghost? You with us?" She raises an eyebrow when his glare snaps to her instead. She's wandered over to him, leaving the recruits to talk amongst themselves for a break.

"What?" He says coldly.

"Someone piss in your breakfast?" God, he'd throttle her first, then move on to those other men-

"Same person who pissed in yours." The retort gets him a raise of an eyebrow but nothing more.

"Sure. I'm done here, so you can go back to terrorising the poor kids." It's a receptive group, more than a couple of them had shown interest in what she was saying. A few of the more promising ones she had taken a personal note of, intending to pass their names forward to Laswell to consider.

"Until we have the misfortune of meeting again." She says, and maybe it's a throwaway act of trying to remain civil in such a public setting, but she extends a hand towards him.

He eyes it for a second, eyes narrowing.

"If you're afraid I'll throw you over my shoulder like last time-"

She grins smugly when he takes her hands, squeezing it through the brief handshake a little harder than necessary.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

This is a terrible idea.

Somehow, because whoever's up there seems to have a personal vendetta against him, Ghost finds himself standing in front of her office door, a file on all the recruit's scores and past experiences Laswell had ordered him to pass onto her clutched loosely in his arm.

It was 11 at night, but the army notoriously never slept.

Because he's not a fucking animal, he knocks, waiting to hear her call out an okay before pushing the door open.

It's as sparsely decorated as his own office. There's not much to keep the value of sentiment in with lives as busy as theirs, but the things that catch his focus are the small picture frames set on her desk.

After her, of course.

Changed into something more casual, his eyes trace the dips and curves that are so utterly her.

"Did you need something?" She asks, the friendly edge to her voice flittering away when she sees it's him.

"No, but you do." Moving closer, he tosses the file onto her desk. Staring at it for a moment, she clicks her tongue whilst flipping through the pages.

"I'd like to snag a couple of these for my team in a few years." She mutters to herself, pausing over a few of the reports. Ghost's hands twitch with the urge to curl them inwards when he remembers the events of this morning.

She's studying him, he realises. With a quiet, titled expression, she's taking him in head to toe and it's the first time in a while Ghost has felt so stripped to the core.

"Got something to say?" His voice comes out rougher than intended. Making no move to speak, the corner of her lips quirk up slightly. Huffing quietly, she spins her chair back around to face her desk, picking up the pen she'd discarded when he first walked through her doors.

It's quiet. The scratching of pen on paper. Something about it jarrs him, ignites a twinge of irritation because why the hell is she so quiet now after he's asked her a question? Normally she sparsely shuts up enough for his heart to cool down from its quickened pace.

He'd say later on that he weighed the decision he made, that he really thought it through but frankly, the only thing on his mind is her, and it's cloudy with enough anger and an emotion he's not willing to admit right now that he acts without thinking. Completely on instinct.

Ghost spins the chair around so he's facing her and looking down. "Ignoring me now?" He says into the sharp silence. "Never thought I'd see the day you shut your mouth."

"Is that the way you talk to someone you spent the night with?" She answers. He grunts in surprise at her hand curling around the back of his beck, yanking him further down until they're face to face. "That's why you're still here, aren't you? Still bothered from this morning?" The smug look on her face only makes Ghost more irritated because she's right. He could have easily left after dropping the file off. He had no apparent reason to stay. "Couldn't stand the thought of sharing something you've already had a bite out of?"

It dawns on him with her tone right there and then.

She'd been doing it on purpose. The glances to him as she made her rounds, the way she lingered over the recruits only when she could feel his eyes burning into her from behind.

Ghost is met with that teasing, smug grin that fixes him into place a little too effectively because when she hooks an ankle around the bend of his knee and pulls, he goes down onto his knees without much of a fight. He's tall enough so they're actually face to face now, eyes level.

"Finally caught on?" The smooth lilt to has his stomach twisting and his mind reeling, though he stays as composed on the outside as always. Waiting. Watching. Urging himself to keep his hands to himself.

"Fuckin' hell." He breathes out. "You little minx."

"Affirmative."

Heated eyes take in the being that is her. Sharp smiles, dirty tactics, and that attitude that made him want to do things that would get him discharged if he were to ever voice them.

All of her was a deadly beautiful.

It checks out that Ghost is lover of deadly.

Calloused, rough hands, trails up her legs and settle around her hips. His eyes flicker down to her mouth and for a moment, neither of them speak. Then she leans closer and for a moment Ghost braces himself.

"Say please." It's all teeth and a sharp teasing voice with her. Ghost stills at the command, annoying flickering its agitated flames.

Every fucking thing about her rubbed him the wrong way, made him so...out of control? Agitated? All of the above?

He swallows past the bitter taste in his throat. Weighs his options.

"Please."

He mumbles it because she always somehow manages to make him concede. She did it back then and she's doing it right now with his breath ghosting over her lips, hot and heavy.

A smirk curves her mouth. "What was that?" She whispers. "Couldn't quite hear you..." Her hands move from his collar up to the edge of his balaclava, toying with the edge. Ghost makes no move to stop her when she slowly, so achingly slowly, starts rolling the fabric up.

"I fuckin' hate you." He growls, actions and words at war.

"You're showing me a lot of love for someone who claims so." Is all she says, movements halting as the fabric bunches over his nose, laying bare the bottom half of his face. "Would you let anyone touch you like this, hmm?" Skimming her fingers over the scar on his chin, his own hands tighten around her hips at the gentle feeling. She ends up cupping his cheeks. "Because I'll tell you this, Simon-"

It's a physical reaction, the way she says his name. He straightens up instinctively and takes in a muted, sharp inhale. She leans closer, and if he only tilted his head up a fraction they'd brush lips.

"It's been a long time since I've let anyone touch me like you are."

It snaps something in him, maybe his patience or perhaps his resolve.

One hand slides up to the back of her neck, the other one yanks her out of her chair and to the floor. He crashes their mouths together in a kiss that brings an instant sort of relief. It's not sweet by any means, all clicking teeth and pulling at each other. Hands roaming and breaths shared.

Neither of them knows who pulls away first, but eventually they're left to catch their breath, their foreheads pressed together.

Then she laughs, a light, soft breeze. "You should've seen yourself back then. Looked like you wanted to flay those kids alive." She snickers.

"I did." There's no use denying it, not when this, when she, makes something curl up and settle down deep within him. As much as she riles him up, she also brings him a kind of peace that he can't describe.

Goddamn, he's so far gone. Maybe he should book in a psych eval soon...

"Never thought I'd see the day you were like this." She hums, "Wish I'd taken a video of it."

"It won't happen again, love." He shakes his head, trying and failing to push down the slightest bit of amusement. "That you can count on."

"Wanna bet?" She says cheekily, scratching at the nape of his neck with her nails gently. It makes a shiver run down his spine, the curl of her lips widens as she feels it.

"You drive me fuckin' insane, you know that?" He mumbles against her lips.

"You love it." Is all she manages to get out before he pulls her in again.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

(27/07/2023)

#fanfiction #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare x reader #ghost cod #cod ghost #cod mw ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #mw2 ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost modern warfare #ghost #simon riley #simon riley fluff #simon riley imagine #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #x y/n #cod modern warfare #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii #cod mw22

[angelofacidx]

Self indulgent drabble

Dark! Soap x reader

CW: Alcohol use, gaslighting, cnc.

Local shitty dive bars around whatever base he’d been stationed at became almost a second home to Johnny. He liked the predictability, the dinginess, and the burn in his chest of the night’s pick of the poison. The entertainment was nice too, a few pretty girls to bed later or a brawl started between two intoxicated sweaty men. What more could he want?

Soap wasn’t used to big cities. Scratch that. Big American cities. He found himself right at the heart of one after a mission involving some high profile bastard, rather easy to hunt down and giving him time to kill. After all was said and done his hotel room was still paid for and his flight back to base didn’t leave for another two days. A quick google search of the area brought up more bars than he’d ever seen in his life with a myriad of pretentious names and neon banners.

It wasn’t long until Johnny found himself standing outside between two crimson velvet ropes in a line full of people and dressed down in his civvies. The music vibrated the walls loud enough to seep outside, the bass of some shitty Sean Paul song already setting the prescient for the night. He had half a mind to try another place until your form burned itself into his brain. A short black glittery dress, the hem ending just below the swell of your ass. Long lithe legs and calves flexed from being stilted on black heels. Fuck, you were a vision.

Eavesdropping on your conversation let him know you were already tipsy, one of your friends calling you “Sooooo crazzzyyyy tee hee” for killing off the last of her Tito’s before the group had left the house. It was apparent the more he soaked you in, the glossy eyes and slightly mussed hair. The way you stumbled slightly on your heels just standing like a foal taking its first steps. Johnny could work with this.

He stalked behind your group for an hour or so, watching the drinks flow and your inhibitions slipping further and further. The DJ in this place knew how to work girls your age. The trashy Y2K dance music and alcohol made your hips sway in circles as you held onto your friends shoulders and half screamed lyrics at each other. The ministration held his attention, making his eye twitch slightly and his brain short circuit. He wondered if you could ride cock like that.

He gets the courage to approach you then, tapping your shoulder and taking you out of your trance as you turned to face him. His eyes drifted from your face to your tits for a moment before refocusing back to your eyes. Behave, Johnny.

“Hey! It’s been so long since I seen ye! Jason’s mate.” Johnny said with a big smile, his eyes trustworthy as he prayed to god the generic American name would make a connection somewhere in your brain for him to prey on.

He watched you study his face in silence, trying to place him but the alcohol doing no favors to jog your memory.

“Wait. Bri’s ex Jason or Jason from the frat?” You slurred, eyes still scanning his face and figure.

“Bri’s ex. Can’t believe I ran into ye here.” He said with an assured nod, reaching out to hug you.

Your breasts squished against his chest in the hug, arms wrapped around your lower back and he was practically foaming at the mouth restraining himself from grabbing your ass. He let go of the hug begrudgingly but smiled with teeth bared when you handed him an extra shot your friend has ordered.

Holy shit. It was that easy. He was in.

As the two of you talked about “Jason”, your job, his “finance major”, and everything in between he fed you drink after drink. Your words and thoughts became less coherent—not like they were to begin with, the aforementioned pregame hit you hard. Your body leaned against him as you danced, your ass grinding into the hard bulge at the apex of his jeans, earning a deep growl.

He wanted to bend you over then and there, grab the soft flesh of your hips and rut into you like an animal in front of God and everybody in that bar. His restraint wore thin with another push of your ass against him, a whine rising to his throat. He took out his phone then, calling an Uber for the two of you.

You were clearly trashed, a potential safety risk to yourself he told your shitty friends. Let him take you back to your house, he’ll even text them when you arrive safely. He knows where you live. He’s Jason’s friend and they can trust him, so they do. With a hand on your lower back ass, he guides you outside to the curb and tracks down the Uber, opening the door for you.

…

The morning light is absolutely blinding. You feel disgusting and sweaty, reeking of alcohol and sweat. Your arm reaches for your bed side table where you pray your phone is only to be met with air. Huh?

You sit up quickly, your head throbbing as you do. Your eyes open slowly and your surroundings are completely unfamiliar. A hotel? You attempt to get out of bed but the pounding in your head and your cunt stop you, muscles betraying you and your throat letting out a guttural groan.

A man steps out from the bathroom then, white towel around his waist and dark hair sopping wet. His face brings back memories of last night; the club, the dancing, getting fingered in the uber, being folded in half as he begged to cum in you even though you told him you weren’t on any contraceptives. That seemed to make him blow his load immediately.

But now with his face clearer than before you can see he is not Jason’s friend.

“Who the fuck…?” You trail off, pulling the blanket over yourself for some form of modest.

“Johnny. Real pleasure to meet ye.” He says with a shit eating grin, moving towards you with the same animalistic look in his eye that he had last night.

#john soap mactavish #cod x reader #soap x reader #cod #cod mw2 #soap #dark k!nk

[sleekswosobession]

north london is-

celin bizet x fem!reader

request: here

A/N: i love spurs (please don’t hate me)

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

Today was a big day, North London derby day. It’s a must win game for Arsenal if the team is to stay 2nd on the table (if Man City win their game) and also to brag about North London being red.

As much as you hated Spurs with a passion, you could never hate your girlfriend. Celin was everything you needed, but as always the task right now is to beat them. Be better.

You didn’t run into her a lot of the field, being on the other side as a right-winger, same position as her.

You line-up in the tunnel, confident in your ability to do what’s needed to beat the lilywhite side of London. You look at the team next to yours and meet Cel’s look, you mouth a ‘good luck’ along with a smirk before turning and walking out onto the field.

The game is rough, rougher than the Chelsea match, Arsenal is keeping possession but Tottenham’s defence and keeper are absolutely incredible. There’s obvious tension between the two teams but nothing too bad as of yet.

At half-time it’s 0-0, Leah is giving you all a talk and she seems really annoyed.

“Who the fuck are we? Arsenal. We have never lost a fucking North London derby ever, so don’t make this the first, am I clear?” Hums of agreement scatter through the room.

“I will not allow this team to lose to a team so fucking behind, let’s go.” She finishes, you nod fully agreeing with everything she’s saying.

You go back out with more passion, harsher passes and more physicality. Spurs do similar. It’s in the 58th minute when it all comes crashing down. Marta Thomas shoots and it hits the back of the net. She’s celebrating with her team while yours feels shattered.

You try not to let it bother you but ultimately, it’s getting you in the head. It’s clear the Lilywhites pick up on it and start targeting you a lot more.

When the 83rd minute rolls around, Grace Clinton shoves you a little too hard and you immediately react by shoving her back. It leads to a brawl in which you’re holding each other by the shirts.

“Fuck you Clinton!” You bash, as players come over to seperate you, along with the referee.

“Don’t come at me when you’re the one who can’t take a little shove.” She pushes you back and you stumble. If the look on your face was anything to go by, you are really fucking mad. Just as you’re about to make a countermove, someone is in front of you.

That someone so happens to be your girlfriend.

“Hey, it’s not worth it. Don’t get a red or make it worse for yourself.” Her voice is stern and her Norwegian accent slips out stronger. You huff, walking away ignoring your teammates and looking at the ref who gives both you and Grace yellows.

When the full-time whistle blows, you collapse on the field. Arsenal has lost. Arsenal has fucking lost for the first time ever. You can feel the tears that are threatening to fall. North London is… white and God it pains you to think that.

You’re brought out of your trance by two pairs of boots in front of you, looking up to see Cel and Grace.

“Hey, sorry about uhh pushing you and stuff like that.” Grace says, scratching her neck.

“All good, all apart of the derby am I right?” She nods and it looks like your girlfriend agrees too.

“Well, I’ll leave you two too it.” With that she walks away to where Beth and Jess are celebrating.

“You played really well today.” Cel says, sitting down next to you.

“We still lost, we shouldn’t have.” You sigh, annoyed at everything to do with the game.

“Yeah well, I disagree. After this I’ll drive you home and we can watch movies and order in, sound good?” You nod your head and rest it agaisnt her shoulder until you’re called over to be with your team.

- - - - -

At home, you immediately plop onto the couch. Exhausted from playing 90 minutes and stoppage time.

“What food do you want?” Cel asks.

“Is that Mexican place open? I want nachos.” She nods putting in the other before going to sit with you.

“So what do you wanna watch?” She pulls you into her, so her arms can wrap around your whole body.

“Hunger Games? We can binge them all.” She laughs softly.

“Alright, or as many until you fall asleep.”

“True.”

You start watching the movie and around 20 minutes later the food arrives, you feast and it’s like the game is being pushed to the back of your mind. You feel better with Celin.

By the end of watching the second movie, you’re asleep and Celin takes the opportunity to lift you up and place you in bed. She gets in not long after, and even while you’re unconscious you’re trying to find her in the sheets.

She smiles, cuddling into you and also falling asleep.

—————————————————————————

anon i hope ur happy with this, and it was also very fun to write 🤭 gives me a break from all the other barca things i have to write

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso fanfics #spurs women #celin bizet x reader #celin bizet #norwnt #norwnt x reader

[dmercer91]

an idea i had was nhl!ranger reader is like fairly aggressive, yeah?

like she’s had to hold her own, and prove her own bc she’s a woman.

but against this one team, she’s absolutely brutal.

and maybe it stems from her old rivalry with one of the players, OOOH OR MAYBE one of the players almost ended her career in juniors??

i made a new player up for the sake of this being friendly for people who cherish the usa wjc players however they play for the hawks just cause.. she’d so have a vendetta against the hawks idk i feel like she’d despise them

like she’s just here to serve cunt, fuck shit up and curse a bitch out

also, i picture charlie with a scar in the front of her eyebrow, like where the hair still grows straight rather than to the side, due to where her injury was

this…. turned into a full fic. blame my perfectionism and incessant research, idk. there’s also minimal jack which is why the title is njd

the full story | hooked au, njd

u-20 world juniors, december 26, 2019. preliminary rounds

line brawls were your forte. not only were they fun, and usually harmless, but they also gave you a chance to prove that your physicality wouldn’t be an issue if you got drafted to an nhl team.

in a canada vs usa game, the rivalry usually called for some penalty minutes

currently, your helmet was nowhere to be found, your gloves were voluntarily discarded, and your nose was bloody.

you’d concentrated on keeping the us players away from nico, and the guy who’d originally slid into the net and tripped him had taken most of your attention.

tyler shaw- a bigger centre who’d been drafted to chigaco the year prior.

you were holding up fairly well, until he took a stray stick off the top of the net and used it to shove your hand off his jersey.

you slid, turning so your back was facing him, and he cross checked you in the back of the neck, sending you forward and face first into the goal post.

a final time, he did the same near your shoulder blades, effectively keeping you down on the ice.

the room was spinning and the lights were too bright for your liking- you felt like you were ready to faint and throw up at the same time

dawson was quick to switch his fighting to shaw, quickly looking over at you to see if you were still conscious.

jamie drysdale had left what was essentially an aggressive, ill intended hug with the guy he’d picked up for the scrum to pull you over to the boards, giving an alarmed look to the coaching staff.

you weren’t responding to your name, or charlie. you were squeezing his hand but it was your only true sign of consciousness

most of the players had pulled away from their respective fights, staring over at you and jamie with looks of concern, some looking at shaw with looks of confusion- including his teammates.

when dawson was satisfied with his defence of his friend, he skated over, flexing his fingers in pain from punches.

he made it over a few moments before the teams medical staff, taking your hand and having jamie back away a little.

“you in there, char?” he took your neck guard off, knowing you’d always felt like it suffocated you.

you blinked, looking at him. he smiled, squeezing your hand.

“nico fell,” you murmured, worry laced in your voice for your goalie

“he’s padded like a marshmallow, rocky. i think you fell a little harder,” you smirked at his nickname for you, a mock of your likeness for fights.

that was all the reaction you had to anything for the rest of the night- a small grin.

when staff made it to you, you’d gone nonverbal again and you seemed to be slipping in and out of yourself. sometimes it looked as if you’d been out, couldn’t feel a thing, and other you were squeezing dawsons hand so hard you were cutting off circulation

the medical team had dawson and jamie help you off the ice, dawson staying with you in the ambulance since he’d been ejected from the game due to his defence of you.

when you were finally allowed visitors, the doctors let you explain to dawson- who you made promise to dumb it down and kid friendlify it for your little brother.

your neck was broken from the initial check. the doctors weren’t sure if you had paralysis until you became verbal again and calmed down enough for them to run necessary tests.

they concluded that other than some tingling in your arms and feet- you should be able to walk and eventually skate just fine.

you required surgery to fix the broken bones it your neck, but luckily the break did no damage to your spinal cord, so you’d be able to make a recovery.

they told you that other than your lack of ability to concentrate, which you assured them came long before the injury, you had no physical or memory related issues cause of your concussion

due to you presumably losing consciousness and going nonverbal after the blow, as well as your headaches and two consecutive seizures in the ambulance, they did imaging tests to see if you had any skull injuries or bleeding

you got lucky.

there were many opportunities for the injury to be career ending, even fatal- but the hospital assured you that you’d be able to return to mundane life in a week or two, after the concussion symptoms, and that you could return to sports once your neck was healed and you were cleared by your women’s league.

dawson was your caretaker, never leaving your side cause he was so anxious that the doctors had missed something- he needed to be ready to help if you needed him.

you tried to keep it lighthearted, despite your boredom and your throbbing pains

“my face feels eight feet wide,” you complained, eyes fluttering shut.

dawson stayed quiet, looking over at you for a moment and then returning to making you your lunch

“at least the several pints of blood coming out of my head made me look sick,” you chimed, smiling to yourself and pouting when dawson paid no mind

“mercer. you’re killing me, dude,” he sighed, coming over and sitting on the couch next to you.

“i was worried about you, y/n. i didn’t leave the waiting room other than to pee, i had nurses bringing me food cause they saw i wasn’t leaving. on the ice, i tried to make jokes but i was losing it,”

you leaned your head on his shoulder to the best of your ability with your neck brace, taking his hand.

“you’re still stuck with me. i’m too stubborn to die,” he finally cracked a smile, leaning his head onto your head.

“im holding you to that,”

-

january 5th, 2024. chi @ njd

you’d been dead silent ever since you’d gotten back to the dressing room since warmups.

tyler shaw had been marinating in the press box all season, and the team had chosen today to finally give him a spot on the fourth line.

when you saw his last name on a jersey you already weren’t fond of gliding around on the ice, your head immediately went back to the game that could’ve ended your life,

he’d been suspended from competing in iihf games since the incident, and his career had gone down hill from there, but the fact that he was still allowed on professional ice irked you to no ends.

dawson knew well enough why you looked like you were about to throw up, but your boyfriend and your captain were confused and concerned.

nico nodded for dawson to leave him to talk to you and sat in the now empty cubby, nudging your knee pads with his own.

“you alright, charlie?” you smiled softly at the ground, your soft spot for nico already grounding you.

“i’m okay, neeks,” you rested your head on his shoulder, the padding making for a comfortable spot.

“back in november you got enough penatly minutes against these guys to beat jack for the next two seasons, so how about we cool it today, yeah?” you giggled, wrapping both of your arms around nicos one that he used to pat your knee

“no promises. haven’t seen shaw since my last juniors game,” nicos lips parted, not having seen shaw on the ice during warmups and not clocking that your vendetta against the hawks was partly due to him.

“never mind. do crime, have fun, all of the stuff a captain absolutely wants to see,” he kissed your forehead and you laughed, looking up at him with a bright smile

“thank you, ni. your silly accent and questionable rule bending made me less prone to crimes,” he grinned.

“if you need a minute tonight, you’ll tell me?” you nodded and he hummed, staying in dawsons cubby while lindy spoke and up until it was time to get back onto the ice.

#hooked au! #e’s 500 celly! #e’s fics #jack hughes #dawson mercer #nico hischier #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #new jersey devils

[joannasteez]

T.O.B.- headcanon thingz!

authors note: the following content is merely being created for fun and to supplement the major plot(s) of the original story. all headcanons will be labeled as such, and will feature a hand full of little facts and tidbits about the third generation members of the blood line during their youth!

they called him pretty boy rhodes. too blue eyes and that punchable perfect smile. "my boy dashin' ain't he?", his father would say all the time. but it was true. cody was more pretty than the biker world needed him to be. 

"they voted me most handsome"...he said once, very nonchalantly. and they did, the last year of HS. which surprisingly did nothing to affect his meekness.

when cody was eighteen, dusty gifted him a harley davidson fatboy. black, silver, and so damn beautiful.

when cody was sixteen he randomly got a nose piercing that he kept up with faithfully until his mid twenties. "chicks dig the piercing". he attempted a septum but dean told him it was ugly and cody had never heard that word come his way ever and it surprisingly scared the shit outta him. he stuck with his little diamond stud till the tattoos started rollin in more heavily. apparently committing to both was too much work. he got a very weird, oddly placed neck design that made everyone grimace. (he was drunk and orton was practicing)

cody fucking hates beer. "its effervescent hot piss. fuckin miss me please". he much prefers rum based drinks.

he's an affectionate drunk. tells all the guys "he loves them". when he starts getting teary eyed, they know he's had too much.

cody was slightly affected by the "dashing" thing. on his inner arm theres a small black inked square covering what used to read "PBR", which means pretty boy rhodes. once again. kinda drunk, and jey was practicing.

cody was very briefly the tattoo test dummy. he stopped when he realized he was wasting skin on amateur work.

cody doesn't think he has superior music taste, but he likes what he likes. radiohead, the smashing pumpkins, jeff buckely (a girl he dated for 2 weeks in HS introduced him to jeff. probably the only fruitful thing from those two weeks of hell) when he's feeling a little angsty and stevie wonder because dusty played the classic shit.

leather jackets. dark browns and old worn black leather jackets. always smelling like cinnamon. the girls fucking loved it. most times with worn boots. a lot of layering in the winter/fall. long sleeve white tees under crew necks. band tee tanks in the summer.

cody loves the matrix.

cody is a bare knuckle kinda boy in a fight. people who don't know him underestimate him because of the "PBR" stigma. but he's a bloodline kid through and through. gets bloody and a little dirty like the rest of them. has definitely let you wrap his knuckles a time or two after a particularly bad bar brawl. some asshole sliced his hand with a bottle. he used to be a tattoo test dummy though, so high pain tolerance.

#tanks of blood #tanks of blood headcanon #this is what you call muthafuckin world buildin #for fun #cody rhodes #biker!cody #biker!cody rhodes #biker au #this is an excuse for me to make collages #cody rhodes imagine #cody rhodes fanfiction #cody rhodes fic #au headcanons

[kastlequill]

knock, knock

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader word count: 1.4k summary: when an unstoppable force meets a movable object tags: whumptober, first meetings, bank robbery, rescue, hurt/comfort, fluff if you squint, civilian!reader, miguel is a dork, no y/n warnings: none ao3: read here

Work was awful; always was, always would be. But today differed in its awfulness.

Usually, work sucked because of power-tripping bosses, incompetent coworkers, and asshole customers. As a banker, you had grown accustomed to dealing with not-so-nice folks who were eager to withdraw funds or deposit a fat check. Today, however, went to shit for an entirely new set of reasons.

A blaster dug deeper into the small of your back. “Do you know where the vault is or not, lady?”

Robbing a bank. How original.

“Yes, I—” God, what could you even say? It wasn’t as if the nutjob would see reason. “I have the code. If you ease up a bit on the gun, I can open it for you. No one has to get hurt here.”

The few silent moments of deliberation filled you with unease. There was no telling how triggerhappy this guy was, nor how impulsive.

“Don’t even think about playing any games. I’ll vaporize you faster than you can scream for help,” he snarled directly into your ear, the fabric of his ski mask brushing against skin. The press of the blaster disappeared, and you exhaled in relief. “Lead the way.”

And so you did.

You were in no position to play hero, not when he could pull the trigger in a split second, and certainly not when your pay was barely above the minimum wage. Dying for a job that didn’t even care to provide you with a livable salary would fucking suck.

Luckily, you wouldn’t have to.

As you started to direct the intruder to the back of the building, adrenaline mounting and mind racing, a blur of red and blue suddenly cut across the room. With its speed came a gust of wind that ruffled your hair and drew your full attention toward the flurry of motion. At the center of the chaos stood a man who you’d only ever seen on the news, whether as a still photo printed in the papers or as a shaky video on TV filmed by some random passerby.

Spider-Man. Easily beating the absolute shit out of the guy who had threatened you mere moments ago.

While they were both distracted, you tiptoed back to the front counter, crawled into the space between your chair and the desk setup, then pushed the emergency button that dispatched law enforcement. But you knew help wouldn’t arrive for at least another fifteen minutes.

The joys of living in Nueva York.

From where you hid, it was possible to glean a fragmented view of the fight, criminal versus vigilante. The latter threw the former around as if he were merely a ragdoll, and the sheer ease with which the hero did so reminded you of a cat pawing at a helpless mouse, wanting to have a little fun before the ultimate kill. They exchanged words as well as punches, but your hearing didn’t extend so far as to hear the specifics of their no doubt hostile, undiplomatic conversation.

Commotion raged on; pained groans accompanied by the subsequent splintering wood as the robber’s body crashed into another desk, followed by resonant thuds as unnaturally-powerful fists rained down on him. Spider-Man held little back and had no qualms delivering a violent retribution.

Not that you had any, either.

Finally, after what seemed to be an endless brawl—if such a one-sided beating could even qualify as a brawl—there was silence at last. Complete and utter silence. No heavy breathing from exertion, no agonized howls, no groveling for mercy.

Just quiet. The type of quiet that settled over a desolate city post-natural disaster, that permeated the air in a bloodied warzone post-surrender.

Until a throat cleared from somewhere above. “You in there?”

When you glanced up, the face that greeted you wasn’t by definition a face, but rather a mask. Red lines framed where eyes laid hidden, and the expression into which the markings configured told of slight concern. The outline of his hulking figure was illuminated by the flickering of a broken light, occasionally revealing to you a skeletonized spider emblem on his torso.

You found yourself wanting to absorb every little detail, every pattern and design, because you didn’t think it statistically probable that you would see him again. If the universe was feeling benevolent, then these kinds of events would happen only once in a lifetime. Prior to today, you’d not had the pleasure of crossing paths with Death, nor had you the good fortune of being in the vicinity of one of the most wanted men in the city.

A great deal had changed since this morning, however. And, to be quite frank, you were ready for the world to return to normal, eager for tomorrow to begin and end without misery or mayhem—

His knuckles rapped the counter overhead. “Knock, knock.”

What the hell. Was this guy for real? He didn’t give you the impression of being the funny type, but neither did he seem the kind of guy to participate in idle chatter.

“Who’s there?” you replied, curious yet cautious.

“A little old lady.”

“A little old lady who?”

“Bank telling and yodeling? Talk about being talented,” he remarked with a low whistle of admiration.

At the cheesy punchline, you crawled out from your hiding spot, stood, and stretched a bit to assuage the ache that had settled in your muscles as a result of crouching for too long. You dusted off your knees once much of the tension had dissipated then fixed him with an unwavering stare, raising an unimpressed brow.

“I’ve got one more for you.” Spider-Man put his hands on his waist and lifted his chin. While true that his features were obscured, you’d bet his eyes had become narrowed and intent, determined to evoke your laughter. “Knock, knock.”

Fine, I’ll bite. “Who’s there?”

“Police.”

“Police who?”

“Police hurry up, I need to take my lunch break.”

Lunch break.

You hadn’t had the chance to go on yours, too preoccupied trying to survive being held at gunpoint. Mortifyingly, this realization caused a salty wet trail to travel the length of your cheek, then another, and then a choked sob bubbled forth against your will.

The hero cursed something you couldn’t quite catch under his breath and sheepishly rubbed a hand down his masked face. Clearly, comforting crying civilians didn’t come naturally to him the way combat did. Although, in his defense, few had the energy to navigate a hysterical woman’s emotions after just starting (and finishing) a fight.

“I didn’t mean. . . The jokes are stupid, I know—”

“—no, it’s not that.” You waved off the unwarranted apology and attempted to put a lid on the accumulated stress that had decided to manifest in the form of frustrated tears. “I just realized I didn’t even get to eat lunch, is all. I always clock out at 12:30, but that asshole threw everything off with his shitty robbery attempt, so now it’s 1:07, and we’re only allowed thirty minutes, and I still haven’t had any food today besides a soggy bagel this morning, and I’m so fucking tired, and he pulled a blaster on me—”

The rant quickly devolved into hurried gasps for air, your chest heaving, your lungs not fully functional. How embarrassing to be rendered to a state of hyperventilation, especially since an infamous vigilante was around to witness your crumbling composure.

“Deep breaths,” Spider-Man murmured, pulling you by the shoulders toward him, your nose connecting with his sternum. To you, such was an act of humanity free from ulterior motives; this hug was the simple conclusion to everything that had transpired. A solace. “That’s it, just breathe when I breathe.”

Easier said than done, but you could appreciate the sentiment all the same. Some minutes later, your lungs had begun to expand and contract at a regulated pace, heeding his own rhythm.

“You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Safe. Was it safety, then, that caused this warm fuzziness to bloom in your chest?

You couldn’t recall when you’d last felt this comforted by another’s presence, when you’d last been this at peace in a world overrun with strife and conflict. There was no telling how long you stayed wrapped up in his steady embrace, your respirations synced. The very passage of time seemed to halt, the two of you frozen in this singular moment.

Only when the wailing of sirens began to draw nearer did he remove himself from you and vacate the premises, swinging from one building to the next, further and further away.

Only when he left your line of sight did you finally shut your eyes, preparing yourself to be questioned by the approaching news anchors and police officers.

fin.

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara #spiderman x reader #spiderman #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #marvel #whumptober #my fic #fic: knock knock

[spookyspecterino]

New You

Sam Coe x GN! Reader x Delgado

GN! Reader. No pronouns, no use of Y/N, or reader descriptions used. Reader is called Rook a few times, like in some Crimson Fleet quests.

Some angst. A lot of explicit language. Implied sexual relationships. Pining for a criminal. Poor Sam. Sam is supportive but worried. Delgado is a warning all by himself.

You're there to watch as the pirates you've worked beside for months are taken to prison. They have a few things they'd like to say.

This is about the Crimson Fleet Undercover plot.

I just started the questline. I have no idea how it ends of if anything along these lines even happens. My brain literally bullied me into writing it 😭 I stopped everything to write this lmao.

I really love the theme of going undercover, assimilating, and then having to deal with who you've become and how you've changed after everything. So there's some of that in here.

“You sure you wanna be here for this?”

“I have to see it through, Sam. After months of being undercover, it wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t.”

He grunts softly. “Alright. Just prepare yourself for pirates to be, well, pirates.”

Doors open on the other side of the transport deck. A squad of UC security and Naval troops, all decked out to the nines, file in, holding mean looking rifles.

The sounds of trouble already echo through the open door.

“Ya fuckin’ bastards! Let me go, I didn’t do jack shit!” A mane of red-brown hair comes in the doorway first as Mathis is quite literally shoved through. It was no surprise that he’s giving everyone trouble.

It doesn’t take much time for him to notice you standing to the side. “You!” He snarls. “I’m gonna put a bullet through your head if it’s the last thing I ever do!”

The laugh that comes out of you is rough, full of vile, and cruel delight. “Shut the hell up, Mathis. The last thing you’ll ever do is rot in a two-by-four cell. I hope they make it cold just for you!”

Mathis screams more explicit insults, most geared toward your mother. The guards fight and yank at the man, rifles raised. Still, they manage to subdue him, robbing you of a chance to put Mathis down yourself. You’re laughing until he’s well past the other doorway and out of sight, you hoped he could hear it from down the hall.

“Seems like a real winner. Good friend of yours?” Sam asks, studying you.

“Fuck no. Hated that asshole from the moment he opened his mouth, to be perfectly honest. I’m going to sleep well knowing he’s going through his worst nightmare.”

Sam’s face pinches together, you only catch a glimpse of it from the corner of your eye. His mouth twists, as if he has more than just, “Ah, I see.”

“Have something you wanna say?” The response is snappy, challenging, automatic—something you had to adopt in the midst of pirates, and you regret it immediately. “I…I didn’t mean that…” You sigh, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“It’s alright. I get it. Just try to remember you’re not a pirate anymore.”

“Yeah...I’m working on it.”

His eyes linger. You can feel his thoughtful gaze. It makes you itch.

Pirate life was at least simplistic. Somebody had a problem? You’d know about it immediately. A short knife fight or a brawl and it’d be over. Done.

Being around Sam again was…well it would take an adjustment period.

Months of pirate life, a life you’d adapted to very quickly, and you’re spit back out into civilization on the other side. There was no guidance on how to go back to “everyday life”—on how to shed this new person you’d become.

It’s infuriating. Everyone expects you to pick back up from where you left off…but you can’t. You’re not the same person anymore. Sometimes you wake up and think you’re still on the Key.

Sometimes you wish you were still on the Key.

“I can see you thinking behind that wall of silence.” Sam gently says. His voice sounds so loud on the empty transport deck. “Just know that I’m here for you—always will be. You wanna talk about what happened during those months, you can come to me, judgement free. Promise.”

When you don’t respond, Sam chuckles. “You’re always so quiet now—which is fine,” he’s quick to add, “I just want to help.”

“Yeah…thanks.” Is all you can manage as the transport deck’s doors open again and more armed personnel file through.

Naeva is silent, head held high…until she catches sight of you.

“Oh, it’s on when I get out of here, Rook!” She spits through her teeth, trying to lunge for you. The guards stop her, pull her back into line, but her body remains tense.

“Looking forward to it, Naeva.” A cruel grin breaks free. “You know, I never killed that other Rook you sent me after. Austin Rake. He’s at some Starport, drinking for free right now.”

“You fucking traitor! You’d better be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your damn life! ‘Cause when you don’t, I’ll be there to put a knife through your back!”

“We’ll see about that. I’m sure you’ll get a knife through yours first. Delgado probably isn’t happy that it was your recruit who brought his empire down around him.”

She grins, something dangerous lurks in her expression. “Oh, I’m sure Delgado has some plans for you, Rook. After everything, I can’t imagine how you’re gonna look him in the eyes.” They’re nearing the other doors, Naeva’s trying to twist back to face you, fighting the pushing and pulling of her security escort. “You know he trusted you. Honest to God. Have fun living with that for the rest of your life, traitor!”

Her words hit a nerve. You were very careful not to let it show. Still…it hurt.

As the doors close, Sam turns to face you. “Listen, why don’t we just go? This isn’t healthy.”

“Not really focused on whether it’s healthy or not.”

“That’s part of my point. You have to get away from this stuff, away from the Fleet. This whole thing is just going to give you more to think about and keep you awake at night.”

Lashing out and snapping back a retort is what you want to do. But instead, you take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

His voice turns soft, pleading. “Don’t go silent again. Please, talk to me.”

“Sam,” you start, very carefully, “I need this. This is my closure.”

“Are you sure?” His blue eyes were soft, full of worry.

More questions—and feelings. It agitated you. Made you grind your teeth together. “I’m sure.”

He looks away, frowning. He’d probably bring it up again, but future you would have to deal with that. Right now, you were more focused on—

Doors slid open. Your heart skips with that familiar flutter while a hard knot forms in your stomach.

Delgado walks, freely, without any guards touching him, through the doorway. He’s given space and walks leisurely as if he owns the Vanguard. There’s no hassling, there’s no pushing.

You’re expecting the worst—or for him not even to look at you. Instead, he holds your stare with a faint smile. “Hold up.” And the guards around him actually stop.

You know that look in his eyes, you’ve seen it a hundred times, your feet move without any command or thought.

Delgado. Leader of the Crimson Fleet. Even if you tried, you couldn’t spare him.

He steps away from the security unit. One last private meeting with the man who owned you, heart and soul, for the last few months.

“I was wondering whether I’d see you here.”

Why are you smiling? “Couldn’t resist the urge to tell Mathis one last time to go fuck himself.”

He chuckles. It sends your nerves out of whack. “I’m very impressed by you. Playing the part that well…” he tilts his head, a secretive smile just for the two of you catches at his lips. “…certainly had me fooled.”

Late nights in dim lighting. Cigarette smoke. Legs tangled up in sheets. Whispers. Rare laughter. It floods back, threatening to break your tough façade.

“Tell me, mi tesoro, are you prepared to go back to the life of normalcy? With your,” He leans over, looking Sam up and down with open distaste, who stands further back—arms crossed and glaring, “little Vaquero?”

“I’m working on it.”

Delgado barks out a laugh. “I know this person you are now. You’ll never be satisfied again.” There’s a teasing glint in his eye that you’re stubbornly avoiding.

“My life before the Fleet was just as exciting and satisfying.”

He hums, his smile turning darker. “I doubt that very much. There isn’t anything so thrilling as robbing a GalBank transport and returning home to celebrate with drinks and…” He pauses, eyes scanning you. “Well, that last part is just between you and me, eh?” His eyes flickered to Sam, then back. “Can he give you that?”

You chuckle, it’s forced. “Delgado. Jealous to a fault. Some things never change.”

“You know he can’t.”

“He can give me something else. Happiness. Security. Maybe even be a life-long partner.”

“And I couldn’t? You insult me, my dear. I would have given you everything.”

“Just as long as you had what you wanted first.”

He holds up a finger. “We obviously know one another very well. So, I offer you this. If you ever get tired of playing nice in a universe that is anything but, you know where to find me.”

“You’re serious?” Your voice lowers to a hiss. “And what, break you out of high security prison just for you to kill me? No thanks.”

“On my word, all debts and grievances would be squared. Think of it. I’d have you by my side—we could build something better than the Fleet ever was. Be free of the UC, the Rangers, everything. Like we always talked about.”

A guard behind him starts walking over. “Alright, time’s up. Let’s go.”

You’re frowning, eyes flickering anywhere but his. “You’re insane.”

Delgado’s expression turns. The light fading from his eyes. “You’ve never been satisfied. It’s something I really like about you.”

He lets the guard corral him back to the others. Your fists are tightly gripped. “The person you knew was undercover.”

“Tell yourself whatever makes you feel better.”

As he’s escorted away, you want to follow. Your legs tense, trying to keep still. His parting words before he passes through the door are, “I’ll be seeing you.”

Then he’s gone. The transport deck feels emptier than it ever has been.

Never satisfied. A life of normalcy. Going back to surveying planets and doing odd jobs for the Rangers. The idea claws at you. Your mind battles with the concept, with the unspoken feelings. Remnants of your past self against whoever you are now.

We could build something better than the Fleet ever was.

You know where to find me.

Sam walks up, standing by your side. Watching. You hadn’t moved. Still staring at the closed doors.

“What did he mean, ‘I’ll be seeing you’?”

The lie is easy. “No idea.”

#sam coe x reader #Delgado x Reader #It's a love triangle folks #gn reader #Sam Coe #Delgado #Starfield

[therainningtown]

Hello! Feel free to ignore this if it makes you uncomfy! May I please request a male MC getting genuinely pissed at the other demons (not the brothers) in the Devildom? Like I think someone makes one too many “Y’know Mammon is pretty useless” / “Asmo is about as useful as Beel is smart.” comments or something along that lines and MC just starts a full on brawl. I want to see all 7 brothers staring at the fight like “👁️👄👁️ 🧍‍♂️”Bonus points if MC wins! It’s up to you if it ends with fluff or angst I just wanna see angry MC lmao. Thank you in advance!!

HELL THE FUCK—*Cough* *Cough* Sure :3

Mc Getting PISSED At Other Demons For Insulting The Brothers

Lucifer:

His outer reaction would be that of dissatisfaction.

But on the inside, he’s clenching his chest.

He just…Never had someone do that to defend him. Especially you, who is weaker than the demon you faced.

But he can’t make it a habit.

So he lectures you, very lightly. That akin to a slap on the wrist.

He knows you got insane satisfaction for it. But one must not fight for the avatar of pride.

Mammon:

You know Lucifer’s inner reaction?

Yeah that’s Mammon on the inside and outside.

He can’t believe it! His precious Mc, fought in his name ﾟ.+(〃ﾉωﾉ)ﾟ.+°

Though, he’s your first man! He should be defending you!

Not the opposite way around! so no fighting anymore Mc.

He must protect you from the mean demons now.

Leviathan:

W-WHAT?!?!?

He can’t believe his own ears!!

“B-but I’m just a worthless..Mmhp.” Yeah just shut him up.

You say that he’s your bestest of friends, and he doesn’t deserve that type of talk.

His eyes start to glaze, “Y-You…You’re so sweeet Mccc, My Hennnry!”

He starts to cry, And Henry is judging you both.

Satan:

“Mc? What did we say about biting their ankles?” “Not to do it.” “And what did you do?” “Bite their eyeball…” “Wait what?”

Joking aside, he already knew what you accomplished.

He felt that rage in the pact, and how some people talked about the green glow.

He actually lectures you about it, he knows wrath. And it ain’t pretty for anyone including yourself.

Then he checks for any injuries. *Gotta make sure babe is okay!*

Asmodeus:

“Oh Mc~ You make feel so many things!” He fawns as you and the guy you’re beating up stare at him.

“Just continue…” “Gladly.”

After you’re finally done, Asmo jumps and attacks you with love. *Take it as you will.*

Its that. He never had someone do that for him.

He may be adored, but many of his fans don’t really help.

And you keep throwing surprises at him!

You really are a fantastic person~

Beelzebub:

“Mc, no.” “Mc, YES!”

Despite Beel’s size and his sports.

He never wants to jump into violence. Since of some…things.

He grabbed your flailing figure and walked away from the injured demon.

But he still gets the fuzzy feeling of love in his stomach and heart. <3

“I don’t want you hurt Mc…How about some ice cream? It helps me cool down!”

“Hm? What do you mean, ‘don’t put it on your muscles again?’”

Belphegor:

“BEAT HIS ASS HOE! BEAT HIS ASS HOE!”

Yeah, he ain’t doing a lot, but whatcha expect from the avatar of sloth himself?

But all that aside, he has mixed feelings about this.

1.He doesn’t like seeing you hurt or anything. 2.You really shouldn’t resort to violence that often.

How he is suppose to cuddle if you’re covered in casts?!

After a bit, he actually gets super bored and just groans to you.

“Mccc, can we go now? I need your lap to nap.”

—•—•—•—

Basically Mc:

#obey me mc #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me leviathan #obey me beelzebub #obey me satan #obey me fluff #obey me crack #obey me gn!mc

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Cat Demon of Doom - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Vi goes toe to toe with One Bad Bitch.

@frostybearpaws

lmk if anything needs to be changed<3

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO on AO3

Snippet:

"What—?"

Vi is back in the ring, face-to-face with her second opponent. Or—face-to-midriff is a better descriptor.

The woman is full-blooded Vastayan—broad as a barge. Her proportions are uncannily Sphynx-like. A sphynx dunked in a vat of pink dye that gnawed at her fur, leaving behind a washed-pink pelt, tufted at the joints and mottled with old burns. The Vastayan's ears are large, feline, the tips raggedy from torn-off piercings. Between a scraggly mane, her eyes glint a piercing hazel. A scar crosses the bridge of her nose, and her mouth is a rictus of barbed teeth.

She looks like a cat-demon, ready to feast on Vi's entrails.

Vi gives her an appraising stare. No bad angles; no weak lines. This is a pro. Again, that coldwater chill resurfaces. A shapeless trickle of fear.

Blowing a fringe of hair off her face, Vi shoulders up to meet her opponent.

In the center of the ring, they touch gloves. The Vastayan's smile suggests this will be no different from stomping out a cockroach. Vi offers no reaction to the contrary. An overconfident opponent is easier to take down.

Again, the promoter lays down the stakes. Again, a collective roar goes through the crowd.

Vi and the Vastayan collide head-on. Her style is predictably bloodthirsty. Her fist shears through the air. Vi ducks, feeling the Vastayan's arm gust over her head in a powerful sweep, like a wrecking-ball's trajectory. If the blow connected, her skull would've been pulverized.

Swiveling on her heel, powering from her hips, Vi lets rip with her own right hook to the Vastayan's gut. Her flesh contracts in a rippling wave. She grunts, staggering before righting herself.

Vi backs away, bobbing on her tiptoes, and throws stiff jabs, elbows snapping out at the end. Typically, a pitty-patter approach isn't her style. But Vander had taught her that a smart strategy for a bigger opponent is to keep them at a distance. Always counterpunching, always flowing. 

If he's got thin skin or brittle bones, he’d say, the right jab at the right spot'll knock his lights out.

The Vastayan crowds in. One of Vi's blows catches her near the orbital ridge. There is a crunch. Pink fur flies. Blood flows, trickling into her eye socket. She blinks, and a pellucid film sweeps over her eyeballs. A membrane, Vi realizes. A second lid to protect fluid from blinding her.

Fuck.

Sensing Vi's dismay, the Vastayan smiles.

Then she swings.

Vi sees the fist crashing down as if from a great height: a God-Hand of doom. She swerves, but the blow glances off her shoulder, rocking her sideways with a bone-deep judder. Pain blitzes through her arm. Teeth gritted, Vi pivots and counterpunches. Her fist collides with the same spot as before, a snapping gut-punch. The Vastayan wobbles—Oof—then bares teeth limned in gray before bullrushing Vi.

The crowd stir in a gleeful susurration as the opponents circle each other, a rough figure eight across the sawdust, the Vastayan pursuing, Vi in retreat. She knows her opponent's game. Overrun Vi through sheer size, wearing her down in a game of attrition, before closing in for the kill.

Vi needs a better strategy.

Again, Vander's words reverberate: The right jab at the right spot'll knock his lights out.

They are overlapped by Sevika's parting shot: Go for the instep.

Fuck.

The instep.

Vi's eyes flick down, then up. The Vastayan is barefoot. A pair of vein-mapped appendages, grimed in dirt and tufted with fur, but entirely unguarded.

A cigarette flies through the gap in the barbwire cage, hitting the Vastayan's furred arm with a hiss. She snarls, head whipping toward the culprit. Through the blur of bodies, Vi swears that she glimpses Ran coalescing like a phantom back into the shadows.

Then it hits her.

Now's the chance to put the brawl to bed.

The cigarette falls near Vi's feet. She stomps it out as she blitzes forward. The Vastayan notices, firing off a dynamite left to keep Vi clear. Vi weaves nimbly around the blow, adrenaline zipping in her veins, that ecstatic clarity that turns every moment into a burst of slo-mo choreography. Dancing under the Vastayan's cinch, she stomps, hard, on her instep, twisting her torso at the same moment to launch her fist square into the Vastayan's face with all the force her body can summon.

There is the clash of two hard objects coming together. The more brittle of the two gives way. The Vastayan's snout caves in with a crack of cartilage. Blood splatters. Her fists fly up to her face. The moment it happens, Vi snags her ankle and twists sideways.

Like a tree felled by lightning, the Vastayan topples. The crash reverberates all the way to the rafters of the basement.

The crowd lets off a collective whoosh of breath—Aaaaaaaaah.

The Vastayan snarls, red spittle flying from her busted nose. Vi closes in, shutting down that part of her mind that knows mercy. She deals her opponent a final shot that impacts like a tranquilizer dart to her forehead. One brutal roundhouse to make lights flash-pop behind the Vastayan's eyes before—bam—it's fucking bedtime.

The Vastayan falls slack. Her liquid gurgles fill the suddenly stagnant air. The crowd is stunned to silence.

Then the chant begins: Five…four…three...two...

The Vastayan still hasn't moved. Her eyes blink blearily. Blood bubbles from her broken nose. When the gates swing open, three of her buddies arrive to haul her upright and help her stagger away. One of them tosses their drink at Vi. A cup bounces off her bruised shoulder, iced liquor splattering the sawdust.

Vi gives them the finger.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward (never forget)/xoxo #forward but never forget/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane vi #violet #vi #arcane sevika #sevika #arcane vander #vander

[orchestrated-haunting]

Random dnd headcannons I had for some characters of the epic cycle because I just had neurons activate. This is gonna be long so they’re mostly under the cut.

Odysseus would be the DM, making riddles and puzzles for the party that he thinks is pretty easy to solve, but the party still spends the entire session trying to solve it.

He likes to fuck around with everyone. Has a doppelgänger infiltrated the party? Yeah probably. Has someone been following the party? Most likely. The party has to be on their toes at all times.

Odysseus plans far in advance for his sessions and somehow (like every dnd party does) the party goes in the completely opposite direction, so Odysseus is improving the majority of the sessions, but thanks to his storytelling abilities literally no one can tell unless Odysseus expresses how much he’s flying by the seat of his pants.

Achilles would prefer to play martial classes like fighter or barbarian. It’s not that he doesn’t like the spell casting classes, he just prefers to be on the front line. Give him a lvl 20 fighter and that man will go HAM.

He falls head over heels for every NPC he meets. He wants to smooch every single one. The rest of the party just sigh at his antics.

He and doors hate each other (he spent like 5 turns trying to open a locked door before he eventually got pissed off and just broke it down).

Patroclus prefers tanky classes that can also support the others so cleric and paladin are the classes he tends to play.

That being said he still loves to do damage. His main build is almost always a battle cleric so he can still heal but leave the majority of it to someone who is exclusively a healer.

Hector, man, he’d likely multiclass between something that’s support but also a martial class. I could see him playing a Paladin build the most often.

I think he tried to play a full caster class once and decided there was just to many things to keep on top of for himself, but he still enjoyed how useful spells are so he doesn’t mind a half caster class.

And while the majority of the party are probably chaotic neutral, he plays almost exclusively lawful characters. His characters almost always have a strict set of morals and a code that they follow.

I could see Paris playing caster classes. Give him any charisma caster, warlock, bard, etc. and he is having the time of his life.

Like Achilles I think he would try and romance so many NPCs, and boy does he use that charisma stat to its full potential. If he’s a bard you better assume he’s also using bardic inspiration on himself.

Penthesilea and Achilles are always trying to one up each other. She almost exclusively plays barbarians and if Achilles is playing one as well they WILL keep a kill count to see who ends up having killed the most by the end of the campaign.

She’s the starter of the tavern brawls, to which Achilles and Patroclus gladly join in. She’s also the one who is always the test dummy if the party is afraid of traps or failing a puzzle.

“What if it’s trapped??”

“I open the door.”

“Take 2d6 fire damage.”

At first you’d think Circe would play spellcasting classes but she does enough of that as is she’d want to do something completely opposite like a rouge. She’d love that.

I can see her giggling after pick pocketing one of the other party members while she just waits for them to figure it out. She’s a menace in a different way than either Achilles of Paris.

She’s not trying to romance any NPCs if she wanted to romance someone she’d just choose a real person. But boy her characters have sticky fingers.

#the epic cycle #homer’s illiad #homer’s odyssey #homeric epics #odysseus #achilles #hector of troy #paris of troy #penthesilea #circe #orchestrated writing

[harunayuuka2060]

MC and Mephistopheles: *being both competitive in their respective roles*

Mephistopheles: I hate you so much that I hoped you were never born.

MC: My dear parents took them a thousand nights to conceive me, you bastard. How dare you to tell me that?

Mephistopheles: ...

Mephistopheles: *bursts out laughing*

MC: *frowns* Why? Do you think it's funny? Well I'm sure it wasn't hard for your parents because you were born from a pre-c*m.

Mephistopheles: Hey!

*from the backstage*

Simeon: *finds the lines amusing because he didn't write those off*

Solomon: Are they still following the storyline?

Simeon: Ah, yes. No need to worry about it.

Lucifer: Simeon, I need to ask you about something.

Simeon: Yes?

Lucifer: The theme is deadly romance of two demons who hate each other, and yet...

Lucifer: The title is "You should kiss by the end"?

Simeon: Ah, well... That's an ultimatum.

Lucifer: ...

Lucifer: Good thinking.

*There's a scene in the play where Mephisto got kidnapped and MC went to save him*

Levi: Why would you save him when you despise him the most?

MC: ...

MC: Why do you care?

Levi: Wha-

Mephistopheles: You're not going to get a decent answer from an idiot-

MC: *fires his cell with iceberg*

Mephistopheles: WHAT THE FUCK?!!

MC: Shut up and wait to be saved.

Diavolo: The play was so good, but...

Diavolo: We didn't manage to finish it.

Simeon: Yes. Well, we could just turn it into a drama series.

Mephistopheles: Oh, please. I can't spend another minute with this-

MC: *smacks him*

Mephistopheles and MC: *goes into a full brawl*

Barbatos: It seems that they were holding back since the start of the play.

Mammon: They were holding back?

#obey me #obey me mc #obey me mephistopheles #obey me lucifer #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me levi #obey me mammon #obey me barbatos #the two are archenemies

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 15: Standing up for them

@forlorn-crows you know how I said there’d be hockey au? 

Pairing: Mountain/Rain, implied Aether/Swiss/Dew

Rating: Teen

Words: 758

Contains: Hockey AU (Goalie!Mountain, Left Winger!Rain, Defenseman!Aether), fistfighting 

I have drawn Mounty’s helmet before if you’d like to take a look!

...

The easiest way to start a fight is to fuck with a goalie. The goalie might not start something, but their teammates sure will. 

It’s halfway through the third period, the Ghouls are up four to one against the Holy Hitters, and they’re starting to get desperate. Despite their name, they play dirty. They cross check when the refs aren’t looking, elbows get thrown in every corner, and their chirps cross the line into threats. 

One of their forwards, a burly man close to Swiss’s size, gets the puck, skating towards the Ghouls’ defensemen, Aether and Cirrus. He races down the ice and Mountain gets into position, eyes not leaving the puck. Aether and Cirrus follow closely, sticks reaching but coming short as they skate backwards. 

The forward shoves through Aether and Cirrus, before setting his eyes on Mountain. Mountain bends his knees, ready to drop down if he tries to shoot. 

He doesn’t try to shoot. The forward keeps skating, full speed, turning so his shoulder is the first thing that makes impact with Mountain’s chest. 

There’s several layers of padding between them, but Mountain still feels his shoulder dig into his sternum. His skates go out from under him, and the momentum sends him back and down. There’s a resounding clang as the back of his helmet hits the crossbar, and his back hits the ice a moment later. The breath is knocked out of him, and the goal’s come off of its posts. 

Mountain shoves the forward off of himself, instinctively getting back onto his skates as the ref calls for stoppage of play to get the goal fixed. 

The whistle sounds again, multiple times, and Mountain looks over his shoulder. His mouth falls open, half astonished, half amused.

Rain’s skating hard at the forward who knocked him off his feet, gloves and stick falling to the ice. Even from here, Mountain can see the unbridled rage in Rain’s eyes. 

Rain’s not a fighter. The Ghouls players most likely to start a fight are Swiss and Dew, and Sunshine’s gotten herself into a few brawls, but Rain’s never fought. Rain’s not exactly little, like Dew, and he’s not quite as strong as Aether or Swiss, but he’s still lithe and fast. Rain grabs the Hitters forward by the collar of his jersey and starts swinging. 

The Hitter doesn’t just stand there and take it, he swings back, knocking Rain’s helmet off, busting his lip. This doesn’t stop Rain. He keeps swinging, pulling hard enough on the Hitter’s jersey that he loses balance, going down to the ice with Rain on top of him. 

Aether skates up to Mountain, gathering Rain’s dropped gear as the rest of their team watches the fight. “Are you okay, Mounty? Heard you hit the crossbar.”

Mountain spares Aether a quick glance before looking back to Rain. He shrugs, raising the hand with his catcher to try and cover his smile, which he’s sure makes him look dopey and does not help him convince Aether that he’s fine. “I’ve gotten my bell rung harder than that before. I’m good.”

Aether sighs, knocking his shoulder into Mountain’s. “Not dizzy or anything?”

“I’ve been concussed before, Aeth. I will let someone know if I start feeling it, promise,” Mountain swears, grabbing blindly for his water bottle on top of the net. He shoves his lid up and takes a drink before spraying himself in the face, washing away the sweat dripping from his auburn hair. 

“I still want you to talk to the trainer after this, okay?” Aether says, leaning in towards him. “Just to ease my mind.”

Mountain nods, pulling his lid back down. He can’t see it, but his fingers brush over the oak leaf geraniums painted just over his cheek. 

The refs haul Rain off of the Hitter forward, and he looks feral. His dark curls are sweat soaked and wild, there’s still white hot rage in his eyes, and, as he looks over his shoulder as he’s escorted to the penalty box, he grins at Mountain, licking the blood from his teeth. 

Mountain feels heat flare in his stomach as he smiles back at Rain. He turns to Aether as the penalty box door closes. “So… I know you, Swiss, and Dew have a thing, but do you think I could hit the showers first tonight?”

 Aether laughs, throwing his arm out to pat Mountain’s shoulder. “Get your head checked out first, bud. Then you can go after our left wing.”

“I think, Cap, that he’s gonna go after me.”

#i did briefly consider asking my father what it sounds like getting hit in the head #(he plays pickup as a goalie) #but then I would have had to explain why I'm asking and I'd rather not #mushy may #happy mountain Monday #mountain/rain #mountain ghoul #rain ghoul #the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost #my writing

[vintage-bentley]

in depth harry potter spoiler warning. but i wanted to talk about gay!dumbledore. what jkr really does well is the adult backstories. you meet the adult characters from an eleven year old’s perspective. as harry ages (in the last book he’s seventeen) he gradually learns new things about the adults and gains a better understanding of them as full people. but every single one of these adults was already the full person harry understands them as in book 7 all the way back in book 1. a lot of other ya authors try to imitate this and fuck up, either because they get excited and jump the gun, giving us way too much info way too soon, or because it’s blatant that the complexity was added later. dumbledore is a great example. in book 1 when harry first learns who he is (from the back of a candy box trading card with commentary from his friend ron) he’s this highly revered wizard who famously defeated the greatest dark wizard of all time pre-voldemort in a duel. when harry meets him it’s noted that his nose is crooked like it had been broken and never healed correctly. there’s a mirror that shows you your greatest wish and when harry asks what dumbledore sees he says a nice pair of knitted socks. harry can tell he’s lying but doesn’t push because he realizes that was a really personal question, but he doesn’t know dumbledore well enough to know what the truth would be. we get the full backstory drop in book 7. the simple version is: when dumbledore was a young man he was extremely close to another young man, one his brother didn’t like. they wind up in a three way brawl, dumbledore’s sister gets caught in the crossfire and dies. boyfriend up and leaves, brother breaks dumbledore’s nose at the funeral, boyfriend goes on to be the powerful dark wizard that dumbledore battles decades later. so even though harry didn’t know that backstory in book 1, it’s clear looking back it was already a part of him. anyway this is why it drives me bonkers when people say that dumbledore wasn’t gay in the books and jkr just said that after the fact for clout, because it’s an integrated part of his character and arc and has clearly been what jkr had in mind from the get go. no, harry doesn’t get the definition of homosexuality talk but homosexuality is absolutely there (and in more than just how close he and evil wizard were in backstory, in book 7 a homophobic tabloid journalist insinuates dumbledore was molesting harry). people act like him being gay was a retcon when it was just jkr being honest about what she wrote. sorry for the novel but yeah

Don’t be sorry, I’m glad to have this context!! Like I said, I haven’t read or watched HP so I’m completely clueless here and don’t really want to praise or bash Rowling over something I don’t know about. I lean towards praise though because it seems like anyone not caught on the “I hate JKR!” Bandwagon claims that Gay Dumbledore was handled well.

I really like the concept of finding out more about the adults as the child protagonist ages and gains new insight!

Tbh I imagine that this is a similar situation to GO S1: it’s not technically canon because it’s not explicit, and readers/viewers who either don’t want to see homosexuality, or are too entrenched in heteronormativity to think of spotting it, won’t see it. But LGB people and possibly even allies will spot it, because they’re either used to reading between the lines or are willing to see it.

So I don’t think she should be praised for explicit gay representation, which I haven’t seen anyone claiming (although like I said, I haven’t read the books so it’s possible I’d change my mind if I read them). But she’s much different from Neil in that she’s said “yes, it was my intention that he was gay, and there’s clues in the text that point to this and prove my intentions”. Neil has been like “yeah we called him the f slur and made him a gay stereotype for the laughs, but no he’s not gay. He can be literally anything else though”.

#asks #anon

[notalexhorne]

Another absolutely pants Taskmaster thing I love is that the panel has five people. Five. It's a stupid number and people are always complaining about it, and it's perfect. But it's perfect because it makes people complain. It's perfect because it makes the teams unfair. They could have just not had teams, and the five-person panel would never have even been a problem, but they created this problem for themselves entirely to sow chaos.

The panel being inherently unfair plays into the weird lore of the show. I mean, it's a game show. It doesn't need lore. Countdown doesn't have lore. Would I Lie To You doesn't have lore. QI doesn't have lore. Taskmaster showed up and has this entire weird conceit that we all just kind of agreed to accept and nobody ever really questions. There's this lunatic that makes comedians stay at his clown house and do weird things for him that don't make sense under the supervision of his personal assistant that he's having an inappropriate relationship with, and then the winner gets to take home a useless prize. And if they win enough useless prizes, they get to take home a terrible trophy.

What the fuck is that?

But the teams are an illusion, because it's not a team game. It's not like Would I Lie to You, or Countdown, or Never Mind the Buzzcocks. It's a free for all bare-knuckle brawl, where team tasks are a distraction from the main goal. In many cases, a person's greatest competition winds up being one of their own teammates. And I feel like this isn't by accident either, since often people on the podcast say that team days come after they've been isolated for a while. And because nobody knows their point score until often months down the line, there's no way to know if it would be of any benefit to throwing everything into doing well on team days, or going full Rhod Gilbert and just sabotaging everything and gambling your points in the name of making sure your teammate/s also get nothing.

It truly does not matter that having three people on a team is more often than not beneficial because that's the point. The panel knows that going in, or they wouldn't agree to do a show that is fundamentally unfair by design. Because team tasks aren't team tasks at all. It just took until series 14 for Alex to codify it by putting sabotage in writing. But the option of sabotage has been there from the beginning. There was a wild sabotage task all the way back in series 4, but it just wasn't written with such explicit language. Series 10 and 12 both had tasks where a third team member were irrelevant, so Johnny and Guz were basically told to go sit on a chair and stay out of the way.

I feel like the only reason we don't see more outright sabotage is because on the whole, casting has been fairly weighted toward people who are more likely to play nice overall. But it has happened, as we've seen with Rhod, and now that it's been openly codified and encouraged by Alex as part of a task mechanic, we may be more likely to see it happen organically in the future.

Of course the teams are unfair. Alex wouldn't have designed that by accident. If he wanted the teams to be fair, Taskmaster would have an even-numbered panel like every other panel show on television.

But the show is built on chaos. Of course the teams are unfair. That's the whole point of them.

#taskmaster #alex horne

[neverland93]

Peter Pan imagine/ Fall Apart

“She told me that I’m not enough “ Peter said with his head down

“And ?” Felix , his best bud asked

“She left me with a broken heart!” He almost yelled

Talking about Wendy

“Come on, you got mermaids and Indians all over you, you can’t be this heartbroken.” Felix said trying to make him feel better

“She fooled me twice and it’s all my fault.” He said with his face in his hands

“Listen Pan, Wendy wasn’t good for you, you know this, she was just , just-“ before felix could speak Pan interrupted

“ENOUGH! There’s too many thoughts going through my brain.” Pan yelled at Felix

“So then what are we gonna do tonight? You know it’s the big brawl. Everyone is going all out.” Felix asked

“Well, I guess just have my poker face on. Nobody can know me and Wendy broke up, just okay it off.” Pan said as he walked outside, preparing for the night.

He see’s you and you nod and smile , you do the same

You and him had a neutral relationship. You were found on the shore trying to catch a breath from the water you inhaled, Pan had helped you and let you stay on the island ever since.

You sit by your friend tiger Lilly , she was princess of the Indians and daughter of head chief on Neverland.

“Excited about tonight?” She asked you

You shrugged your shoulders “It’s the same thing every night, we’ll get too drunk to remember anything and we all wake up with a terrible hangover, don’t you wanna do something different?” You asked her

“Like what?” Tiger Lilly asked

“Like jumping in the lake in the freezing cold, it’s turning winter, trying to make a new soup from searching the Herbs we have on the island, or picking out new sea shells I’m constantly finding on the shore.” You say

“You sure are full of possibilities aren’t you?” Tiger said teasing you

“I just- I just want something different.” You say sighing as the night was getting started.

“Alright everyone gather around.” Peter said in a soft tone

You became curious, this wasn’t like him

“Let’s just get tonight over with, someone start a game.” Pan said

“Let’s play Charades!” A lost boy yelled

“No truth or dare?” An other boy yelled

“Where’s Wendy doesn’t she usually pass out the rum?” A older lost boy said

“She’s not coming.” Pan stated upset

“Why not?” A younger lost boy said

“Because I said so why the fuck are you asking so many questions?” Pan said with an attitude

“Uh pan?” Felix asked “Let’s just start off with charades and I’ll pass out the rum okay?”

Pans nods his head

Felix comes with a bottle of rum and pours everyone a shot of it

“Make mine a double, triple.” Pan said

“You sure?” Felix asked

“Don’t ever ask that again.” Pan started at Felix annoyed as ever

“Just making sure Pan.” Felix asked

“I’m gonna take these shots like they’re Novocain.” Pan said as he drank the whole thing at once.

Felix went along the line

“No thanks.” You said when he came towards you

“Really?” Felix asked

“Yeah I’m fine, I’ll be cleaning duty, I have a feeling I’ll be up all night anyway.” You said smiling at Felix

“Well okay then thanks more for us!” Felix said and moved on

Peter looked at you sipping his drink but didn’t say much

Everyone is playing games through out the night and getting very intoxicated, you laugh at them and join in the games while cleaning up everyone’s mess at the same time.

Sooner than later the lost boys passed out on the logs, their tents, and some on the tree swings Pan built through out the years.

You were cleaning up still and just getting everything done Pan woke up in the midst of you cleaning and dropping a couple things on the ground

“Sheesh.” He woke up rubbing his head

“I’m sorry Pan I didn’t mean to wake you.” You said worried

“What are you doing anyway?” He asked you a little annoyed

“I’m cleaning.” You stated, thinking it was pretty obvious.

“Why?” He asked

“Someone has to do it.” You smiled and shrugged

He smiled as well

“let’s go.” He said gesturing you to walk with him and you did so.

Walking through the woods with him you were a little bit nervous and confused, why all of a sudden, why now?

“Why do you do so much for this island?” He asked you

“I mean mostly because of you.” You admitted

He looks at you and cocks a brow

“Me?” He asked

“Well you did save me from drowning.” You said

“Ahh I did, you poor little thing.” He laughed a little

“What’s been going on with you? You seemed down at the big night.” You said

“Oh well, you see, it’s complicated.” He stated

“Got it.” You said walking a away from him and going towards the lake

“Hey be careful it’s deep and it’s freezing out here.” He said

“That’s the point.” You said pushing him in

“Y/N! What the hell??” He yelled

“What the king of the island is scared of water?”

You jumped in as you said. Realizing it was freezing cold you screamed and tried to get out but Pan pulled you back in and held you. You guys fought and splashed each other til your teeth were chattering.

“Okay okay, let’s not get you sick.” He said getting out the lake

You guys walked back to the campsite freezing. As you were about to go to your tent Pan stops you

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked

“My tent?” You said in confusion

“No. Come on.” He said

You guys walked a little bit more always from the campsite finding a cabin, a nice one at that.

Pan opens it and signals you to come in, you do so.

“What’s this?” You asked

“It’s my cabin, we’ll mine and Wendy’s. If she was here.” He said looking down and turning on the fire place

You sat down near the fire place warming up yourself.

“What happened?” You asked

“I never felt this feeling so hard.” Pan said

“What feeling?” You asked curiously

“Wendy and I broke up. She said she doesn’t want me anymore.” He said

You were surprised, you thought it be the other way around.

“I’m sorry Pan, I had no idea.” You said

He grabbed a bottle from his cabinet and poured him a glass then sat next to you as he sipped it.

“Everybody told me so, they told me she would t last. But I kept denying it and kept telling myself they’re all lying. I feel like I sold my soul.” Pan said

“I thought she was nice.” You said not knowing what to say.

“Ha, she was the devil in form of a whore. She cheated multiple times with the pirates. She’d come back smelling like cigars and rum and had the audacity to kiss me after.” He said sipping some more

You got his hand and pushed his cup down from his mouth

“Just talk, don’t sip.” You said

“Why don’t you drink?” He asks you

“It’s not that I don’t drink, I do, just not all the time like you guys.” You said smiling

“What makes you not want to be like us? This is Neverland after all, you’re a lost girl.” He said

“I am, but when I don’t drink I’m forced to be alone with my thoughts, it’s terrifying yet exhilarating. It’s a challenge within myself. However a drink here and there never hurt anyone. But think about it, when you don’t drink you’re alone, with your thoughts and nothing else, when alcohol is consumed you are automatically thinking happy thoughts, kinda like pixie dust.” You said

Pan looked at you and started to get more curiouser and curiouser. He was going to find out about you, he needed to know about you.

#robbie kay #peter pan #ouat #once upon a time #peter pan imagine #peter pan request #peter pan imagines #peter pan stories #fandom #neverland #imagines #ouat peter pan #once upon a time imagine #peter pan fandom #robbie kay peter pan