#but yeah I wish the anime fleshed him out further. Maybe if it had more episodes they could had?

[ymaohoh]

Howl - Hellcheer Fic - Oneshot

Eddie and Chrissy die. Eddie and Chrissy live. Season 5 Hellcheer ft. time travel Eddie POV Lots of angst, sorry.

Word count: 6,977

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This was inspired by this fic by "WORTHLESS PRAYERS OF A NON-BELIEVER" by @cunninghamschrissy

--

If you could only see the beast you've made of me

And what a fucking way to go.

Eddie knew he was dying. Knew it as soon as the demobats’ teeth first sank into his flesh and consumed him piece by piece. It was a pain like he’d never experienced before, sharp and unforgiving and relentless, and by the time they were done (having finally taken their fill) he was begging anyone - anything - for sweet release. The thunder and lightning in the sky above seemed to absorb his screams. It was all very punk rock and metal. A fitting ending for someone like him really. 

But Henderson was safe and back through the portal, the little fucker. He’d bought them time (like a hero). That was the main thing. 

As Eddie’s soul trickled out of his body in a curious stream of blood-red dust, a lithe figure wrapped in the same crimson strangeness crept towards him. Its steps were soft and deliberate even though the twisted roots and vines of Vecna no longer posed any danger. It turned its head to peer down at him and Eddie recognised with a sudden intensity the graceful line of its body. He knew its gaze. 

(it was the gaze of a siren. Like Medusa she could turn him to stone) 

Eddie found himself trying to speak even though he had no breath left in his lungs. His shredded mouth (once so alive and animated and ready to laugh) lay useless and bloody. Yet he wanted desperately to call out and plead with this angel to stay with him. To offer a last lament he did not deserve. 

An angel with the kindest and saddest eyes he ever saw. 

Did you see that, Chrissy? God damn, that was the best rock show in the history of the world. Better than the Garden. 

You were amazing, Eddie. I’m so proud of you. 

Her lips never once moved yet her sweet voice was a melody. She was kneeling down beside his body and her limbs were smooth and unbroken now, just like she deserved. Something uncurled inside him at the sight of her face, he was so glad to see her now at the end. 

Are we dead?

I think so. Yeah. 

Dazed, he wanted to lift his ruined fingers to her lips. Even in death Chrissy Cunningham had the most beautiful smile, even if it looked like she was weeping. Impossible, surely, if they were no longer alive? 

Yet every tear that ran down her cheek made him die all over again. 

I’m sorry I didn’t save you. I was a real fucking coward. 

It's alright, you saved the others. That’s what matters. 

He could feel himself sinking further and further back into darkness as a little more of his light faded. 

But maybe it was okay because she was here and weeping at the end. It can't be all bad if he was going to the same place as someone like her. 

They weren’t lovers. They weren’t even friends. But she’d wished him luck once at a school talent contest and made him feel on top of the world. 

What was left of his scattered thoughts suddenly imagined him and Chrissy in matching green graduation robes, grinning as they posed for dumb pictures, and then Chrissy laughing as they drove away in his busted van leaving Hawkins far behind. 

It’s not fair. 

It was too soon. This was all too soon. His heart wrenched for all the fucking fantastic possibilities and dreams that now lay wasted. They were still kids and they deserved more than to be the casualties of some fucked up inter-dimensional game of magic and smoke. Like the last embers of a wild bright bonfire, he and Chrissy would fade away when they deserved the chance to grow up, make mistakes, live. Just like kids were supposed to. 

But this sudden bitterness wouldn't change a damn thing and he knew it. He was already dead and so was she…and it was simply too late. So instead he kept his eyes on Chrissy's face and drank her in as his consciousness slowly slipped away. 

And she made him feel safe. This would be his grave and she was keeping watch like a night vigil. 

Chrissy, I want to take you on a date someday, you know? Fireworks, the whole lot. I'll make it real special. Just us. 

Yeah, Eddie. That sounds good. Come on, take my hand. Let’s go…

Eddie wanted to grin and laugh and cry as the figure wrapped her lovely arms around him, her cloak of shimmering red light enveloping and exhausting him completely. 

I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free

**

The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound

And what a fucking way to die. 

But despite logic and reason - and despite what was real - it turned out life wasn’t quite ready for Eddie Munson to tap out just yet. In life he was like a burning torch of fire (burning too brightly for a little town like Hawkins) and he had too much attitude for a trailer trash junkie. But life - the cosmos, fate, whatever - decided that Eddie had an important part to play still and his death was a mistake which had to be set right. So it took hold of his strings like he was a mere puppet and dragged him back to his feet. 

His passing had felt like a gentle reprieve but when he came back to life he did so like a bolt of lightning ready to shake it all up. Eddie was in his element. He wanted to fucking live, damn it. 

Not that he understood any of it and he barely listened to the ‘why’s’ and ‘how’s’. When he awoke (with a breath so deep that made him splutter and his lungs ache) it was Henderson’s hopeful eyes that peered back at him, it was Jim Hopper who helped him to his feet, and Nancy Wheeler who told him about the final push - a fight of epic proportions like the badass battle of Pelennor Fields from Tolkien - which could end the threat of Vecna once and for all. 

They asked him to help so he chose a club with nails and swung it at whatever came his way. His body was still a nasty puzzle of scars and bites and blood, but at least it worked. It could fight. That was enough for now. 

Show him fear now and he would eat it for fucking breakfast. Death had been a cruel savage way to show him exactly what he was capable of. 

Their army - a last alliance of men and elves - was small but it was hurt, it was angry, it was sick of this asshole hurting them and their loved ones. Parents fought for their kids, sisters beside brothers, couples watched each other’s backs. They fought back as one epic team and told Vecna he would never harm or scare them again. 

It was pretty inspirational. If he were a Bard he would dedicate songs to how awesome it all was. Steve Harrington and Hopper were fucking Barbarians, man. 

But Vecna was an asshole. He was cruel. 

So in some desperate attempt to turn the tide, he decided to raise the dead too. He brought back his favourites to be pawns in this fucked up game of chess. It was horrific, terrifying, and he dangled these poor souls before him like a shield, reasoning that Eddie and the others would never harm or attack their friends.

It was a safe bet. When Eddie first beheld Chrissy at Vecna’s side (her beautiful face so stiff and lifeless) he’d wanted to tear Vecna apart with his bare hands. Wanted to rip his throat out with his teeth and nails. That kind sweet Chrissy should be used again by this creep - to hurt, to suffer, to harm them - was like a taunt. No one would move against these souls for fear of harming them, not even when Vecna commanded them to attack.

Mike Wheeler made some hushed comment about the X-Men Apocalypse comics and, yeah, Vecna picked his Four Horseman alright. Chrissy was pestilence - she was draining the life from him. 

He would not hurt her, not even if she started gnawing him into pieces of bone and flesh (again). 

They moved like puppets, twisting and turning where Vecna wanted them. 

But Vecna underestimated Chrissy. He underestimated Barb, Fred, and Patrick. They fought back against his iron will (steel against iron and iron cracked and yielded) and broke free from his control. Their unwillingness to submit was like a Warrior’s rallying call. 

(and now they had their army of the dead - their Dead Men of Dunharrow - so metal) 

Eddie fought like a demon, ripping open demobats and creatures alike, using his club and shield to smash through their ranks. Beside him Chrissy fought like a woman scorned and burned like a shooting star. She moved in a blur, kicking and biting and wielding a handaxe, her long hair stained red with blood. He’d called her an angel before - and she still was - but now she was an avenging angel (a Valkyrie) reigning down fire and carnage. 

She was fighting for her life, yes, but it ran deeper than mere life or death now. She was pissed. She was deranged. He had stolen so much from her and she wanted it back in blood. 

Her screams rang out like a war cry (and she’d been silenced for far too long). 

Eddie found himself summoned by that cry and they fought side by side, two people who had no business being in the same reality, and they fought hard. When Eddie was nearly blindsided by a demobat Chrissy pushed him out of the way, and Eddie smashed in the skull of the demogorgon dog that snapped at her leg. Eddie and Chrissy wanted to live. They wanted all the fucking beautiful possibilities and dreams that death wanted to snatch away from them. They refused to be casualties this time. 

She landed a particularly excellent crack to the back of Vecna’s head before Eleven took over. No sound had ever sounded sweeter. 

And you know what? They fucking won. 

As Eleven landed the killing blow (because really, she was the only one who could and should) and Vecna was at last torn apart, the hush that followed was deafening. 

Eddie could hear it ringing in his ears. 

There came frantic hugs and kissing and claps on the shoulder. People were crying. Henderson hugged Eddie so hard he felt like keeling over. 

Panting, he turned to Chrissy but she was standing very very still and staring down at Vecna’s eviscerated corpse. 

She spat on the ground (her spit was holy water, it seared and burned) and turned her back. 

I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground

**

My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in

And what a fucking way to live. 

Life could not possibly resume after such an event, surely, but stubbornly it tried its best. The sun rose the next morning and birds outside his hotel window chirped and sang. The world around them didn’t care about their heartbreak and grief and kept turning like it was any other day - and to the majority of its population who would never know how close they came to ruin, it was. 

(they were being housed by the government - all very hush hush - to be observed, patched up, forced to sign paperwork that demanded their silence)

This is what they had fought for…to wake up and deal with normal human stuff like picking what breakfast cereal to eat and arguing about what radio station to listen to…so why did it feel so shitty and wrong? 

The food tasted like ash. Wayne brought him a box of his old tapes but the lyrics made no sense, the music was off-key. He even brought his beloved guitar but Eddie angrily dashed it against the wall when he realised he no longer remembered even the most basic chords.  

Wheeler read about veterans coming home from war and struggling to cope and said maybe this was sort of similar. They’d been soldiers, right? Child soldiers, but they’d faced more horror than any brain (and heart) could before splintering. And even though they had fucking earned their victory (with blood and sweat and tears), a nasty darkness continued to linger over them like a dark cloud they couldn’t quite shake.

But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it'll shine out the clearer.

Eddie read Tolkien when he was a kid and he loved it (his mom had left all her books when she skipped town - along with a lifetime worth of deep-rooted insecurities), but you know what? Tolkien was shit wrong this time. 

The new day came but it was all wrong. 

It wasn’t just lasting trauma (because damn they were going to rack up some serious therapy bills), it ran far deeper than that. 

Will Byers was the one who eventually spoke up and explained that they had simply come back wrong. 

The poor souls who cheated death were fading every day, and nobody knew how to bring them back. It seemed one could not die and just come back without consequences, even if the cosmos changed its mind. It just didn’t work that way and now they were paying the price. The people brought back said it felt like they were wearing another person’s skin. 

(Vecna’s parting gift - the creep)

The government doctors observed them and monitored their vitals, but they were similarly stumped. How could you fix something that was beyond healing? This wasn’t something that could be stitched up like a wound or treated with antibiotics.

Eddie let them poke and prod but he could feel it in his bones that Will was right. It was like a sickness, a virus weighing him down. His mangled body would heal eventually (though he’d carry the scars all his life) but it still didn’t feel like his body. 

It was worse for those who spent longer in Vecna’s messed up world. Barb rarely came out of the bedroom she shared with Nancy (he could see Nancy flinch every time Barb refused dinner). 

And as for Chrissy…

She sat still for too long and when he looked into her eyes she wasn’t ever really there. He and Robin Buckley and Joyce Byers encouraged her to spend time in the garden, hoping (like idiots) that maybe the sunlight would help like she was some wilting pot plant. Chrissy seemed to become more animated when Eddie was around (he could get her to eat, at least), so he read to her, picked flowers, brushed her long hair and twisted it into messy little plaits. 

Chrissy had done him the honour of being with him at his death, so he would try and repay her kindness by helping her in life. 

(the therapists spoke about ‘emotional bonds’ and ‘codependency’ following trauma but it meant nothing to him)

He watched her, always searching for some sign of life, but the truth was she was slipping through his fingers yet again and he didn’t even have the strength to hold on. 

They weren’t lovers but they were friends now. He knew with unusual certainty that if Chrissy faded away he would follow. 

So they went through the motions of resting, eating, showering. They tried to rebuild and heal. They took vitamins and spoke to therapists. They let the doctors draw blood for tests (though after Chrissy ripped out the needle and screamed not to touch her anymore, he’d snarled at them to leave her the fuck alone). 

Until Eleven offered them a solution. 

There was a chance, she said, that things could go back to the year this all started. 1983 was a fixed point in time before Vecna and if she was right (and she usually was) she could take them all back. 

It sounded crazy - like something from a science fiction movie (seriously, time travel) - but if it worked everything would go back to the way it was in Hawkins and all the people murdered by Vecna over the years (for there were many many more) would get their lives back…but the right way this time. 

There were risks to Eleven and risks that it wouldn’t work. 

But there was also a risk that, by going back, they would forget everything. 

They would forget years of their lives, they would forget each other.

They all glanced at one another - exchanging looks with the people they loved, who they’d fought beside, who had come to be like family - but if it meant saving everyone…? Having another chance?

When it was his turn to vote, Eddie thought about Chrissy and knew it could only be a yes. 

(Steve was going to risk that twinkle he felt for Nancy and the friendships he had with the kids; Nancy and Jonathan were risking all they had in the world; Robin was risking Steve and her new chosen family who accepted her; Will, Mike, Dustin, Lucas…fuck they were risking the best and worst years of their lives and their best friend; he didn’t know exactly what Max’s deal was but the kid looked horrified when it was her turn; then there was Eleven who was risking her life. The only people who looked so fucking sure were the grown ups who said they would risk everything worth a damn for the kids to be safe and… well…kids again) 

Afterwards he knelt by Chrissy’s chair in the garden and gathered her tiny hands in his own. They were pale, shivering, and her grip weak. He could feel the delicate bones click beneath her skin. Nothing like the talons that wielded her axe during battle. 

She was no longer some avenging angel or Valkyrie. This lovely soul before him was a coiling shadow and it made him fucking terrified. 

“I brought you some Jasmine tea,” he murmured (begged, pleaded). “Thought it might help you sleep later. We’ve got Nancy’s copy of Emma to start too…that’ll work if this doesn’t.”

“Nothing can help me anymore, Eddie. You know that.” 

Yeah he did. It made him want to scream, recoil. 

“They’re waiting for you to vote, kid. Has to be unanimous, that’s the deal.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” she asked. She looked at him with her big blue eyes (better than an arrow - they pierced) but the lack of warmth or spark of life was startling. “If…if this doesn’t work we’ll waste away, won’t we? Like ghosts. I feel like a ghost.” 

Her hands were so cold, even though it was a warm evening and she was wearing one of his old patched sweatshirts. He tried rubbing her fingers between his own and blew on them. 

“If El can pull this crazy plan off, then we’ll go back to 1983 and everything will be normal again. You’ll be back to your old self, you’ll be well again. Promise. It’ll be like none of this shit ever happened.”

And she might not know him. He might not know her. They would be practically strangers again. 

She would go back to being the young pretty freshman climbing the rungs of Hawkins’ social ladder (to one day becoming the established cheer captain and Queen Bee). He would be the freak, the school pariah, mean and scary. They’d pace the same hallways and eat in the same cafeteria but they would not share a smile or a look or a friendly wave. 

He felt sick at the thought, but as long as Chrissy was safe and alive somewhere he could deal. It’s not like he would remember anyway. 

“Most important thing is you’re safe and alive, I’ll risk the rest.”

“Why do you care about me?” 

Eddie pressed his scarred lips against her wrist in a chaste kiss. He tried not to look at the tears that suddenly raced down her cheeks and focused instead on her lips (bitten, sore), her nose (perfect, freckled), and her long hair (wavy, lank and lifeless now). He wouldn’t get the chance to look again. 

He wanted to save it all to memory (maybe the more he looked, the harder it would be for those memories to be ripped away? He needed to lock them away with a key). 

“Because twice now, Chrissy Cunningham, you’ve broken this jaded and miserable heart and showed me kindness I never deserved. First time when you wished a scared little boy good luck when you didn’t have to, and then again when you found him dying and terrified. You stayed with me so I wouldn’t go through that alone. You fucking wept for me, Chriss. I can’t…won’t let you die again.” 

Later Chrissy voted yes too but she refused to look any of them in the eye. 

(they voted a unanimous yes like the big stupid heroes they were)

You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl

**

Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers

And what a fucking way to live (repeat)

Eddie’s brain had always been wired differently so it wasn’t too much of a shock that it refused to follow orders now and forget. It was defiant and clung fast to his memories, arguing against the powers that be it would not let them go. So when he woke up in his bedroom, newly turned sixteen-year-old Eddie Munson did remember. There were admittedly some parts that were murkier than others but overall his memory won. 

(he spent a long afternoon reflecting that maybe this wasn’t such a good thing - but a joint or two calmed him down. He fucking loved the rush he got from it, and the way he picked up his guitar like an old friend and seamlessly started playing some Dio). 

Some of the others remembered too but it was difficult to patch it all together. The ones who could remember felt like assholes for bringing certain things up - because if you could forget, wouldn’t you want to? It seemed crappy to remind them. Some people asked questions and wanted to remember, but some simply chose not to. 

(Barb was one of the ones he never spoke to again. Nancy told them she transferred somewhere close to the ocean).  

There were no rules about how to handle time travel but they muddled through somehow. They each had their own patchwork cloak of memories, some squares overlapping, some missing, some fraying at the seams. They were patient. They were kind. 

It would take time. 

And they had all the time in the world to work it out. That was the best thing. It was 1983 again but this time the world seemed more bright and exciting. Eddie had felt left behind for a long time (his dumbass’ fault really) but now? He had a second chance to get his diploma and fucking make something of himself. 

(he still had nightmares and frequently checked himself in the mirror - no - no bite marks). 

The ones who could (and wanted) to remember felt a pull to stay together. They felt like the survivors of some shipwreck but without any evidence of the wreckage. They became like a family to Eddie who was once without (his uncle was a steadying presence and didn’t ask about the night terrors or why Eddie suddenly tried so hard at school). 

So (fucking wild) Eddie spent most of this school time in the company of Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Robin Buckley, and Patrick McKinney - much to the enormous amusement of other students who couldn’t get their heads round the weird mix of jocks, loners, freaks, preps.

To be fair, Eddie was less inclined to cause fuss in the cafeteria these days and only sold weed on the weekends so maybe he wasn’t so much of a freak anymore…? He said as much to Robin who snorted and told him to dream on. They were all freaks which kind of undercut the point, you know? 

“A John Hughes wet dream - though Breakfast Club doesn’t technically come out for another two years…God, the mind boggles,” she added. 

The odd assortment of friends were sitting on the school bleachers eating lunch as it was a rare sunny day for Hawkins. The younger kids would be coming over to join them from the middle school and Eddie was sketching out ideas for a D&D campaign (he wanted to set the club up before the kids got to high school because fuck them feeling like outsiders this time round).  

Steve was busy eyeing up a cute girl from his chem lab, Nancy and Jonathan were making eyes at each other, Patrick was trying again to explain the rules of basketball to Robin who said she didn’t give a crap. 

A bell rang in the distance and he looked up from his sketchbook, his eyes going right over to the doors. Within a few minutes he was rewarded by the sight of Chrissy (flanked as always by her giggly popular friends).

As for Chrissy’s memory? Who could say. 

As soon as they returned to 1983 she was reluctant to talk about any of it. She didn’t ignore them but she didn’t join in either. She let Nancy check in on her once a week and told them yes, i’m fine but she held her cards close to her chest when it came to discussing her memory. She never wanted to share or ask questions and after a couple of days they stopped asking. 

So instead of joining their rag-tag party, she drifted closer to her friends on the cheer team and threw herself into extracurriculars. She seemed to have signed up for everything - cheerleading, photography, student council, art classes, tutoring - and seemed happiest when she was busy and helping. 

(like a shield) 

Eddie would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt (because it felt like a punch to the gut every time she was in his proximity), though he hadn’t exactly done anything to bridge the gap either. 

Chrissy had effortlessly resumed her role as the pretty and popular cheerleader who everyone seemed to adore. Girls wanted to be her friend and boys - well, you’d have to blind not to notice the looks she got from guys just aching to take her out. 

(Eddie had to grit his teeth when he saw this - they didn’t really see her, they hadn’t fought at her side, they hadn’t died in her lovely arms). 

Chrissy rattled him - but then she always had. 

So instead he kept his distance and resigned himself to an insufferable watch. He probably looked like a fucking stalker but as long as she was nearby and safe and happy that was enough. She looked happy. They didn’t share any classes as he was in the right year group this time, but Nancy told him she was doing well on the student council (using her voice to defend, to challenge). Patrick said she was an excellent cheerleader and already impressed the current reigning captain. 

God, she was thriving. 

What had he expected? Of course she was. 

He hated that she slipped so easily back into this role. He hated that she no longer needed him like he apparently desperately needed her. 

He was such a fucking asshole. This was exactly what he’d wanted when he voted yes all those years ahead.  

They’d all taken the same risk by voting yes and some of them lost. 

The reality (he tried drumming into his thick head) was that he and Chrissy Cunningham had only been flung together because fate had a pretty sick sense of humour. They had absolutely no business being friends or…anything…except maybe casual school chums. They’d shared moments of complete bliss and agony together in the Upside Down - but not from their own choosing - but rather some cosmic joke that left them with no one else. She owed him nothing, and he would not accept it anyway. 

That was the truth. 

They’d saved the world and he was a certified hero - so what did it matter if he felt like a royal loser? 

(he finally looked away when Jason Carver materialised and offered to carry Chrissy’s pink backpack) 

Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

**

My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out

And what a fucking way to end it

Eddie went to class on time and listened and his grades started picking up. He started his D&D club and was surprised when two new faces (seniors - graduating at the end of the year) showed up at the first meeting. He got a legitimate weekend job at a garage so he could help out Wayne with the bills. Corroded Coffin were starting up just in time for the release of Holy Diver (the very definition of perfect timing - honestly). His new friends showed up at their gigs and they played all the better for it. 

When he got a B on his latest English paper, Wayne took him out for pizza and said he was real proud of him. Eddie started to think about the future - that just maybe he could amount to something other than petty criminal or deadbeat dad. Maybe he could even aim for college. Study music or graphic design. 

Maybe get out of Hawkins. Find a girl. See some of the world. 

Sure he had baggage and got angry sometimes (real angry, at seemingly odd moments) but every week he spoke to Ms Kelley about his shitty parents and why his crazy brain struggled to focus. He couldn’t tell her the truth obviously - but still, it helped. 

His second chance at life flew by in a hazy rush. Halloween came along, so did Thanksgiving (he and Wayne were invited to the Byers’ which beat the TV dinners the Munson’s were used to). 

It was nearing Christmas break when Eddie finally realised (with a penny drop) that Chrissy’s patchwork cloak was unravelling despite her desperate attempts to sew it back up. 

And it was Nancy who gave him the first clue when she found Chrissy crying in the school bathroom. “You know Carver asked her out and she turned him down flat, right? It’s the biggest scandal of the semester. We know he’s a huge jerk but everyone else thinks he’s this cool hotshot athlete. They’re scandalised.” 

“Wait - so she’s crying because of that jackass?” Steve asked. 

(Jason was an anomaly they didn’t know how to handle - after all, no harm, no foul, right? - but they knew the crap he was capable of, even if he didn’t)

“Her parents kicked her out,” Jonathan added after a moment. He winced when they all stared at him and tried to shrug it off. “She let slip in photography club. I asked about some photos she took of home and she said her parents could be really mean and controlling sometimes. Especially her mom. Stuff like ‘not being good enough’. I mean, it’s her business so I didn’t want to pry, but yeah…didn’t sound so easy. Sounds like she finally stood up to them though and they threw her out. Think she’s staying with her aunt.” 

Eddie knew what Chrissy looked like on a battlefield, knew she could land one sick dropkick, knew what she looked like when she sobbed her beautiful heart out. 

He didn’t know about an aunt or that her parents were bullying pieces of shit. It felt like a serious gap in his knowledge about someone who occupied so much of his daily thoughts. 

God, he felt so fucking proud of her. 

“What sort of stuff does she photograph?” Eddie asked. It suddenly seemed like an important thing to know. 

“Uh…mostly people, I think. I’ve not seen her work on landscapes or objects. She really likes portraits and light work. She took some seriously good ones of the cheerleaders practising drills. It’s really hard to capture movement, you know, but they turned out great.” 

Chrissy had made the choice to sever links with Jason and her shitty parents. 

And she was photographing life. Hope began to kindle in his chest. 

Maybe she did remember. 

Jonathan looked at him and said, “She’s booked out the studio after school to work on a project. Maybe you should talk to her? She always seemed…better…when you were nearby. Before, I mean.” 

Yeah. Before. When they were fading away like ghosts. 

Maybe it was a selfish idea (he would have to be so so careful with his choice of wording) but Eddie was hungry to see her, to speak to her, to spot any glimmer of before. Watching her from afar was simply not enough to quench this thirst anymore. 

(he’d even attended a pep rally just to drink in her smile, to his shame). 

He wasn’t going to be an asshole and push anything but he could check in. That was harmless, right? 

So after school Eddie found himself making his way to the photography classroom. He’d been here only twice before (photography seemed to require a lot of patience - waiting, developing, timing) but he recognised the sharp stinging smell of chemicals as he opened the doors. 

He felt his chest clench and suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. Was this how Beren felt when he saw the Luthien dancing in the woods? Only Chrissy wasn’t dancing like an ethereal spirit, she was all alone and leaning over a workbench. No leaves or forest, just the countless pictures pinned to the walls. 

And boy, did he fucking note the way her body tensed up when she saw him. “Hey Chriss.” 

“Eddie…” Chrissy bit her lip (a habit he knew she did when she was nervous). “Can I help you with something? Jonathan’s not here.” 

Yeah, you can be honest and tell me your damage, you beautiful mess of all things wonderful and lovely. 

“I mean, I could lie and say I had a sudden urge to join the club, but I’m really only here for you. Sounds like you’ve had a crap time recently so I wanted to check in. You holding up okay?”

Chrissy huffed out a breath and turned back to her project. The pink knitted jumper she wore was baggy and oversized and he could see the pale skin of her (not broken, not snapped, she was alive) shoulder. 

“That’s kind of you, really, but I don’t need babysitting. I’m okay,” she said quietly. “I…I’m keeping busy. Doing my best. I’m really trying.” 

Eddie reached the table and peered down with interest at the scattering of photographs (one of the cheer team in action, one of a basketball game, one of the cheering crowds). He could see so clearly what she was trying to capture. She wanted their smiles, their joy. Almost like she was trying to collect them. These photos were a testament to her words - that she was trying so incredibly hard to live in this world. 

“These are cool. You’re good at this.”

“They’re okay,” she corrected with a small sigh. “Still got a lot to learn.” 

He watched as she picked up another photo - her brother maybe? - and arranged it onto a black scrapbook page with the others. Had she ever mentioned a brother before? 

He spoke before he could remind himself they weren’t friends. “I don’t know anything about your life, Chriss. Thought I did but…”

“I’m still learning about it too. Oh…”

Her elbow accidentally knocked a tray and in her haste to save the chemicals, a second pile of photographs slipped out from beneath and fell to the floor. Eddie quickly bent to pick them up and (ignoring her protests) instinctively turned them over…

“Please don’t…” 

…only to see a picture of himself. 

Standing, he felt a ripple of shock and looked at her, a question burning his lips. She was staring down at her sneakers and her cheeks were flushed scarlet but she gave a tiny nod. 

There were several photographs of him, all taken at school from a distance. He looked at himself playing guitar on the bleachers, stretching out on the lawn at lunch, leaning against his van smoking a cigarette. He eyed his face closely (eyes brown and laughing, hair a chaotic mess of curls, stubble on his jaw that needed shaving) and was surprised by how different it looked to what he saw in the mirror every morning. It was like seeing something from a brand new angle, he looked so different. 

He looked happy. Confident. A good-looking guy (how did she manage that?) living a decent life. Was this how she saw him? 

There were others of Nancy, of Steve, of Robin, even a few of Max, but they were mostly of him. He paused at one of them all together at lunch laughing at something funny Robin said. They looked so fucking smug and normal. 

And then…right at the bottom…a photograph of Chrissy herself. 

But this Chrissy wasn’t smiling (which seemed to be her default setting at school). She’d obviously taken it as a self-portrait because she was perched on a stool looking right into the camera lens. She looked so real, so fucking raw. Her face was smooth and serious and deathly sad. She wasn’t even wearing makeup. There was a patch of acne on her chin. 

Jonathan said she was into portraits and this was how she saw herself. He wanted to tattoo it on his chest. 

“I’m no stalker, I swear,” but her laugh wasn’t convincing. “It might sound stupid but I just…I don’t want to forget anything. When I take a photograph it’s proof that the subject was real. That my memories are real.”

Eddie’s heart was fucking hammering. The others might kill him, but he just had to…

Screw Fate. Screw ‘emotional and trauma bonding’. He would grab this with his own two hands. 

So he plunged into the deep end and asked the million-dollar question. “Do you…remember, Chriss?”

And she nodded. The most miraculous nod in history. 

“I remember most things, but not everything. Some of the details are hazy which drives me crazy sometimes. I remember Vecna, I remember dying which really sucks, and the fight…I remember the crappy hotel too and the…vote. Some things I’d rather forget honestly but the other stuff? I wish I could capture them, you know? Like taking a snapshot of the inside of my brain. That must sound really weird.” 

“Nah, I get it. I draw them too. For D&D or just sketch them in my notebook. I…don’t want to forget either,” he admitted. “I try and draw every detail…well, as best as these dumb hands will let me. I’m not too shabby.” 

Her eyes lit up with starlight. Her hands were trembling at her sides. 

It felt almost too natural to take her hand and thread his fingers between her own. Once he’d kissed these fingers, tried to rub some life into them. 

“Chrissy…these photographs are really incredible, and we’re all here if you ever want to talk about this stuff. I’m right here, alright? I fucking see you.”

She began to cry (big messy tears that were aching to be let free) and then she was in his waiting arms. He gathered her close, hungrily, fervently, trying to ignore how perfectly she fit like a missing jigsaw piece and how something primal inside his soul seemed to snap into place. She wept and clung to his flannel shirt and he didn’t give a shit when his own tears followed. He stroked her back, her hair, urging her to let it all out. Her hair felt like spun gold. “I think you always have, Eddie,” she whispered. 

Her frayed edges had finally found his own and he would stitch them himself if she let him.  Eventually Chrissy began to pull away and mumbled something about being so embarrassed and so sorry but Eddie found himself holding on. 

He could not let her slip away again.

“Don’t let me go, Chris, please.” It sounded like a whimper. A plea for her to remain with him. 

She softened back into the embrace and his grip tightened when she pressed her shivering lips (soft, alive) against his chest. 

“Why do you care about me?” she sniffed. “Eddie, I’m a total fucking mess.” 

It was the same question she’d asked years ahead in the garden when they were wasting away, and again he answered her honestly. Because what else could you do to someone you would literally travel through time for? 

“Remember what I said the night of the vote? I meant every damn word, always will. Nothing’s changed for me, Chriss. Nothing.” 

“I remember. Oh - I remember you. They couldn’t rip you away from me.” 

They had no photographs or sketches, but they were witnesses. They remembered, and they could make new memories too. New (gleeful, sad, exciting, embarrassing) memories. Just like kids their age were supposed to. 

So he mumbled into her hair, “Chriss, can I take you on a date? Fireworks, the whole lot. I'll make it real special. Just us. 

He could feel Chrissy smiling - and fuck, wasn’t that the whole point? - as she said yes, she’d really really like that.

And then she threw her lovely arms around him again, cloaking him in hope and light, but this was not to be his end…

It was his beginning. 1983, baby. 

Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

**

A/N:

Whatever happens in season 5 I just hope these beautiful characters get some kind of closure. A few quick notes:

I love Emma. It’s a great book. Just doesn’t feel like an Eddie book. 

Time travel who? I don’t usually like that kind of ending - feels cheap sometimes - but for this genre it could totally work. 

Enjoy the nerd references. 

I included Barb because I want closure for her too. 

Who knows about a timeline or ages. I’m basing this off the Wiki ages. 

Lyrics by Florence. 

Thank you for reading. I really enjoyed writing this.

#chrissy x eddie #edssy #hellcheer #eddie munson #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #hellcheer headcanons #hellcheer fanfic #ymaohoh #chrissy cunningham #chrissy and eddie #chrissy lives #eddie lives #season 5 hopes

[grolia]

the KazeTsuyo anime is nearly flawless, but I wish it did more with Musa?? The adaptation certainly built his character well and avoids stereotypes which is great, but I don’t feel like we went into enough depth with him compared to the other characters? idk

#kaze ga tsuyoku fuiteiru #personal #putting aside our main two dudes kakeru and haiji #shindo king and the jo twins have their limelight episodes and you learn a bit more about nicochan and yuki by episode 21 #but musa we know nothing about his background (aside from tanzania) and don't see much personal struggles/concerns #even during his section of Hakone you don't learn a lot about him tbh. You see that flashback of him and Haiji #and he has his nice positive monologue. but that's it?? #of course again the anime treats him better than others do with their POC characters and it doesn't affect my enjoyment #and he still has a personality and some significant moments like that bathtub moment with kakeru and telling sakaki to stfu #but yeah I wish the anime fleshed him out further. Maybe if it had more episodes they could had? #((grolia this is your 3rd personal text post about kazetsuyo in a row)) ((sweatdrops)) #gotta get this off my chest now bc after the final episode I'm gonna be crying over KazeTsuyo being finished for a good fortnight I'm sure

[writingtoforgetreality]

The Way You Make Me Feel (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

[Marvel-Masterlist]

Summary: Steve sent Bucky & you on a mission together. Nothing special, you worked well together, after all. This time, you had to go undercover. Pretending to be a couple. Your frustration after an unsuccessful night needed to be released. Bucky had something in mind.

Words: 3,137

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, smut, oral sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, protected sex bc Buck’s a responsible person, this is pure filth, I don’t know what else you want me to say…, language, undercover mission gone wrong, I wanted to write angst??? What happened? …oopsie? I’ll go take a cold shower now.

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

Bucky Barnes. Used to be the Winter Soldier. Now the White Wolf. Muscular body. Broad shoulders. That metal arm of his that did unspoken things to you. Basically, he had ruined every other man for you. Unfortunately, he was not yours. He never would be yours. Coworkers. You were coworkers. Nothing more, nothing less.

The teasing was a given. Both, Bucky & you, had personalities that made it impossible to not flirt with each other. It was all playful, of course. Nothing would ever come out of it. Though, you would have lied if you said that you did not wish for it to change. His strut so manly, so strong. Thank God he was oblivious to how your body reacted whenever he was around. Those accidental touches. His hand touching your lower back. Everything set your body on fire. If it was not enough for him to be so hot, of course he had the most charming smiles to top everything off. It was unfair.

It was even worse that the entire team had picked up on the way you eyed Bucky. How whenever he entered the room, your eyes could not fixate on anything else. How your smile got wider whenever he talked. No matter how hard you tried, you fell for him. Harder & harder each day. The chemistry between you guys was no secret. Which was why you usually got teamed up with Bucky to complete missions together. But that was all there ever was. Constant flirting, teasing. Anything beyond that did not exist.

Another mission with him. Undercover. Your absolute favorite. You would have been fine with Sam or anyone else for that matter. But Bucky? Things were bound to get complicated. It was inevitable. Posing as a couple? Really? As if things were not bad enough already. A couple usually shared a room. You understood that. The thing was that you guys were not together. Not outside of this mission. So you had to deal with your emotions for him while being in the exact same room. With one bed. Yeah, things were starting great. After finishing up here, you would kill Steve for sure. He knew about your crush on Bucky. Probably the reason he liked to send you somewhere together. Apparently, it was incredibly exhausting to watch you guys dance around your feelings. You were a lot of things. A dancer was not one of them. More like an observer. Watching from afar to avoid stupid mistakes. That was more fitting.

Gala number one was over. Without any luck. There was no new information & nothing that brought you closer to your target. Just hours of unnecessary pretending & fake laughing. That was exhausting. Especially if Bucky had to be close to you all night long. Always an arm around your waist. A kiss on the cheek for effect. If it were not for this stupid mission, you would have enjoyed every single second of it. Sadly, it was an act. That thought alone broke your heart into a million pieces. Not even you were sure when your feelings for Bucky started. It was like you were thrown into ice cold water all of a sudden & now you had to deal with the aftermath.

Unsuccessful missions always left you frustrated. This type of frustration that let you overthink every little detail. What if you did this? What if you did not do that? What if, what if, what if. Mind being filled with so many thoughts, it was barely possible to stay sane. Even worse, you still had a couple of nights ahead of you. If you did not finish this job then you should not head back. Great. If all nights turned out like this, you would throw yourself out of a window. No, really. You were exhausted.

His body language revealed how stressed he was as well. Completely tense, clenched jaw. He did not like it any more than you did. Truthfully, he was even angrier than you. While the two of you worked well together, when things did not go your way, it could get pretty heated real fast. Words thrown at each other’s heads. Blaming the other one for that particular thing because if that did not happen, then you would have finished this mission already. It took a few hours until the tension died down again. An apology later & you were back to normal.

Not today, it seemed. The two of you were worse after that gala. Maybe it was because you felt uncomfortable all night. Maybe it was because you had to stay here for however long. Maybe it was just him. Him acting like a shy gentleman. Like the husband obsessed with his wife. Wanting to show her off whenever the chance was given. Tonight, you were her. You were his wife. You were the one he wanted to show off. But you were not really her. Just a fraction, if anything. He pretended & so did you. At least that was what you told yourself. Deep down, it was so much more than just pretending. It was like giving in to a craving you had had for years. And while it was not much, it had to do. Had to be enough. Because that was the most you would ever receive. The most he would ever give you. How you wished this were not the case.

So why the hell was he staring even more intensely than usual? Why the hell did he eye you up & down like a hungry animal waiting for the perfect timing to attack its prey? Why the hell did his hands clench into fists? And why the hell did it affect you so much? So much, in fact, that your thighs pressed together involuntarily. An action that did not go unnoticed by him. Standing up, flexing his muscles. Eyes that looked darker in the barely lit room. His never leaving yours when he approached you carefully. He took his time. You knew he did it to give you enough time to escape this situation if you really wanted to. You did not, though. For once, you wanted to give in. For once, you wanted your body to fully feel. Feel him. All of him.

His body was only mere inches away from yours. The exposed skin on your back pressing against the cold wall of your hotel room. The dress did not cover much. Enough to keep the others interested. And apparently to keep him interested, too. Both of his arms came up to rest next to your head. By now, he was caging you with his entire body. An action that let goosebumps appear. You breathed the same air. It seemed like the time stood still. Everything that kept on was you & him. In that hotel room. Against the wall. If he decided to lower his head just a little, your lips would be touching. He did not. No. If this was about to happen then he wanted to take his time with you. Tease you. Hear you. Feel you. Your breathing picked up its pace. He had not even touched you yet but you were already reacting like this. His smirk showed you how much he truly enjoyed having you putty in his hands. One of his legs moved slightly. Until his knee opened your legs slowly. His thigh pressed against your center. Barely, barely enough pressure to give you any form of satisfaction. Yet, you could not help but whimper at his touch. To shut you up, he pressed his soft lips against yours in a passionate kiss. There was no hint of gentleness behind his actions. Just purely heated with a desperation that made you weak at the knees. You melted into his touch, your hands roaming all over his chest. Any way to bring him closer to your body. His metal hand found itself at your waist while his other one cupped your cheek. An almost tender action that balanced out his rough & relentless kiss. It was like he was your drug & now that you got a taste of him, you would never let go again.

When his hands brushed over your shoulders to push the straps of your dress down, your breath hitched in your throat. His mouth went down to your neck, sucking & gently biting every now & then. You moaned when he reached a certain spot. Staying at this place, he focused solely on it all while pushing your gown further down your curves. The moment it reached the floor, he took a step back to take in your full beauty. To him, you were the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on. Not wasting another second, he dropped to his knees in front of you. So close to where you wanted him the most. Where you needed him. His hands grabbed your hips tightly. It would sure leave bruises but you knew you would love looking at them after waking up. Because he did that to you. Kissing his way down your belly, he made sure to focus on his task. His eyes opened when he reached your panties. Silently asking for permission. You were too far gone already so you eagerly nodded at him, threading your hands through his soft locks. A slight push earned you a groan. One, that went straight to your pussy. But he would not give in that easily. After all, he had waited so long for this to happen. He would savor it in great detail. His flesh hand kneaded one of your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You were in a state of bliss & he had barely touched you. That was enough to let him know what he did to you. Before you could even process what he was doing, he pulled your panties off in one swift motion & slid his metal fingers through your slit. The coldness of it made your excitement grow even more. Usually, you would feel embarrassed by how wet you were. But this was Bucky. With him, it was different. An approving hum coming from him was enough confirmation. You had no need to be ashamed.

His fingers worked slowly, almost lazily. He knew how to push your buttons. By the way he touched you, so skilled, with such certainty, it was like he knew your body better than you did. Bucky encouraged you to be noisy, he wanted to hear you. The sweet moans, the whimpers, that he caused. He was the reason for them. Finally, he found your clit & put more pressure on it. Rubbing it in a steady motion. You could feel your orgasm building up already. You wanted to warn him, wanted to let him know that you needed a tiny bit more. He got the message when you pulled his hair tighter. While his finger stayed on your bundle of nerves, his head dipped lower, using his tongue to eat you out. And holy shit. That man knew what he was doing. He was so skilled, you assumed he had had tons of women before you. Right now, you could not care less. Your entire focus was on his ministrations & how his tongue entering you mixed with his fingers on your clit brought you higher & higher. Gripping his hair harder made him groan into you. That was all it took for you to let go. Your thighs shook & if it were not for Bucky steadying you, you would have fallen to the floor. For a few seconds, your vision was all blurry. That had never happened before. All the people who you had been with had never managed to satisfy you quite like this.

Again, his lips met yours. This time, you could taste yourself on them. And if it were possible, it turned you on even more. Both of his hands went to the back of your thighs, lifting you up with ease. He walked over to the bed & laid you down gently. All while his lips stayed locked onto yours. He propped himself up on his arms in order not to crush you with his weight. It was only then when you realized that he was still entirely dressed. Which was not really fair, considering that you were completely bare in front of him. Your hands went to open the buttons of his shirt but since you were still shaky after that first mind blowing orgasm he gave you, you could not quite succeed with that. A low chuckle escaped Bucky & his face left yours to help you out. His frantic actions showed you how he did not want to waste any more time. You barely had enough time to appreciate his body in its full glory. His muscles. His soft skin. Bucky knew what he wanted & he wanted it now.

He topped you, this time you opened your legs for him to slip in between. The kisses grew more & more passionate. But before you could get lost into it once again, he pulled away from you entirely. Your eyes opened, concern written all over your features. Bucky shushed you before you had the chance to ask if you did something wrong. Crossing the room in no time, he came back with a condom in his hand. The wink he sent you made you breathe easier. So he was not about to leave you. Opening the package, he took one of his arms to stroke over his thick cock. Sitting up, you kissed him while taking the condom from him. Your hand grabbed his wrist & you replaced his with yours, mimicking his previous motions. He groaned lowly & you smirked at his reaction. Twisting your hands just right, you picked up your pace. By the way his breath got heavier, you assumed that he was enjoying it. Suddenly, he pushed you away from him. Not hard, just so you would get the message. You knew what he was getting at. Giving him another short peck, you rolled the condom on & laid back down on the mattress. He followed your motions & set himself between your legs again. One arm on each side of your head as to not hurt you. His tip teased your entrance. Slowly sliding up & down to gather you slickness. Whenever he touched your clit, a moan left your mouth. That went on for a while. After all, Bucky made it his job to tease you. When the whimpers got too much, he asked you a simple question. In that deep, lust-filled voice of his.

“What do you want, doll?” you knew what he was trying to do. He wanted you to beg for him. But you were not that type of person. Not usually. Bucky was the exception. And he only had to ask that question twice before you gave in, the frustration clearly audible.

“Please, Buck. Please, I need you.” that did the job. In one swift motion, he entered you, filling you up so painfully right. That familiar, delicious sting. He stilled for a second. While he knew that he wanted to make this rough, he did not want to hurt you in any way. So he let you adjust to his size. Only when you moved your hips slightly & when you moaned out his name did he start his thrusts.

At first, he set a steady pace. Long, deep thrust that made your breasts bounce in the sweetest way possible. Not once did he close his eyes. No, he wanted to remember everything about this. Everything about you. You being under him. It did not take long for you to beg him for more. Giving in, he quickened his thrusts. Now, much deeper than before. He reached places inside of you you did not even know existed. The entire bed was moving & for once, you did not care if anybody heard you. All that mattered was the man on top of you. The man who made you feel like this. Like you were a goddess that needed to be devoured. During this moment, you felt like the prettiest woman on Earth. Bucky made you feel like that. You hated your body’s reaction to him. Because you could already feel your second orgasm building up. You did not want this to end so soon. You did not want to let go. But you knew you could not hold it back. Not much longer. Not if Bucky kept going like this. Somehow trying to signal that you were close, Bucky got an idea. His entire weight was now on his right arm while his metal one made its way between your bodies. Before he touched you there, he gave you an order. One that you could not help but obey.

“Open your eyes, doll. I wanna see you cum for me.” he said it in such a sexy way, barely above a whisper, but loud enough for you to understand that he was serious. So you did. You opened your eyes, locking them with his. That was when his metal fingers started rubbing fast circles around your clit. The noises coming from you got louder & louder. You were so close. When his thrusts did not slow down, you knew you would be there soon. The last bit it took came from Bucky, lips brushing your over your cheek, breathing another order in your ear.

“Cum for me. Yeah, that’s it. Cum all around me.” you had never heard something so hot coming from him. His words brought you over the edge. For the second time tonight, you saw dark spots clouding your vision. Bucky watching you cum under him made him reach his high as well. He bit your shoulder when he did. The pain mixed beautifully with the ecstasy you were currently experiencing.

He stilled inside of you, the two of you breathing heavily. You had never felt this satisfied after sleeping with someone. Slipping out of you, he rolled onto his side, propping his head onto his arm. There it was again. His charming smile. While he was a shy, polite gentleman outside of this room, he sure as hell did not hold back in bed. And you were glad that he did not. Smiling at him, too, he leaned in one more time for another kiss. This time, it was soft. Delicate. Not like the ones you shared only a few minutes ago. This sweet, romantic moment got interrupted when Bucky gripped your hips & rolled you on top of him so you were straddling his lap.

“I’m not done with you, doll.” yeah, it was about to be a long, tiring night.

Published (04/07/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @sweetserendipity65, @buckysleftarm420, @longinusfilibuster, @kathsheaven, @your-local-awkward-barista, @xfeliciahardyx (thanks for your support <3)

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier #reader insert #reader imagine #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #one shot #oneshot #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #Avengers #avengers imagine #white wolf #winter soldier #writing #original story #MCU #disney #disney+ #disney original #undercover #mission #undercover mission

[shorkbrian]

Bakufeed

Little update real quick - college is duplexing me into the ground. I’m so tired. I’m sorry if it takes a hot second to respond to DMs and comments and things I’m tagged in, but I genuinely enjoy the thought and will get around to answering and seeing everything as soon as possible!

Once again this was supposed to be a Drabble but then it turned into a not-drabble idek anymore take it or leave it

TW - non-con, nipple play, wet and messy, not fully NSFW, just titty sucking

It’s ironic that I got that last ask when I did. I’ve been thinking about Bakugou and titty-sucking for a hot minute now (like a week lol I watched “The Hills Have Eyes” and there's a scene where non-explicit breastfeeding happens. the context was very sickening because as always! this is literally violation! very bad behavior! should never be done, and I am not joking. Please be safe everyone), didn’t want to commit to making anything for him but then that anon pops up with the delicious imagery of firelight bouncing off Kiri’s naked chest as the two of you sprawl out in front of the fireplace on a cold night.

But BAKUGOU

hoohooo boi.

Probably kidnaps you just because he wants to play with your tits. He doesn’t give a flying fuck if they're big or small, they’re tits - he’s gonna suck on ‘em.

Catches you in an alleyway, as you quickly walk home from work. Shoves you up against the wall and then his chest his against your back, his large hands grabbing and groping at your chest. He’s breathing softly into your ear, and lets out a quiet little “fuck” every now and then. 

Of course you’re terrified; you could scream or try to run, but you recognize that voice, the man behind you is definitely Ground Zero, and you are definitely going to die.

But then you’re being dragged along behind him, further into the alleyway. It’s hard to see in the darkness, but you hear a door open, get shoved inside, and then the door closes. 

A light flicks on, and you get a good look at the probably the last thing you see before you die.

You’re in a one-room ground level apartment, and on this side of town you’d expect everything to be grimy and dirty but it’s not. It’s immaculate, sparkling and pristine, unnervingly clean.

Everything’s clean except for Ground Zero.

He’s got on civilian clothes, a hat pulled over his blonde head, a large hoodie hiding his frame. You aren’t stupid - you’ve heard about the fights that involve him and the hero’s, you know that he could kill you without breaking a sweat.

But the man doesn’t want to do anything of the sort.

He forces you down onto the bed that’s pushed into a corner and rips off your shirt, throwing it behind him. Next is your bra, but when you struggle incrementally the blond gives up and burns through the fabric instead, sneering as you gasp in fear while his hands spark so close to your body.

The second your chest gets uncovered, the man stills, staring down at you-no-your tits with his eyes wide. The air stills, and you don’t know what to think, don’t know what to expect.

Then the villain is hunching over you, attaching his mouth around a nipple and sucking.

Immediately your back arches off the bed, and you cry out for him to stop. But the man doesn’t listen, just growls through the tight suction his lips have around your nipple, and you flinch when the vibrations send jolts of pleasure down into your tummy.

When he lets your spit-slicked nipple pop out of his mouth, he growls out his name - Bakugou. Figures you should know his name before he violates you, ‘cause he’s nice like that.

And then he really goes to town.

It’s almost savage, the intensity with which Bakugou attacks your chest, kneading and massaging and grabbing every inch of soft flesh he can. He groans lowly about how fucking soft you are, so warm. 

Then he’s mouthing at you again, sucking on one nipple and then the other, not even bothering to let his mouth close as he switches, drool slipping out and landing on your tits. 

Unfortunately, it feels good.

You don’t want it to, won’t allow it, so you stay silent, try not to writhe too much underneath his concrete hold on your chest and against the hard body straddling your hips. Bakugou doesn’t really care too much, he’s getting what he wants, and that’s all that matters.

He gets to lick over each breast, mouthing wetly at the hot flesh before occasionally letting himself bite down. Or he gathers the saliva in his mouth, spits it in a fat, wet, nasty glob right in the center of your chest, then uses his rough hands to spread it around, grabbing at your tits like a child eager for it’s mothers milk.

Bakugou’s obviously getting off on it - hunching over your chest like a predatory bird, red eyes occasionally meeting your own as he spits out a degrading compliment or two.

Snickers about how fucking stupid you are, walking around this part of town alone - and at night? You were asking for it, stupid bitch. Yeah, be a good little bitch for him and lie there and take it, and maybe he’ll let you fucking live after this.

But you’re too distracted by the rough, wet movements of his hands sliding against your tits, pulling and slapping and jiggling each mound on your chest as if they were his to touch.

His hips are slowly dragging over your own, not necessarily trying to rut against you, it seems more of like an unconscious reaction, the man idly rubbing himself off against you while he pays attention to your chest.

It’s all so wet, each slap of his rough palm against your chest, each pressing suck to your nipples, the way he licks and mouthes and nibbles at the flesh around your areola like it’s a five course meal. 

The man pushes your tits together, mashes his face down onto them, pushes forward, feels your skin against his face and how the fat of each breast squishes him between them.

It’s humiliating.

It’s humiliating and awkward and embarrassing and you wished you had enough money to call an uber, or at least a cab to take home from work. Maybe then you wouldn’t have ended up in this situation.

Pinned down by a man determined to get his rocks off using any passing citizen.

He’s suddenly over you, face flushed, gasping for breath, teeth bared like a feral animal as those red eyes stare you down. Then he rushes forward, lips meeting your own. Bakugou uses your mouth like he had treated your chest, not hesitating to bite and pull and push and lick and do whatever the hell he wanted.

It’s not like you could stop him.

When he pulls away, he immediately swoops back down to your breasts, latches on to a nipple again. This time, Bakugou shifts his legs, maneuvers so he’s laying down between your legs, suckling at you like a calf. His movements are gentler now, less frenzied and painful.

It’s like the fight went out of him, like suckling at you like an infant is relaxing him. You still can’t move - one hand is on your shoulder, pressing you closer to him, and his other hand is playing with your other breast, languidly pinching the skin, rolling your wet nipple between his fingers, placing his palm flat and rubbing over your entire breast in a circular motion.

He reminds you of the babies you’ve seen latched onto their mothers, greedily gulping down milk, making little grunts and soft suckling sounds as they try to huddle themselves closer to their mommy.

Bakugou’s like a child.

Immediately as you think that, Bakugou decides to bite down, chew a little bit on your nipple. 

It hurts. It hurts so bad. You grab at his hair, too afraid to pull him away, just anchoring yourself as he plays with your abused nipple, catching it between his teeth.

The chewing slowly settles down, and then Bakugou switches to your other nipple, immediately latching on and suckling and slurping and massaging your tit as if he was trying to encourage-

oh god, was he hoping you had milk? 

There was no way.

But a man could try, and Bakugou enjoyed every second he spent nursing at your chest.

The suckling faded to a comforting, tiring sensation, especially after having adrenaline pumped through your body at being snatched off the street.

You feel asleep to the sound of Bakugou, the villain Ground Zero, sucking messily at your tits

#uhh idk #just been thinking #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #yanderebakugou #bakugou headcanons #bnha bakugo katsuki #yandere #yandere bakugou #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere bakugo x reader

[brutal-nemesis]

Saltwater Day 2021: Dinner Date with an Eel 💕

Feel that ocean breeze, baby! Cries in lives in a very landlocked area I hope y’all are having some fun in the salty spray ✨Today we finally get to see a Castys misadventure that I’ve talked about in the tags before: the big boy drowning incident! So sit back, relax, and enjoy the agony <3

Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: drowning, animal attack, self harm to escape danger, sort of self amputation, gore, broken bones, suicide for convenience (immortal)

Castys had jumped off of higher cliffs before. Granted, he had done it because he was too lazy to walk to the bottom, and he’d landed on solid rock, and it had been very painful for all of two seconds, so this didn’t make him any less terrified of being shoved off of this one. And yes, that’s right, he was going to be shoved off of this one, into the crashing waves below, which was certainly how he’d planned on spending the morning. Nothing better to start the day than a pointless execution!

Oh, but why are you being executed, Castys, you’re so good and noble and also immortal so this isn’t going to work is it. No, no it’s not going to work. And Castys was being “executed” because, well...turns out people don’t take too kindly to finding out you’re the dreaded Pirate King Ragnarok. As usual, he’d fought and tried to get away, and as usual he’d failed miserably. So here he was, wrists chained together behind his back, ankles chained to a stupidly large rock, and a cloth tied tightly around his mouth.

He tried not to think about having to deal with this arrangement once he was underwater, which was something he was less than excited for. There was already quite a large crowd gathered so, hey, at least he was popular. Actually, scratch that, based on the looks he was getting, he was definitely unpopular. He shifted a bit, causing the men gripping his arms to tighten their grasp. He huffed, wishing he had the ability to tell them to chill the fuck out.

“People of Meruna, we are gathered her today for the execution of the notorious-“ oh my FUCK nevermind just push him off already this whole thing was already bad enough without a speech about all his crimes and whatever. Not that he didn’t love hearing about his exploits, because fuck if he regretted any of it, but the sun was hot and he was tired of standing. That water was going to feel so good...until it was filling his lungs ugh nope don’t think about it like that he was just going for a nice swim that’s all. He was going to be in the nice, cool water without any of these assholes glaring at him, and he’d get out of these chains somehow and come back in ten years and release all their goats and that would show them.

All of a sudden, the hands on him started to push him towards the edge of the cliff, a third guard rolling the rock he was chained to along using her foot. Fuck, fuck the speech was over they were doing it he was going over the edge he’d just been joking earlier he really didn’t want to even if the water would feel good he’d rather stand out here all day because that sure as hell was better than drowning over and over and over the edge the air was rushing by the top of the cliff was getting farther and farther away any second now he-

Castys screamed into the gag as he slammed into the cold water, wasting his last breath of air like an idiot before he started to sink beneath the crashing waves, pulled down by the boulder attached to his ankles. He could only squirm uselessly as he sank deeper and deeper, the soaked-through gag filling his mouth with the taste of saltwater, just to make things even more unpleasant. His arms were killing him, and, you know what, they took the brunt of the impact with the water, so they were probably fucking broken, weren’t they? At least they would heal after...after he drowned for the first time. Already his lungs were starting to burn, but thankfully the rock had finally hit the bottom, so he wouldn’t sink any further and therefore the painful pressure on his ears wasn’t going to get any worse, at the very least. 

Positives, positives, since he was probably going to be here for a while...it wasn’t so stupidly hot anymore, instead it was stupidly cold, and already his fingers were starting to go numb-nope, nope, not a positive, let’s try again. It was rather pretty down here, despite the fact that black spots were starting to cloud his vision, and also things were starting to get kinda...woozy, a little bit, a little, hell-o and goodbye, wasn’t it time now? Yeah, yes, the burning was too much it hurt hurt hurt everything was black and black was good bec-

He didn’t bother counting how many times he drowned. Maybe it would have helped pass the time or something, but, let’s be real, there were better things to focus on than how many times he’d experienced the horrible burning in his lungs and that awful lightheadedness. His broken arms had healed up, so that was something, but they were still very much shackled behind his back. If they were free he could at least get that stupid gag out of his mouth and try to fuck with the chain connecting his ankles to that dumb rock. He settled for looking around the underwater landscape surrounding him, glad that sunset was still a ways off. As far as he could tell.

When he could see and think clearly, it was kind of cool to be down here, circumstances aside. All sorts of fish, many of them varieties that he knew what they tasted like, swam around between the wavy water plants. There was even a really big lookin’ boy off in the distance that he’d seen out of the corner of his eye a few times, though it was coming closer now, and he was just starting to be able to make out...wait-was that a-great. Absolutely fantastic, just what he needed. A fucking shreilian eel. How dare he drown over and over in peace, no, no let’s add a vicious man-eating monster to the mix! At least he wasn’t bleeding, so the creature wouldn’t be immediately drawn to him. He’d get to keep his limbs intact for a little longer-wait wait wait. Okay that was absolutely crazy and sounds entirely unfun, but...it might just work.

Castys mustered as much strength as he could, ignoring the ever-present burning of his lungs, and began to clumsily bash himself against the nearby wall of stone. It was coated in barnacles and the like, but their sharp edges were just what he was looking for. Soon enough, he felt the awful sting of saltwater in the many small cuts that were now littering his arm. Fuck, that was nowhere near enough blood to get that eel over here, and his vision was starting to go dark. If he didn’t get that damn thing over here now he’d die and heal and have to do this bullshit all over again no no no get over here you stupid thing fuck yeah that feels like a nice gash it burns to high hell but so does everything and look at all that bloody water or maybe it’s just getting too dark because it is dark and...so...hurt…

When he came back to life, there was a small cloud of blood swirling in the water around him, but it was dissipating more and more by the second. He couldn’t see the eel anywhere, and if that bastard disappeared on him after all that...Instinctively, he tried to take a deep breath and ended up sucking a bunch of water up his nose like an absolute idiot, his nostrils now burning just as much as his even more waterlogged lungs. His body tried to cough, but it was just painful and useless like everything else he’d done while stuck down here, and he just ended up thrashing around like an injured fish.

Just what the eel had been waiting for.

It felt like he’d suddenly been hit by a mace, slamming him into the rocks, his arm lighting up with the pain of a thousand hot spikes, almost too intense for him to even process, the salty water magnifying every little agony tenfold. Castys was certain he would have been screaming if he had the air, and as much as this was absolutely fucking terrible, he hoped the eel would do it again. It had bitten off a good chunk of his arm as far as he could tell, but not enough to completely sever it and free him from the restraints. And for once, his horrid luck regarding avoiding pain paid off. The eel rammed into him again, ripping off more of his arm with its razor-sharp teeth and causing the bones of his forearm to crack. 

Sensing his chance, Castys grabbed the manacled wrist of his shredded arm with his good hand, bit down on the gag, and pulled. He couldn’t give up, couldn’t stop, not after enduring this much, he could feel his flesh tearing, sending out sparks of agony unlike anything he’d ever known, and he had to keep pulling, pulling and jerking and tearing and twisting and praying, praying that he could rip it off before he drowned again, which, hey, kind of a weird thing to want, not that he hadn’t had to amputate his own limbs before, but weird that it was happening again, and honestly, this hurt way more than the other times, but wasn’t that always the case-and fuck there was no way he was going to be able to just snap his bones like this, and he needed it to be completely severed, and there was no time, wedge it against the rocks and pull pull pull until there was a snap and a burst of unholy agony, so intense it almost smothered the relief, so fierce it made him forget he was drowning up until the moment his oxygen-starved brain lost consciousness. 

Castys’s arms were free. Well, one was free, and the other one was still manacled, attached to...what was left over after all that. He ripped the gag out of his mouth, resisting the urge to suck in mouthfuls of air that were absolutely not there. Looking down at his ankles, he wasn’t sure if-his body exploded with pain as the eel rammed into him again, taking a chunk of flesh from his side, which was definitely not where he wanted to be bitten. Gritting his teeth against the anguish that almost consumed him, he grabbed the wrist of his severed arm and clumsily smeared blood around his ankles, hoping it would entice the monster to attack them and help set him free. 

It worked, and it didn’t. The eel attacked him again and again, no longer pausing in between bites to circle him. Castys wasn’t even sure where it was biting him anymore, he just knew that everything hurt, the saltwater in his wounds magnifying the pain so much that there was no discernible source. He didn’t try to fight the eel off, hoping it would just do enough damage to his legs that he could get free, but he wasn’t sure if he could have even tried to get it away from him if he wanted to. Things were getting so dizzy so fast, all of a sudden, there was nothing to do but wait and die and hurt…

When he came back to life, Castys was disappointed to find that he was not floating to the surface. In fact, one of his ankles felt kind of weird, like it wasn’t shackled anymore, but still...for fuck’s sake. One of his ankles had been freed, torn enough to shreds before he’d died that the manacle had come off, but the other one was...well the manacle wasn’t around his ankle so much as it was…in his ankle. How the fuck that had happened, he had no clue. He just knew he had to deal with it. Looking around, the eel wasn’t anywhere to be seen, probably full to bursting after its meal, and though his heart sank a little at the thought that he couldn’t rely on it anymore, he was also slightly relieved, because that thing had been vicious. It had, however, left a parting gift. He swam downwards and grabbed the smooth fang off of the sandy ocean bottom, gripping it tightly. Just a little bit more. 

He had endured so much already, felt pain more intense, experienced sensations more gruesome, but this...this was more active than everything else that had happened down here. More visible. He had to make every stab and slice deliberately, had to watch the tooth do its damage, it wasn’t mindless bashing or praying he’d get bitten in the right places, but an active choice to cut his flesh away, inviting burning seawater into a wound once again, and it was difficult. Part of him wanted to stop, take a break, please, I don’t want to have to do this anymore, I want to let go, just for a little bit, please, but he knew he couldn’t, because he had to get this done before he drowned again or he’d have to start the whole damn thing over. 

Relief like he’d never known washed over him as he finally managed to worm the manacle out of his shredded ankle and he felt himself start to rise. The lightheadedness was getting worse, and he wasn’t sure if he’d make it in time, so he wormed his finger into the pouch around his neck and let the death stone’s magic take him before the lack of air could. He was still rising when he came back to, and he propelled himself towards the surface with renewed strength, despite the pain of his ears popping and the odd ache in his joints. 

Finally, blessedly, he made it to the surface, and air had never tasted so fucking good. Not that it wasn’t salty, but it wasn’t as salty as saltwater, and he sucked as much of it as he could into his waterlogged lungs. He looked up at the cliff towering over him, now painted with the orange of sunset instead of the gold of sunrise. He...he had been down there all day just...downing. And getting eaten. Kinda fucked. Seeing a nearby rock, he swam over to it and scampered on top, collapsing on its damp surface as he coughed up far too much fucking seawater. Fuck, his head was spinning and his joints hurt, like they probably would have if he could grow old. Well, nothing that one last death can’t fix, now that he was finally on land again.

Castys opened his eyes and sat up, feeling perfectly fine besides the awful, salty taste in his mouth. He looked over at the cliff smugly. Those bastards had tried to get rid of him for good, and they’d failed miserably. He folded down his middle fingers and placed his thumbs over them, a rude gesture in this part of the world. Seeing the remnant of his arm dangling from the manacle still attached to his left wrist, he had a devilishly gruesome idea. 

The next morning, the whole town was awoken by the screams of a young couple who had gone out for a stroll.

Right there, in the middle of the town square, was part of a crudely severed arm, its fingers frozen in an obscene gesture, its skin slimy and already starting to slip off. A manacle was clamped around its wrist, attached by a short chain to the other one, which had been broken open. 

The execution had failed, and that heinous pirate had escaped.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump​ @starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words

#i wrote something #castys #animal attack cw #drowning cw #self amputation #self harm to escape danger #suicide for convenience #gore #hooray yall finally get his big drowning incident #sorry that it's not super drowning focused i still am not a drowning fan #it's not gory and the application of the pain is more indirect so thats why im indifferent to it #actually writing this has made me realize both how fucking batshit castys is and also that he's really determined #i was always aware that getting a sea monster to bite off his limbs so he could get out of the chains was nuts but like damn. it's very nuts #and when he was ripping off his arm like holy shit dude #you might be a rat bastard but you don't give up. stubborn stubborn man #he's like a fucking weed #castys calls kelp a plant but it's not a plant he does not have access to our biological classification scheme #that's his excuse but i will not support the spread of misinformation #yes the eel is based off the shrieking eels from princess bride #aka one of the greatest movies of all time #i dont accept criticism on this #i didnt want to use a real animal because then i would have to research behavior and shit #and i dont want people showing up like ''ACTUALLY that shark doesn't behave that way uwu'' #im just very lazy and i want to bitey monster to do what i want it to do without spening hours reading behavorial articles #not that this didnt make me look at eel life cycles because EEL LARVA ARE SO FUNNY LOOKING LOOK THEM UP #THEYRE JUST BIG FLAT GLASS WIGGLES THAT GO :v #that said i did try to base the eel off of shark hunting behaviors i vaguely remember from shark week #he gets decompression sickness a bit there at the end that's why his joints hurt #saltwater day #saltwater day 2021

[preciouspeterbparker]

i wish i were

inspired by conan gray’s “heather”

warnings: stepsibling incest (not yet but that’s the whole premise), underage masturbation, underage sex, angst. peter’s like 16 and a half, Tony’s almost 18

word count: 2.2k

summary: peter’s in love with his big brother. no biggie. (spoiler alert: it’s a big deal)

(A/N: okay this has been living in my head rent free for over a month. i've written more, but it's not fully fleshed out yet. 

i figured i would post this and see if anyone is interested in reading it before i put a bunch more effort in lmao. this is filth. most of the angst comes later lololol (and more filth).

i hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think / if you'd like to read more!

- bloo)

PART ONE

Peter stands at his locker, desperately trying to blend in and remain unseen as he switches out his English textbook for Physics. The school year is basically over, given that it’s the last week of May but he’s still not comfortable in the junior-senior hallway. He’s always been the youngest (and therefore smallest) kid in most of his classes, given that he’s been in the ‘gifted & talented’ track since middle school. (He’s on track to graduate next year, taking his last few mandatory classes and completing an internship for additional credit.) This year, Peter feels even smaller than usual; maybe because most of the seniors are already eighteen, while as a sophomore, he isn’t even seventeen. He doesn’t have many friends this year, because of it. Ned moved away last summer because his dad got a new job, and, well, he’d never really needed more than Ned before. 

“Hey Pete-squeak,” comes a voice from behind, making him jump. Rolling his eyes, Peter pivots slightly to face the newcomer. The infestation of butterflies that he's been harboring for the past few months begins to flutter immediately, tickling the walls of his stomach as his cheeks flush lightly.

The voice belongs to a tall (or, well, taller than Peter, anyway), ridiculously handsome boy with dark hair and dark eyes, walking towards Peter with his hands in his pockets. The cheeky smirk on his face is all but permanent, but the small, genuine smile it slips into is something that Peter holds close to his chest, something that is typically reserved for him.  

Tony, his older brother, is pretty much Peter's favorite person in the world. Technically, he’s Peter’s step brother. Maria, his mom, and Peter’s dad Richard got married when Peter was a year old and Tony was almost three. They’d essentially spent their whole lives together; neither of them could really remember anything before. They’ve always been close, but that’s changed a little bit this year.

“Hey Tony,” Peter chirps, reaching back into his locker to grab his physics binder. He tries to act natural, even though he feels anything but. His heart’s going a mile a minute inside his rib cage. He feels a little ridiculous, he has for the past few months. Swallowing, he manages to sound relatively calm. “You read the last 2 chapters of Beowulf, right? Mrs. Herrera gave us a pop quiz last period.” 

The older teen groans. Closing his eyes, he throws his head back, a metallic thunk sounding as it collides with the locker he’s leaning back on. “Fucking hell. The final paper is due in like four fucking days! Is that not enough?” It’s quiet for a moment as Tony pauses before he opens one eye, cutting it to look at Peter. “What were the answers?” 

Peter snorts in response, shutting his locker. “Not happening, T.”  He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time and lets the left side of his body rest against the cool metal. Three minutes til the bell rings, and Mr. Riley’s class is right across the hall. So he’s essentially got three minutes to indulge himself and the fuzzy warmth that’s running through his veins. He loves any time he gets to spend with Tony. “You’re lucky I told you at all, be grateful.” 

Tony wrinkles his nose at him. “Rude,” he scoffs in mock offense. “I know you can remember them,” comes his teasing accusation. (And he’s right. Peter can recall the entirety of the quiz, but he’s still not going to enable Tony.) Then he pauses and raises an eyebrow at his younger brother. “Is that my sweatshirt?” The garment in question is a worn and slightly faded black Led Zeppelin USA 1977 crewneck sweatshirt. Peter’s wearing it over a charcoal and white check button-up. The sweatshirt is one of Tony’s favorite pieces of clothing, he wears it all the time (hence why Peter...borrowed it...without asking).

Having mentally prepared himself to be questioned at some point, Peter’s reply is already on the tip of his tongue. “Yeah, it ended up in my laundry and once I put it on it was too cozy to take off. And it looks good with these jeans and the button-up. And my boots. Trying out a new look,” he finishes, smiling as he pushes his glasses further up his nose. Tony often teased him about the thick, clear-but-slightly-pink frames, but Peter hadn’t wanted glasses at all (he doesn’t need any more reasons to be teased, thank you), but he likes these. They make him look cute, more feminine. More like someone Tony could want. 

“You’re right,” Tony smiles. One of his hands comes up to playfully ruffle at Peter’s russet hair. “Looks great on you, kid.” There’s warm affection in his voice. 

Peter feels his cheeks go hot again, and he wills the flush to go away. He can’t take compliments from Tony, now- they make him ache and preen simultaneously. He knows that Tony doesn’t mean it the way he wants. Peter knows that Tony would never speak to him again if he knew what was really going on inside his little brother’s head. The thought makes him sick to his stomach. 

Speaking of stomachs. “Hey,” he starts as he fingers through the papers in his physics binder, attempting to find the problem set that’s due today. “Did you ever catch up on Hell’s Kitchen? I’ve been rewatching episodes trying to wait for you, but you’re taking too long. You saw the episode where Gordon-” Peter’s heart falls to his stomach and he abruptly stops speaking when he looks up to notice that Tony isn’t looking at him anymore, barely seems to be listening. 

It falls completely out of his ass when he sees just what, just who, has stolen his attention. 

“Sorry, Pete, gotta go,” Tony mutters once he realizes that Peter’s stopped talking, shooting him a hasty smile and shoving off the navy metal. He skirts past Peter, a slight skip in his step as he makes his way down the hallway. 

Peter's swallows and clenches his jaw as he watches his brother walk straight to her, the bane of his existence. The reason he and Tony don’t spend as much time together anymore. The object of Tony’s affections. Pepper. She's...everything Peter wishes he could be, honestly. Tall, somehow a perfect mix of skinny & curvy, bright blue eyes, long strawberry-blonde hair. She's perfect. And not only in looks; she's also ridiculously smart. If Tony wasn’t valedictorian, she surely would be. She even volunteers at the local soup kitchen every weekend, and Peter’s pretty sure she reads to dogs at the animal shelter once a month. He hates that Pepper is so nice; he hates that he can't hate her without hating himself for it. 

As if he didn't have enough self-loathing already.

***

Peter exits the bathroom that connects his bedroom with Tony’s after gently flicking the lock on his brother’s door to disengage it, the soft ‘snick’ ridiculously loud in the quiet of the house. He’s the only one home; Mom and Dad are at some sort of event for Dad’s law firm, and Tony went to a party at Rhodey’s house. (Tony had insisted that Peter was invited, but he had to know that the younger would never go- why would he want to be surrounded by drunk, horny, belligerent teenagers? The last thing he wanted to see was Tony and- )

There’s a dark gray towel loosely wrapped around his waist, so loose he has to clutch it in his hand to keep it from falling. He closes his own bathroom door behind him and drops the towel, digging through his underwear drawer to pull out a random pair of plaid boxers. 

After sliding them on, the brunette takes a deep breath and lays back against the pillows, arms behind his head. He tries to consciously relax his muscles, the tension of the day not having melted away during his shower like he had hoped. Time for Plan B. It’s never let him down before. Peter reaches for his phone and unlocks it before swiping through his apps to open Spotify. The sound of “Dazed and Confused” fills the air through his speakers, and he sets it to repeat on a loop. It’s a little fucked up, the way he’s conditioned himself to respond to this song, but- Peter knows the whole thing is fucked up; he’s fucked up. 

Closing his eyes, he does the only thing he’s been capable of for months: he thinks of his older brother. 

He’s growing fond of the new facial hair Tony’s trying out; he wonders how it would feel against his skin. Which areas would be the most sensitive to its touch? His thighs? His neck? Peter’s head tilts back and to the side as he imagines wet, warm lips and the scratch of stubble. Just the thought, the phantom sensation, makes a soft mewl leave his mouth. It’s a little ridiculous how easy he can get himself going, when he thinks of Tony’s touch, of his body. Of his love. In his boxers, his cock shifts against his thigh as it begins to fill out. 

The sensual, plucky bassline and wailing guitars of the song drag along, and so does Peter’s breathing as he brings a hand up to pinch at one of his nipples. He imagines the way Tony would tease him until he was whining, begging for release. He supposes it wouldn’t be dissimilar to his older brother’s typical manner of playfully taunting him. Maybe Tony would pin him down like he did when they were younger, climb on top of him and hold him there with the muscles he’s gained from boxing in the garage. The opportunities he’s had to see the older teen breathing heavy, shirtless and glistening with sweat, would be forever ingrained in his mind. The mental image sends more blood rushing south and his dick throbs as it quickly reaches full hardness, drawing a gasp from his mouth. 

Peter takes himself in hand, studying the details of his cock. He knows he’s not huge, but he’s at least on the larger side of average. It’s flushed a deep, mauve-y pink, and he traces the line of a vein on the side with the tip of his pinkie. A shiver shoots down his spine. He wonders how similar it is to Tony’s. Is he circumcised like Peter is? Is he bigger? Longer, thicker even? Sure, he’s seen him naked before, when they were younger changing or in the bath, but that stopped around the time Tony was seven or eight. 

(Tony and Peter had come home from school one day, and Peter’s head had been reeling over what he heard some older girls saying on the bus. He’d decided to ask Tony about it. His big brother knew everything. ...Mom & Dad caught them kissing in their bedroom. That was the end of bathing together, and Tony got his own room, too. Peter never forgot about the way his big brother’s lips felt against his own.) 

A bead of precum oozes out of his tip and Peter rubs his thumb over it, smearing the liquid over his cockhead. Robert Plant’s voice moans over the speaker and Peter echoes the sound as he slowly strokes himself with a loose grip, his hole tightening around nothing. Biting his lip, he hesitates before slipping his left pointer finger into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it sloppily. Once it’s wet, he reaches down and gently presses the pad of his finger against the tightly furled muscle between his cheeks. His breath hitches as the sensation; he’s only touched himself down here a couple of times before. 

The tip of his finger begins to breach his opening and a whine leaves Peter’s mouth. It stings a bit so he tries to relax, muscles fluttering, making a mental note to grab some lube next time he goes to the drugstore. He wants to be able to stretch himself out more, to imagine Tony’s fingers, Tony’s cock, splitting him open and stuffing him full. Fuck-

Tightening his grip on the base of his cock, Peter grits his teeth and grunts softly as he pulls his finger from his ass. He can’t cum yet- he’s not done. He reaches under his pillow, pulling out the balled-up t-shirt that’s taken up residence there. The black fabric has faded in some spots, and the Black Sabbath logo is cracked and worn; it’s one of Tony’s favorite shirts. Peter brings the soft cloth up to his nose, fumbling with it to find the area with the strongest smell. There are hints of Tony’s Old Spice deodorant mixed with a scent that’s distinctly Tony, a warm, masculine musk that has saliva pooling in Peter’s mouth. Delirious, fucking his hand to the beat, he wishes he had dug a little further in the hamper, pulled out a pair of Tony’s briefs. 

That’s the thought that does him in. Peter cums into his fist, gasping his brother’s name, the sound getting muddled in the maelstrom of guitar and drums. Thick ropes of jizz splatter on his stomach and chest, entire abdomen heaving with his breaths. 

He wipes the mess up with Tony’s t-shirt before tucking the fabric back under his pillow for safe keeping.

to be continued???

#starker #starkercest #peter parker x tony stark #peter x tony #bloo writes bad things (tm)

[notapaladin]

Obsidian and Blood, an overview

Do you like fantasy? Do you like mysteries? Do you like Mesoamerican mythology? Do you like ALL OF THOSE THINGS TOGETHER, set against the lush backdrop of Tenochtitlan in 1480? (Or maybe you just want to know more about the series I have been going feral over since August.) Then buckle up, because oh boy have I got a series for you!

*drumroll, please*

OBSIDIAN AND BLOOD, written by Aliette de Bodard (better known for her Xuya and Dominion of the Fallen series)

There are two kinds of people: Those who see the words “Aztec fantasy/murder mysteries set in very well-researched 1480s Tenochtitlan BUT WITH MAGIC, investigated by the HIGH PRIEST OF THE GOD OF DEATH” and immediately ran off to buy them, and those who clearly need convincing. So here I am, shamelessly plugging my new hyperfixation!

Obsidian and Blood consists of three semi-standalone novels and three (free!) prequel short stories, all featuring 30-year-old Acatl as our first-person POV mystery solver. Acatl is not, however, your average historical detective; aside from being set firmly in Tenochtitlan in 1480 with all that implies re. the acceptability of slavery and human sacrifice, he also is the High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli in a universe where the gods regularly meddle in mortal affairs and magic spells are powered largely by rituals and blood—animal, human, or your own. You’d think this would make Acatl really, really good at solving murders, but you’d be wrong. He is the least of the Triple Alliance’s three High Priests, and his god doesn’t come at his servant’s beck and call. Not to mention the other gods, who have their own deadly agendas. That’s not even getting into the people around him, who might be the most dangerous of all. Luckily, he has more allies than he thinks—if he has the strength to actually reach out to them and admit he could use the help!

(He doesn’t need to reach out to his student Teomitl. Teomitl, a confident young warrior of imperial blood, keeps volunteering. This gives Acatl roughly one heart attack per book.)

You will like them if…

I did just say “magic murder mysteries in 1480s Tenochtitlan,” right? It’s real Precolumbian Mexico hours up in here! The history of the Aztec Empire and their Triple Alliance actually forms multiple key plot points throughout the series!

you’re into Aztec history/culture in general

if a DnD fan, you are REALLY into the Raven Queen

you think blood magic is super cool and wish it wasn’t treated as the realm of The Bad Guys

you get incredibly hyped over lesser-known mythologies treated respectfully but also very awesomely (the thing where the Aztecs thought human sacrifice kept the sun in the sky? Yeah, in this universe it is literally true and plot-relevant)

you are big into chaste heroes, lots of snarky asides, highly opinionated narrators who let their own prejudices destroy them, “from an outside perspective this is cosmic horror but for the characters it is a Tuesday,” mysteries with twists you will NOT see coming, and themes of trauma/memories/family legacies

you love reading about dysfunctional family relationships in various states of repair/further destruction

you’ve ever thought “hey this historical mystery is cool but what if there was MAGIC”

you like noir detective stories but want them with magic

you like urban fantasy but want them to have historical settings instead of vaguely modern-day ones

Plot/character summaries below!

SHORT STORIES (prequels to the novels, blurbs by me)

Obsidian Shards

Warriors have been found dead in the town of Colhuacan, obsidian shards embedded in their hearts. Acatl, priest of Mictlantecuhtli, suspects a creature of the Underworld—one he already calls a foe, for it slew his first and last apprentice.

Beneath the Mask

In the Tenochtitlan suburb of Coyoacan, Acatl’s childhood friend Huchimitl begs him to save her only son’s war captive; the man whose sacrifice will make the boy a proper warrior is paralyzed from an unknown curse, unable even to rise from the floor. But who could have cursed him, and is it connected to the mask Huchimitl now wears?

Safe, Child, Safe

A toddler is slowly wasting away, the mark of the Underworld on him, and Acatl is tasked with finding the cause. But no creature of the Underworld kills so slowly, and so Acatl must turn his investigation to the living.

THE BOOKS (blurbs taken directly from the book listings, you don’t HAVE to read them in order but I do recommend it)

Servant of the Underworld

Year One-Knife, Tenochtitlan; the capital of the Mexica Empire. Human sacrifice and the magic of living blood are the only things keeping the sun in the sky and the earth fertile. A Priestess disappears from an empty room drenched in blood. It should be a usual investigation for Acatl, High Priest of the Dead—except that his estranged brother is involved, and the more he digs, the deeper he is drawn into the political and magical intrigues of noblemen, soldiers, and priests—and of the gods themselves...

(Neutemoc: I didn't mean to sleep with her! It was an accident! Acatl: I don't understand. Did you trip?) (Acatl: I don't want a new apprentice! Teomitl: :D? Acatl: ...I will make an exception)

Harbinger of the Storm

The year is Two House, and the Emperor of the Mexica has just died. The protections he afforded the Empire are crumbling, and the way lies wide open to flesh-eating star-demons—and to the return of their creator, a malevolent goddess only held in check by the War God's power. The council should convene to choose a new Emperor, but they are too busy plotting against each other. And then someone starts summoning star-demons within the palace, to kill councilmen...Acatl, High Priest of the Dead, must find the culprit before everything is torn apart.

(Teomitl: I've only had Acatl and Mihmatini for a year, but if anything happens to them I'll kill everyone in this room and then myself) (Quenami: Playing With The Big Boys.mp3)

Master of the House of Darts

The year is Three Rabbit, and the storm is coming. The Mexica Empire now has a new Emperor, but his coronation war has just ended in a failure: the armies have retreated with a paltry forty prisoners of war, not near enough sacrifices to satisfy the gods. Acatl, High Priest for the Dead, has no desire to involve himself yet again in the intrigues of the powerful. However, when one of the prisoners dies of a magical illness, he has little choice but to investigate. For it is only one death, but it will not be the last. As the bodies pile up and the imperial court tears itself apart, dragging Teomitl, Acatl's beloved student, into the eye of the storm, the High Priest for the Dead is going to have to choose whom he can afford to trust; and where, in the end, his loyalties ultimately lie...

(Teomitl: I am no longer Baby I want Power) (Acatl, to Teomitl: What have you got there? Nezahual, gleefully: A coup! Acatl: NO!)

THE MAIN CHARACTERS (in order of appearance)

ACATL “By my face and by my heart, I’ll bring you justice.” High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli, god of death and the underworld. As such, his duties include both the obvious ones of arranging funerals and standing vigils for the dead, and the less obvious ones of investigating magical crimes and keeping the boundaries between the heavens, Earth, and the underworld intact. When Servant of the Underworld begins, he’s only recently been promoted and hates it. Has a strained relationship with his living family, due largely to not having lived up to his (dead) parents’ desires for him to become a warrior like his brother Neutemoc. Bitter, cynical, and grumpy, but devoted to justice and fairness.

Has an official character sheet.

CEYAXOCHITL “Everyone has to grow up and take responsibilities. Even small, humble priests.” Guardian of the Sacred Precinct and wielder of the power of the Duality (Ometeotl), which makes her the sworn protector of the Mexica Empire and its Revered Speaker from all sorts of mainly-magical threats. Somewhat past middle age but still very strong in her magical abilities, and something of an antagonistic mentor to Acatl. (She nominated him for the position of High Priest. He is not appreciative.) Serious and devoted to her duty, with a keen eye for potential in others. Dies in Harbinger of the Storm and you WILL cry.

NEUTEMOC “Priests hide and run away. Warriors don’t.” Acatl’s older brother, a Jaguar Knight with five children and a failing marriage. Resents Acatl for not helping to support their aging parents by becoming a warrior like he did. The central suspect during most of Servant of the Underworld’s plot, though by the end he and Acatl have begun to repair their relationship. He is strict, stern, and bitter, but truly loves his family. (In the case of his younger brother, that love is buried very deep down.)

TEOMITL “If we don’t believe in ourselves, who is going to?” Acatl’s student, an enthusiastic warrior who yearns to prove himself worthy of his power and noble rank, as well as live up to the memory of the mother who died birthing him. During Servant of the Underworld he swears himself to Chalchiuhtlicue, goddess of fresh water and lakes, gaining (among other things) command over the man-eating water monsters called ahuitzotls. He is courting Mihmatini during Harbinger of the Storm; by the time Master of the House of Darts takes place, they are married. He is abrasive and proud, but also honest, loyal, and brave. And very, very ambitious. You will want to punch him several times. This is normal. (Also, I will swear that it's not just my ship-goggles being on too tight that has me thinking his relationship with Acatl is much more weighty and personal than the one he has with his ACTUAL WIFE.)

MIHMATINI “Better laugh, and smile at the flowers and jade. Life is too short to be spent grieving.” Acatl and Neutemoc’s youngest sister, a powerful magic-user who finds herself thrust into the position of Guardian during Harbinger of the Storm. Though she has no great ambitions herself—she mostly just wants to be a mother and raise children—she is ferociously protective of her family and will fight anything that threatens them. Even themselves. (Especially themselves.) Kind, caring, and light-hearted, but her acid tongue and sharp temper are not to be dismissed. "Fuck Around And Find Out" given human form.

ACAMAPICHTLI “We have always endured.” High priest of Tlaloc and a reoccurring thorn in Acatl’s side. Though he’s primarily out for his own gain and has no patience for Acatl’s refusal to play on the field of Imperial politics, they eventually form something like an uneasy truce following the end of Harbinger of the Storm. He is snarky and sardonic, but truly cares for his clergy. During Master of the House of Darts he somehow became one of my favorite characters.

TIZOC "I've always known that priests couldn't be trusted. You have just exceeded my expectations." Teomitl’s older brother, first Master of the House of Darts and then Revered Speaker. (Look, it’s not a spoiler if you can Google it.) He is cowardly, ambitious, and the closest thing this series has to an overarching antagonist. Among other things, tries to have Acatl executed during Harbinger of the Storm. Events at the end of that book only manage to make him measurably worse. "Ah There He Is, That Motherfucker, What A Tool" #1.

QUENAMI “Oh, Acatl. Such lack of tact. You are so unsuited for the Court.” High Priest of Huitzilpochtli, appointed by Tizoc between Servant of the Underworld and Harbinger of the Storm. Comes from a noble family, and is much better at diplomacy and playing politics than he is at magic. When push comes to shove, however, he can display some surprising determination. He is arrogant, scheming, and takes joy in cutting Acatl down, but presumably has some good qualities...somewhere. "Ah There He Is, That Motherfucker, What A Tool" #2.

Maps of the series’ primary setting

Setting Primers

Official Character Index

Glossary

#obsidian and blood #aliette de bodard #aliette bodard #servant of the underworld #acatl #teomitl #mihmatini #obsblood primer

[rhaenyratargeryn]

Exit Wounds (Cyberpunk 2077)

Pairing: Takemura Goro x (female) V Rating: Mature Summary: When his plans for revenge fail, V and Takemura are left right where they once started. A dying thief and a disgraced soldier, with as much in common as they lack and an improbable bond that holds them to one another. Notes: Post-Canon, Nomad ending. Spoilers for post-game! Read on AO3

They’d picked up a tail somewhere around the border. Whomever it was, they were skillful and cautious, but even still the Aldecaldos were able to lose them in a sandstorm across the Mojave. After a few weeks, it seemed that maybe they had even died out there in the hot sands.

Panam had taken V to a few experts along their trail, people who had done work for the family but so far, there had been little more than additional pills to take. She was swallowing a pharmacy every morning just to keep blood out of her mouth, but the worst of the seizures were under control and well— there was still time. Six months Alt had said, but maybe more. One had already passed and V felt better. 

Well. Physically at least. 

Inside her head things had changed, for better or for worse, was an academic argument that V hadn’t the time to ponder. She had, god forbid it, gotten used to having Silverhand in her head. The lack of Johnny’s familiar presence in her mind had left a strange sort of… loneliness in her. A feeling that wouldn’t leave her, a gnawing sensation that something was missing.

She had Johnny’s memories still and her own of him, though it did little to console her. She sat on the dusty fender of one of the trucks, rubbing a smudge from Johnny’s aviators, one of the handful of tangible mementos she kept of the old rocker. The sun above was already searing hot, the heat like a burn on the back of V’s neck.

“How far out did you spot um?” Mitch’s voice cut through her thoughts and V squinted against the bright daylight up at the two younger nomad drivers, Fiona and Tiger. They’d been sent out on a water run, returning from the nearest town several miles out with gallons full to keep the Aldecaldos going further across the desert.

“Cut us off. Started a fire fight. It was fuckin’ dicey, Mitch. We got lucky. Fiona clipped him and then his hood. Whole ride started smoking and then died under him.”

“Was it Arasaka?” V asked, replacing the aviators over her eyes.

Tiger and Fiona shared looks and then with a tentative nod, Fiona answered in the affirmative.

“We think so. He moved like a damn one man army, even with how fucked up he seemed.”

“Fucked up?”

“The guy was a monster, but it was like… I dunno. Like he was hurt?”

“Never corner a wounded animal…” Panam offered cryptically from where she sat alongside V, shooting her a worried look.

“Wounded animals got nothin’ to lose,” V said in agreement, then got up with a sigh, “You said you shot him? His car broke down too?”

“Yeah, probably right where we left um… you want us to go back, Panam? Make sure he dropped?”

“I’ll tag along. Hitch over with you both.” V said, Panam frowning at the suggestion, “I could jack in, find out what info he has got. I know Arasaka, Panam, I’m the best to check it out.”

“You don’t need my permission, V—”

“But?”

Panam scowled, turning her eyes to the other Aldecaldos and jerking her head to the side in a silent scram. They left, Mitch stayed, crossing his arms.

“The guy is toast. Why not just leave him?” Panam said, a sigh in her throat, “I dunno. I don’t like this, V. Arasaka hasn’t made a peep since we left. Thought we were keeping under the radar…”

“Clearly not.” Mitch said with a shrug, “And he might be toast. Or he mighta had back up. He might be on his way back to the NC to give up our location. We should make sure he is flatlined, if anything.”

Panam was the head of the family now, her word given final weight of law, but more often than not they had worked together as a sort of “council”. Panam was still getting used to Saul’s absence, an empty void that no one attempted to fill, because no one could ever do so. She looked to V and Mitch for guidance and right now it was obvious in the way she worried her bottom lip and flashed a look up and down V that she wished Mitch had agreed with her.

“You’ll keep outta trouble?” Panam said and V couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“I’m already dyin’, what other shenanigans could I get up to?”

Panam scoffed, clearly not liking the answer.

“Ugh, just be safe! Come back in one piece... or this shitty ass trip has been for nothin’.”

This was what having a family was all about though. Caring. Scolding. And now that she had it, V wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not for all the eddies and fame in Night City.

“Be back soon then.” V said, meeting back up with Fiona and Tiger with a short wave behind her.

---

It wasn’t a long drive to the spot where they had tangled with the possible Arasaka soldier and that actually genuinely worried V. They’d gotten close. Too close.

“There it is, can you see?” Fiona said, pointing her cigarette towards the ever larger growing mass of grey smoke.

“Pull off up here… Fiona, you stay with the car and I’ll take Tiger with me. You hear shots or us hollerin’ you peel outta here and go get the others, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Got it.” Fiona flicked ash unto the sand as she pulled the car up slowly to the patch of dried red earth, hidden in the shadow of a high rock and threw the gear into park.

Tiger followed V out, his rifle at the ready as he hung back a few steps. V had Johnny’s— no, her pistol. It was strange how well it fit in her hand, a perfectly balanced weapon that she loaded and readied with the familiarity of one who had used it for years, not a few weeks.

The remnants of the enemy jeep were still burning, fire crackling faintly from beneath the blackened and smoke streaked hood. The thing was already doomed before it took a few good shots to the metal, the paint peeling from the sides everywhere from overexposure to sunlight and rough sands. It was a junker, not exactly the kind of thing an Arasaka soldier would drive.

V came up around the drivers side while Tiger kept back, rifle ready for longshots. No one seemed to be in the car. V checked the handle with the back of her hand, feeling only the heat from the sun on it. She opened it quickly, hand going back to hold her pistol ready as she checked the passenger seat and back. 

No one.

Frowning, she noticed blood on the driver’s seat, smeared across the old cracked leather. The trail continued on the ground, darkening the already caked red dirt with splotches. Any rations or water the truck held were taken and whomever was driving had begun to walk, following the tire tracks Fiona and Tiger had originally left behind.

V felt her blood run cold as the depth of her mistake fell on her.

“Tiger! Turn ‘round, get back to Fiona!”

“W-what?” the young man sputtered, gun up and ready as the panic in V’s voice clearly showed through.

“Get back to the damn car!”

V broke out in a run, leaving him behind as she tried not to let her heart surge with panic. Her eyes caught the blood trail on the ground… making its way to the same rock, the only place of shade, where they had parked the car.

By the time V was back in the shadow of the dark rock formation, her fear was confirmed.

Fiona was out of the car, her eyes wide and fearful and her hands behind her head as the man behind her pointed a gun to her temple.

A man whose cold, mechanical grey eyes cut right through V’s chest and threatened to suck the breath from her lungs.

Takemura’s lips twitched into a smile that was more sneer than anything. Surprise registering just for a moment on his features, or maybe it was more like shock.

“The very woman I have been looking for.”

Tiger had been right. Takemora was a mess. Even without the gunshot wound bleeding sluggishly at his side, his usual immaculate bun was loosened, strands falling across his sun-scorched face, darkening his already warm complexion with deep reds.

He was indeed a wounded animal, a wounded wolf, snarling and ready to take its prey with it to the grave.

V brought her hands up, holding her pistol out and quickly ejecting the clip and then the bullet in the chamber. Carefully, she set the pistol on the ground.

“A wise choice.” Takemura said, accepting her silent surrender.

“Let her go, Goro.”

“You insult me.” he spat, Fiona crying out as his grip tightened and jerked at the back of her neck.

“Fine! Fine— Takemura. Let her go. You came out here for me, yeah? Don’t need the kid.”

“What is one more life to you, V? You already have so many to answer for.” Takemura said, but despite his words, his grip relented on Fiona, “I am here only for one. One that mattered most…”

Takemura took the gun from Fiona’s belt, tossing it far off into the dirt before shoving Fiona away from him dispassionately.

“Do not move.” was all he said to Fiona, his eyes never leaving V’s. Takemura staggered forward. He tried not to let the pain show, but it was obvious he had lost too much blood. He wouldn’t survive that wound without help, but something in his eyes made V think… he didn’t intend to.

V didn’t run, didn’t even struggle as he reached out and grabbed her throat with a hand, sticky with dried blood. He dragged her in close, close enough that she could smell the smoke on his clothes and feel the heat of his breath.

A quiet seemed to come over him, an almost peaceful stillness. His eyes were half lidded as he looked down at her, his hand moving to hold the back of her neck more gently, almost in an embrace as the other held the pistol close to her head.

“... you should have left me to die that da-”

Takemura’s words were cut off with a strangled cry of pain as Tiger’s rifle thundered and a shot grazed over his shoulder and tore fabric and flesh from him. The impact was enough to throw Takemura off balance, giving V enough time to force him back onto the ground, scrambling for the pistol in his hand.

It was a dirty fight— more of a scuffle than anything as blood loss and dehydration seemingly had already sapped the former Arasaka bodyguard of much of his strength. V did him the favor of knocking him across the head with the butt of his pistol before he could get up and risk another shot from Tiger. Somehow, V felt the younger man wouldn’t miss the second time around.

Tiger clamored down from the rockface, rifle still up and ready for another shot.

“No! He’s down!” V hovered over Takemura, shielding him from Tiger’s barrel.

“I missed um, V! Fucker still breathing.”

Fiona had scrambled up from the dirt, rubbing away the clean spots where her tears had made trails down her cheeks.

“Yeah and he’s gonna stay that way, alright? Just… just check on Fiona and get the damn car going. We’re taking him back to camp.”

“V, what? No. No, no way. We can’t take some Arasaka spy back with us!”

“He ain’t Arasaka.” V said behind clenched teeth, straining to haul up the dead weight of her former partner in crime, “Eh… hey, help me here will ya?”

Tiger stared, dumbfounded as his rifle went lax in his hands.

“Look, we need to know what he knows. We can do that better somewhere safe and with him not leaking to death so help me get him in the damn car.”

--

If V had thought Tiger and Fiona put up a fuss on the drive back, she had not fully imagined how Panam would react. V wondered to herself if Saul had ever yelled at Panam this way before, because it certainly matched the kind of ferocity she had seen between the pair.

“Are you listening to me, V?!”

How could you miss it?

V’s inner voice, which sometimes still sounded a lot like one Mr. Silverhand, provided in his deadpan voice. It was an imagined voice, but it still brought a smile to her lips as V let herself indulge in the fantasy that he remained with her.

“Jesus… completely ignoring me. V. You brought an Arasaka spy to the camp. We can’t let him go now! Our best bet is to put two in his skull and burying him in a sand drift and hope his friends don’t come looking!”

“No one is gonna come lookin’, Panam. He’s former Arasaka. Outcasted. Exiled— whatever you wanna call it. He doesn’t got any back up. They don’t even know he is here and would kill him as surely they would any of us.” V said, leaning back in one of the camp’s creaky metal folding chairs.

Even in the firelight it was easy to see the lack of faith in Panam’s expression as she paced around the firepit, raking her hands roughly over her face.

“Former Arsaka, current Arasaka. Shit, V, you think that matters? I got a half dead highly trained killer in this camp who wants to off you.”

V shrugged.

“Oh my god, you are impossible!”

“I’m the only one he is a danger to, so I don’t know why—”

“Do not finish that sentence. You know damn well why.”

Still managing to piss off everyone, I see. Fucked off to the furthest outer reaches of the net and Johnny’s words still somehow played in her head. 

“Sorry.” V said with a grumble, resting all four legs of the chair back to the ground, “He might know something. And if he does or doesn’t, we can just patch him up and drop him at the nearest town.”

“Oh, yeah. Real nice, V. So he can come after us again?”

“I’m not gonna kill him.”

Panam sighed— well. It was more like a half assed hoarse yell from the back of her throat, but V thought she meant it as a sigh.

“... they manage to fix him up at all?”

“Yeah… yeah it looks like he had one shot of Bounce Back left. Kept him from flatlining when he took that hit to the side. He was already healin’ up. Bullet was through and through. Tiger only managed to graze him. Kid got nervous or else your old friend wouldn’t have a face right now.”

Panam crossed her arms, still fidgeting from side to side.

“That ain’t even his worst problems. Guy probably hasn’t eaten in days and his water ran out long off too. This… well. I don’t think he was planning on going back to NC.”

After a moment, V stood, rubbing both hands up behind her neck and then back down with a groan.

“I don’t think so either.”

“You… gonna see him?”

“You got him restrained?”

“Yeah, V. He’s in and out. Was delirious for a bit, but they managed to get some water in him. V… he’s in a bad way.”

“...s’my fault.” V said, words a half mumble, “You heard on the radio. Our plan got Hanako Arasaka killed. I… didn’t want that, but Alt had her own plans, ya know? Christ, at the time I didn’t even think to know, I was just trying to keep alive.”

Panam shook her head, “We lost people too. Saul. Teddy. Bob. … fuck, nearly lost more. You didn’t know Alt was going to stage a hostile god damn take over. He can’t blame you.”

“He will.” V said, her voice quiet, “I… I’ll try to talk to him. At least keep him from doing anything stupid thinking we got plans to flatline him.”

“Yeah, just… be careful, V. Like I said. The sun does weird bullshit to your head out in this place.”

V only nodded, gripping Panam’s shoulder just briefly as she passed towards the tent where they were keeping Takemura.

---

Two armed nomads were outside the tent while another two had been inside while Tom, a former ripperdoc and current nomad senior, had worked on Takemura. The three had left to give V some space, but the other guards remained outside nearby.

Takemura was laid out on one of the cots, his ruined shirt cut and stripped from him, leaving him bare from the waist up except where bandages were wrapped tightly around his middle and then up around his shoulder and back. V had always seen the exposed trace of chrome that wrapped around his neck and along his jaw, but now she could see where cyberware traced across his bare arms and lined one side of his ribs. Their purpose, V couldn’t say, and most likely, they didn’t work anymore given Takemura’s burned status with Arasaka.

The rest of his body was, at least by appearances, organic. Smooth olive complected skin over toned muscle. Takemura’s face gave away his age. The lines on his forehead and around his mouth indicated years of deep thinking… or deep scowling, but otherwise he had kept himself at peak condition. A work requirement no doubt of being a top Arasaka bodyguard.

His breathing was sharp, but steady enough. His eyes were closed, but a grimace rested permanently across his features even in sleep.

V pulled up a chair, turning it backwards as she straddled it and leaned her arms against the back frame.

“... you look like shit, man.” she said, not expecting an answer. She didn’t get one either, not a vocal one. Instead she got the faint clatter of metal against metal as Takemura moved and the cuffs holding his arms to the bed rattled against the frame.

She had flinched at the sound, embarrassing herself.

His eyes opened, the pale grey like moonlight slicing through darkened clouds. He looked hazy, drugged up… his eyes looked over at her with only the vaguest recognition.

“... V?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“I am… not dead. A dissapointment.”

“Sorry— you were hoping we’d put two in your head while you slept?”

Takemura made a gruff sound that V took as an affirmative.

“Would have made it easier.”

“Uh huh, you know they got hotlines for this kinda thing.”

Takemura groaned, “I remember. You said same thing in Night City.”

“I’m sure someone in camp would be happy to help you out if you try shooting me again.”

Takemura went silent at that, turning his eyes upwards towards the top of the tent with a deep frown. Like he was remembering something he had, for a moment, forgotten.

“I will kill you, V. For what has been done.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with Hana-”

“You insult her by speaking her name.” his voice was harsh, pain straining the words as he tried to sit up and found himself unable to bear his wounds.

“...I’m sorry, Takemura. I didn’t— it wasn’t— I didn’t want anyone to get hurt… I was dying. Like literally in that moment fucking flatlining. I did what I had to try and sever that relic from my head and… and that AI did what she wanted.”

“You let it in. It turned systems against Arasaka. Hanako-sama— Hanako-sama was shredded by hacked mech units. Beyond recognition! And you tell me you didn’t know? You knew it would be nothing good.”

“... when I was there, when Alt took over… she was only attacking soldiers who attacked us. I don’t know what happened with Hanako-sama, but—”

“And now I have told you what happened to Hanako-sama.” Takemura said, his words clipped, “Get out— better still, let me die having done my duty.”

V swallowed thickly, rolling her lips together before she said quietly, “I’m not gonna do that.” 

Takemura did not respond. He shut his eyes, as if he refused to even give V the dignity of looking at them. His brow was tight, pained and yet still grimly determined. 

There were things she still needed to ask him— did Arasaka know where he was? Did he still plan to bide his time and kill her? V felt her heart throb at the very idea that this man who she had trusted, had worked with, had saved her… now utterly hated her.

He had sent her one message after she had left Night City, standing among the rubble and ruin of Arasaka Tower.

Rot in hell, クソ野郎.

In all honesty, the way he had spoken, the things he said… well, she hadn’t expected to hear or see him again. V had done with that knowledge what she did with most things… hit delete on the message and then buried it in the back of her thoughts with Jackie and the other countless people she had let down. These things were all just part of the sins she figured she would pay for in six months when her body finally succeeded in killing itself. A part of her had even wondered if the agony of that, the pain of each seizure, the waking exhaustion, nausea and memory loss… if her suffering could tip those scales even the slightest. Make it even. 

Just another fairy-tale dream. Johnny’s voice scoffed in her imagination.

Maybe suicide was still his intention, but it was obvious now to V the means of that demise had changed. Takemura couldn’t get Yorinobu now, but he could get her. The one who had promised to help him gain his revenge and then denied it for him forever.

V stood and quietly left through the tent flap, barely giving an appreciative nod to the guards out front as she staggered off to her own tent, feeling sick from the faint throb that had begun to pulse in the back of her neck… from regret. From guilt.

Her vision cut, lines of static racing across her sight and making shapes turn into nothing more than incomprehensible blurs. V felt the world shift and jerk from side to side, the ground rising up to meet her as she tripped over her own feet and fell with a thud to the dirt.

Even laying there, voices of alarm tuned out and far away, faces blurred and unidentifiable, V could feel the churning turning sensation as the Earth spun slowly through space. Falling, through silent cold space.

Like Jackie, like T-Bug. Like Johnny.

Like all the dead that had come before her. 

Breathing deeply, V curled her fingers into the red sand, and held on.

Not yet, V. Not yet.

#goro takemura x v #goro takemura #v cyberpunk 2077 #cp 2077 v #goro takemura x female v #takemura x v #takemura x female v #cp 2077 #cp2077 #cp 2077 fanfic #cp2077 fanfic #cyberpunk 2077 fanfic #multi chapter #friends to enemies and then enemies to friends and friends to lovers #fun fun fun

[yolo1650]

Animal Crossing One Shot- Tender Mornings (FangxReader)

Summary: Both you and Fang have very different ideas on how to spend your mornings together

Word Count: 1250 

Warnings: Very suggestive, intense make out session, has some fluff at the end (i guess?), does take place in New Horizons, but only some game mechanics are mentioned

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You woke up feeling a little bit different. Your whole body was a little sore and there was a pleasant ache in between your legs. Not to mention that you were very warm, probably because of the arms that were wrapped around you. 

You looked over and smiled at Fang’s sleeping face as the memories from last night slowly resurfaced into you mind. A part of you wished the two of you could stay like this forever, but the duties of being a resident representative were calling to you. It was time to get the day started. 

Very slowly, you reached over for your phone so you could check the time. But then you felt the arms around you tighten, bringing the two of you closer, and you farther away from your phone. So much for trying not to wake up Fang. 

Releasing yourself from his grasp, you sat up and leaned against the headboard of the bed. While still rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you managed a croaky greeting.

“Good morning, Fang.”

Before you knew it, Fang’s lips crashed into yours. They were sweet and tender, reminding you of some of the kisses the two of you shared last night. Fang swiftly moved to sit on top of you, and held your face with his paws, deepening the kiss. A moan threatened to come out from the back of your throat. But you broke away from the kiss before that could happen, the responsibilities of the island lingered in the back of your mind. Placing both of your hands on Fang’s chest, you tried your best to maintain distance. He flashed a playful grin.

“Good morning,” he said. 

“What’s gotten into you?” You teased, “Didn’t get enough last night?”

Fang only gave a light chuckle as a response. With his paws holding onto the sides of your arms as he leaned in and gently rubbed his nose against your own while saying,

“It’s not my fault your lips are so kissable, cha-chomp! Along with your nose,” to prove his point, he paused to place a single kiss on your nose, “and your cheeks,” he then placed two gentle kisses on each side of your cheek. “And your jaw...” Fang moved down, tracing the underside of your jaw with multiple kisses. You couldn’t help but giggle at this new form of affection. But maybe you guys should start getting dressed first before things escalated too much. 

“Come on Fang, you know I have a lot to do today. I have to-

“And your neck,” 

You firmly pressed your lips together, preventing any embarrassing sounds to come out from your mouth. It took almost all of your energy to form a single thought that didn’t have anything to do with how tender the side of your neck felt right now, or how every inch of your body that Fang touched was left hot and pulsating. As his lips traveled further up your neck, you could feel your heart hammer against your chest, like you were running a marathon. He could probably feel it too, encouraging him to only creep up higher. Breathlessly, you managed to say, 

“I have to...check on the campsite, find a new place to...build that bridge...maybe do some terraform-“

“Oh and let’s not forget your ears.”

A pleasant shiver ran down your spine, as you felt Fang’s hot breath against your ear. It was a reaction you didn’t even know you were capable of, until last night. He placed a quick kiss in your outer ear before moving down to the earlobe. A quiet whimper came out of you, almost instinctively as you felt his sharp canines gently press down and nibble onto the flesh of your ear. An unmistakable heat, which started from your stomach, started to spread all over your body. You couldn’t help but let out a low moan as Fang’s tongue slowly caressed your ear. 

Last night both you and Fang discovered something new about yourself: ear nibbles really turned you on. Just leave it up to Fang to exploit your one weakness to have you feeling like you were on your knees, willing to do anything for more. 

Not that you were complaining or anything because by now any thoughts of responsibilities vanished from your mind. The only thing occupying it was the feeling of Fang’s lips claiming a spot behind your ear and the gentle love bites he gave to its rim. Your arms wrapped around Fang’s frame perfectly, as it pressed his body closer to yours. After softly moaning his name into his ear, you felt his chuckle come up in short breaths against your own ear, tickling it. 

Fang pulled away to look at you and the sight made your heart stop. The mid-morning sun had now risen at just the right angle, allowing you to see all of your lover’s face fully for the first time that day. His fur at the back of his head was unruly and unkempt, giving him a more wild look that was new and enticing to behold. For the most part his expression was indecipherable, aside from his soft, half lidded eyes, nothing like the usual piercing glare he would usually give. 

Is this what being kissable looked like? 

With a single breath, Fang uttered, no, practically whispered, “Youngsters like you always move so fast, always thinking about the next thing. You need to learn how to live in the moment a little. Take the day off and stay with me, please?”

In any other circumstance you would have been a little insulted at that “youngster” comment, especially when the two of you weren’t that far apart in age. But you quickly brushed that feeling aside, too transfixed by the closing distance between you. 

Your hand reached up to hold Fang’s cheek, bringing his face even closer to your own. He leaned into the touch, using his own thumb to stroke the inside of your wrist. Your eyes flickered down to his lips and back up again, and your voice came out in fragile, shaky breaths. 

“Yeah, I’ll stay, I’m sure no one would mind. But could you-could you go back and do that to my ear again?”

Fang didn’t even have to say anything to respond because when your lips met his you could already tell. It was deep and sensual, a resounding yes above all, and this time you didn’t hold back. His hands traveled down to your hips, holding you tight and your fingers tightened their own grip on the dense fur at the back of his head. You heard a low, reactionary moan rumble out from the corner of his mouth, almost like a growl, which made you smile against his lips. Fang pushed you against the bed, forcing you to lay back down, with him on top of you. You couldn’t deny the pleasant warmth the two of you shared by holding each other close, which only grew in intensity when his lips touched the one spot you couldn’t resist.

While he never said to you outright, every action was calling out the same thing. You could hear it every fleeting kiss he pecked your body with, in every breath of affection he whispered into your ear, in every love bite he gave you, it all said one thing: he loved you. And when his lips met with yours once again you hoped he heard your own confession as well.

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Still can’t believe I actually finished writing something :o

I know this probably isn’t going to be my magnum opus, but I’m still pretty proud of it. It is my first time writing something this romantic, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some pacing issues, or it just doesn’t flow that well at some parts. I just really wanted to get something out here so that I can look back and cringe at it later

Sorry not sorry if ears aren’t your thing, I just thought it would be funny to flip the script a little on the trope of anthropomorphic animals having their erogenous zone be their ears. (But after doing some research, apparently it’s pretty common...? Idk...not really my area of expertise)

Let me know what you guys think, constructive criticism is especially welcome here :D

-(･ω･)v

#animal crossing #new horizons #animal crosing new horizons #animal crossing fang #xreader #animalcrossingfanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #tender mornings #animal crossing fanfiction #idk how to tag anything #suggestive #ear nibbles #intense make out session #does this make me a furry #whatever #acnh fang #i simp #highkey #fang x reader #acnhxreader #animal crossing x reader #morning after #animal crossing one shot

[ufuckingpastry]

What Remained in Pandora’s Box

AO3 Link

Disclaimer:  This fic is based on the roleplay characters, not the content creators. None of the views or opinions explored in the fic reflect the content creators.

Chapter 1: Godkiller

Dream spat blood onto the obsidian, his shoulders heaving as he tried to breathe through the pain. Quackity watched him, perched on top of the cauldron. He idly wiped at the edge of the glimmering axe. The scar over his eye stretched grotesquely as he grinned. Dream wanted to rip that grin off his face and wished he had the claws to do so. His nails were dulled and bloody from scrabbling at the obsidian, sometimes to feel something, sometimes to escape the honed edge of Quackity’s blade.

“You know,” Quackity’s came through clear, bouncing against the obsidian and deafening in his ears. He lifted his gaze to glare daggers at him, hoping beyond hope they could slice more scars into his face. “I’m getting tired of this game, Dream. The stakes aren’t high enough anymore. The deals feel lackluster at best. And you.” The man glared, frowned his barely contained rage at him. He huffed out a breath and regained his grinning composure. “You’re better at this game than I expected.”

“I’m not giving you the book, Quackity. None of your deals are worth my time. Come back when you have something that I actually want.” Instead of spitting at him or shouting more curses, Quackity’s gaze flickered to the side and. He considered the floor below him.

“Something you… want?” he asked, careful, soft. Dream braced for whatever torture he held in his hands next. The soft voice always, always meant pain. It always meant the worst of what Quackity had to offer. Whatever he was planning, whatever he would do next, Dream hoped he would survive it (or hoped this time the end would come quick). “I’ve been thinking about that, Dream. What else I can do to you. What next torture Sam would let me bring in.” He laughed, gruesome and grinning. “You’ve nearly exhausted me, Dream! I have plans all over my walls of what I was going to do!” Quackity jumped off the cauldron and stepped forward.

“Every single plan I made for you, we’ve done! Every single thing I wanted to do to you, all but one—which Sam doesn’t have the backbone for. And Sam, poor Sam. Unable to stop another person from dying in this cell. I think he almost regrets it. Regrets letting anyone else get close to you.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned forward, the edge of the axe a gentle threat to Dream’s throat. “I even think he regrets letting me in now. This has been going on for too long, Dream. Something’s gotta give.”

“If you think it’s going to be me, guess again,” Dream snarled.

“I’ll make one more deal with you, Dream. And I know this is something you want. Something you want so desperately.” Dream waited. He waited for what Quackity had in store. He waited to know what deal Quackity was going to offer now. The only thing he wanted, wanted most in the world, was—

“Give me the book and I’ll let you go.”

Dream felt the floor drop out from under him, his breath gone out of him in a gasp. Quackity was no longer grinning. He watched. He waited.

“Sam wouldn’t let you,” Dream said in return.

“Sam? Sam’s losing himself more each passing day. First, he loses Tommy in this cell. Then poor old Ghostbur. And now, he’s losing himself. You should see the way he walks the halls. Did you know he took Ponk’s arm? And I know for a fact he regrets it every single hour. All that regret can’t be good for him. And, you know, I care for the guy. I care about him. I don’t want to see him in pain.”

“And yet you’re fine torturing me every day?”

“Dream, the thing about that is: I don’t care about you. I don’t give a damn if anyone on this server does. I don’t. I don’t give a shit. So, yeah. I’m gonna keep coming in here every single damn day, until you give me what I do care about. I care about the book. And Sam? Don’t worry about him. If it puts his mind at rest, I can convince him to do anything I want.”

Dream eyed Quackity, his chest heaving. His breath felt like knives ripping through his lungs. His hands shook uncontrollable. There was nothing he could do to still them and nothing he could do to stop Quackity from coming back over and over again. Except…

“You promise?” he asked softly, a faint glimmer of hope blooming in his chest. Quackity hummed, waiting for him to continue. “You promise that if I give you the book, you’ll let me out? That Sam will let me out?”

“Yeah. I’m only here for the book, Dream. And if letting you go is what gets me it, then I’ll do what I can.”

“The others won’t like that I’ve been set free.”

“Well,” Quackity said with a shrug of his shoulders. “That sounds like a you problem.” Dream hunched his shoulders. Of course, his promise would only extend to getting him out of the prison. Not anything further. Where could he go, though? He chewed his already raw lips, tonguing the scarred flesh. Maybe Techno would let him stay. He could tease him about being homeless again.

“So?” Quackity asked. “Deal?”

Dream’s gaze flicked up at him, studying his face. If… if he did this, there would be no turning back. There was also the possibility Quackity was tricking him. And if he lost the one thing keeping him alive, the one thing the rest of the server saved him for… for what reason would he have to keep existing? Unless… No, Quackity was smart. He’d see through a fake book. Assuming he had seen the original. He had, didn’t he? Otherwise, why would he know of it? Schlatt must’ve let him take a look at it once. Not enough to remember much, probably. Schlatt wouldn’t have let him study it.

Right?

Was that a risk he was willing to bet his life on?

Dream pressed his lips together, the pain grounding him. Did he even have a choice at this point? He breathed out, the warm air ghosting over his lips. Fine. One last time.

“Deal.”

Quackity’s eyes lit up, surprised, but that was quickly smothered with him leaning forward to grin. “I’m listening, Dream.” Dream held up a hand and closed his eyes, breathing in. He went into his head, deep into his head. It was not an image of him that appeared, not a personification of his thoughts as he searched his memory. No, it was him. In the flesh. Dream reached into his memory and pulled free the book. It looked normal, nothing revealing the secrets hidden within. Just like a normal book, if a bit tattered and worn. Dream reached in again and pulled out an image of the book, made it real with the powers XD lent him all those years ago. Then, he took the knowledge from the revival book and transferred it to the copy. But before the words settled into the pages, he adjusted a few steps. Not enough that it was noticeable, not enough that Quackity could sense something was wrong. Just… enough that any revival wouldn’t work. Not without… well. No one needed to know that part. He pushed the original back into his memory, then used a little more admin power to make the copy real.

Dream breathed out and opened his eyes. The process only lasted the amount of time it took for him to breathe, and then the revival book was in his hands. He lifted his gaze to Quackity, who was staring at him. His mouth parted, his attention focused solely on the book. His hands twitched like he wanted to snatch it out of Dream’s hands, but he held them back. Dream offered him the copy, his face blank as the mask sitting broken on the floor beside him, none of his deception present on his face.

“I’m just,” Quackity started as he snatched the offered book away. “Going to check it’s real, you know? Make sure you aren’t going to trick me.”

“Of course.”

Quackity flipped through the pages, his eyes skimming through the instructions. He snapped the book closed with a relieved sigh.

“So,” Dream said. “As you promised?”

Quackity tucked the book away in his inventory, then turned to Dream. His face was blank, like he was staring at a particularly boring wall, at maybe the slightest imperfection. He stood to his feet, still silent, and tilted his head. Then, faster than Dream’s tired eyes could follow, Quackity swung the axe down. Dream felt the blade slice through his flesh and the sound of the edge hitting and shattering his collarbone echoed against the obsidian walls. The sound echoed in his ears as Dream fell over, his utter surprise permanently slapped on his face.

And the world faded to black.

    “Let’s go!”

   “Where are you?”

   “I’m at….”

   Eyes flickered open. He stared up into the darkness, breathing out slowly. He couldn’t even see the ceiling; it was so far up. The floor was cold under his back. At least, he assumed it was cold. He really couldn’t feel anything, not even the warmth inside his chest. He decided, maybe, it would be best if he got off the floor and sat up. Maybe see where he was?

When he sat up, burning pain flared in the crook of his neck. He gasped and slapped a hand over his wound and—

There was no blood. He could feel the pain, yes, the burning, yes, even the slice in his flesh, but…

There was no blood. He stood up, feeling over himself, when something caught his eye. He held out his arms, gazed at them with a growing frown. He could see the floor beneath him, the bedrock scattered amongst the blackstone. He could see the floor through his arms. That, that wasn’t normal, right? He touched himself, touched his arms, touched the faded color of his sweater. His hands didn’t pass through him. He stomped the ground and, no, he didn’t phase through it. He was solid, just… transparent. Why? How?

And where was he?

He turned, seeing a hallway to his right. Curious, he stepped forward, stepped into it. His footsteps echoed against the blackstone as he made his way to the end. There was a pen, but no animals left in it. There were signs and item frames on the walls, but nothing sat in them to show them off. It was empty, devoid of life and warmth. He didn’t know what any of this was, nor why he was here. He didn’t remember anything from before he woke up here. He didn’t even remember his name, if he had one.

A chirp echoed from behind him. He spun on his heel and froze when he saw the enderman. He dropped his gaze immediately, somehow instinctually knowing not to look them in the eyes. But… something tugged in his memory. He glanced up again, tried to keep his eyes shifted just to the right of the—

The enderman chirped again, tilting its head. It had its eyes covered with a bandage. It also… didn’t look like any enderman he had seen before, not that he remembered seeing many, or any… Its face was split down the middle, black on one side and white on the other. Its hair and hands were split much the same way, and he saw a tail waving behind it, also split in color. He stepped closer to it, carefully and hesitant. Its head moved with his steps, tracking his movements. When he stopped in front of it, he reached up to touch the bandages, needing to stand on his tip toes to even hope to reach. A black hand rested on his wrist, the claws held away. The enderman vwooped, the sound a refusal if he ever heard one.

“Why are you wearing that?” he asked, curiosity winning out over self-preservation. But the enderman only chirped back. He wished he understood what it was saying. He dropped back on his heels, sad that the first thing he found in this place was someone he couldn’t even understand. The enderman touched his hand and then pointed at the portal. He glanced between the portal and the enderman, not understanding.

“Do you want me to go through? Isn’t that dangerous?” He said, gesturing at himself. He had no armor, no weapons, no tools. The enderman gave him a gentle smile and a glimmering netherite axe appeared in its hand. He jumped back immediately, the wound on his shoulder flaring in pain. “Don’t, please! Don’t hurt me!”

The axe vanished and the enderman immediately went to him, softly chirring and offering comforting pats. He calmed slowly, chewing nervously on his lip. It rubbed at his cheek where tears had formed and, for the first time, he noticed the tear burns on the enderman’s own face. It made something in him warm, a sort of kinship with the enderman. He didn’t know why, but when the enderman offered its hand, he took it. They walked through the nether portal together. He couldn’t feel the heat of the nether, but some part of his brain knew it existed and what it used to feel like. The enderman seemed okay with it. Now that they weren’t in the suffocating dark, he noticed the enderman’s outfit was that of a suit. That was strange, that it wore clothes. But endermen weren’t half white and black either. He just accepted that this was his life now, to not understand things even when they didn’t seem right.

The trip was uneventful, except for the ghast who nearly shot him off the single block wide path. The enderman was handy with its axe, though it seemed to try to warn him before pulling it out. He appreciated it, though he wished he could express his gratitude to it. He also… really did not understand how it saw through the blindfold, but he was comforted to know whatever threats came for them, he was protected and watched over. He almost felt his face break into a smile, but that fell when they came to another portal. The path turned to obsidian and he felt fear and anxiety creep into him at the sight of the blocks. The enderman chirred and held out its hand. He dragged his gaze from the path to the hand and took it. He closed his eyes for good measure and the enderman led him through the portal.

Even though he couldn’t feel the change in temperature, the change from the burning nether to the snow-covered land faintly glowing under the moonlight startled him enough that his breath felt like he had. The air burned in his lungs, but the enderman pulled him forward. It did not release his hand, except to defend him against the mobs that spawned in the night. But once they were slain, the enderman’s hand wrapped tight around his again and he was led further on.

Eventually, he saw smoke rising in the distance. Then they crested a hill and he saw a small complex. Two houses, plus another covered building that looked warm and inviting. Plus, at least twenty dogs relaxing in the snow. They lifted their heads at their approach, barking happily at the enderman. It patted some of their heads as they passed through. He wanted to pat them too and he wondered if he could feel their fur, but the enderman led him up the stairs. He startled at the polar bear tied to one of the buildings, but it ignored him for the most part. The enderman lifted its face to the house, vwooped negatively, then led him across the bridge to the other house. It rapped its knuckles on the door and waited. He waited patiently too, curious as to where they were and why. It knocked again, louder this time, and he heard sounds from above as someone groaned and presumably climbed out of bed.

“Techno, I swear to god if that’s you…!” a voice called out and he jumped back from the door. It sounded angry and he didn’t want anyone’s anger directed at him. Especially not after such a nice trip with the nice enderman! Speaking of the enderman, he glanced at it, hoping it would protect him. More sounds came from inside the house and the enderman… froze. Then shook its head.

“What…? Why is this?” it said. He stared openly as its mouth opened and closed. The mismatched hands came up and undid the bandage and he dropped his gaze away from the enderman’s eyes, but not before he caught sight of what those looked like. Red and green… Mismatched like its body. He heard the enderman turn, then yelp in surprise. He lifted his gaze, just to its shoulder so he wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Um,” he started, but the enderman (hybrid???) started speaking to the door.

“Hey, uh, Phil?” it, no probably, he? The enderman called.

“Ranboo? Why are you here, it’s 3am!” The door cracked open, but it seemed to still hide him from Phil’s (???) gaze. Ranboo quickly looked at the door, a worried expression appearing on his face.

“So, uh. We have a little bit of a problem.”

“What kind of problem? Wil, go back to sleep!” Phil shouted back into the house. There were more sounds from within, of another person descending a later. Probably the Wil-person? The door opened further and he got to watch the man who must be Phil look from Ranboo to him, his mouth parting in what he hoped was surprise and not… something worse. “Wha—?”

“Well…” Beside him, Ranboo threw out his arms in his direction and he lifted a hand in a wave. “We’ve got Gream now!”

#dream smp #dream smp fic #dream #philza #ranboo #wilbur #ghost dream au #mystuff

[tbtssstuff]

BTS reaction to be jealous of a fictional character

+RE-UPLOAD+

AN: Just some cute boys jealous over fictional people. I feel like gamer boyfriends go through this a lot. Ik I would (If I had a girlfriend or boyfriend (╥﹏╥) ) if my s/o wouldn’t pay attention to me.

Masterlist

-TJ / TacoAdmin 🌮

Jin (Anna and the French Kiss by. Stephanie Perkins)

Jin walked in to find you curled up on the couch with a book in your hand. He was intrigued by the way you giggled and squealed.

“Yah (Y/N), I could hear you from the kitchen. What are you reading?”

You closed the book and held it close to your chest, smiling fondly.

“Well if you MUST know, it’s a book I read a lot back in high school. The main guy, St. Clair, has to be the cutest and funniest guy ever!” You said happily ignorant of your boyfriend’s feelings.

“I thought I was that guy! I’m Worldwide Handsome!”

You were stunned. Was he jealous of a… fictional character? The pout he wore gave you your answer. You bit your lip to try and suppress a laugh and got up to walk to him.

“Jinnie,” you cupped his face in your hands, “you will forever and ALWAYS be my #1, okay?”

You pecked his lips and he smiles, seemingly content with your response.

“But St. Clair is funnier than you. I’m sorry.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN!?”

Namjoon (Friends)

You and Namjoon were cuddling on the couch for your annual binge session of Friends. While watching you noticed that Namjoon had become increasingly quieter.

That wasn’t like him.

He’d usually chuckle at stupid jokes or at least commented on something by now. By the time the episode was over you grabbed the remote to stop it before the next one played.

“Okay Joon, what’s going on?”

He looked at you, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve barely said anything during the last few episodes. Everything okay?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out the best way to get out of this, but it didn’t work. You knew him like the back of your hand.

“Joonie.” You leaned on his shoulder and looked at him with puppy eyes, knowing it was his weakness. He sighed knowing he was defeated.

“I… didn’t like the way you were staring at Joey.”

You couldn’t help but bust out laughing. Was he being for real right now?

“I it’s not funny (Y/N)!”

After a few minutes you calmed down and then hopped into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissed his lips. He instantly relaxed and began kissing you back. You slowly pulled away from him to look into his eyes.

“You do know that I love you right?” He nodded. “And that Matt LaBlanc is WAY older than me, I mean don’t get me wrong he’s still good looking.”

He glared and you quickly added, “Not that I’m looking!”

There was an awkward second, but he remained silent.

“But Joey Tribbiani is a fictional character and you have something he doesn't have.”

His eyebrow quirked. “And what is that?”

You smirked leaning forward a bit. “An amazing partner named (Y/N).”

He laughed and wrapped his arms around your waist. You two spent the rest of the night like that. Making jokes and enjoying each other.

Yoongi (Marvel)

“Man if I could kiss Iron Man I would.”

You commented while you and the boys were watching the first Avengers. Iron Man had just fallen from the sky and Hulk yelled to wake him up.

“Imagine the way his facial hair must feel while kissing you.” Jungkook laughed along with you. He was always the best Marvel movie buddy, putting up with your stupid antics and comments during the movie.

The rest of the boys remained quiet and slightly scared. They all knew about Yoongi’s crush on you and the comment about the playboy millionaire in red and gold armor caused his mood to change.

Not that you noticed.

You never did.

He just got up and walked off, making a comment about going to the bathroom. Ten minutes passed, you guys started the next movie and he still wasn’t back.

���Hey I’m going to check on Yoongi.” You got up and walked towards the bathroom.

“Yoongi?”

There was no response.

Then you noticed his studio light on. He had skipped out on movie night! Rude! If he didn’t want to join he could have just said so!

You stomped over to the door, entered the code he gave you, and barged in.

“Min Yoongi!”

He jumped slightly at the loud noise and turned around. “(Y/N)? What are you doing here?”

“Real question is why are YOU here? It’s movie night Yoongs and if you didn’t want to join you could have said so.” You crossed your arms and pouted. “You didn’t just have to up and leave. I got really lonely without you.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “You missed me?”

You nodded, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“Maybe if you missed me you wouldn’t be imagining kissing someone else.”

Wait what? Did Yoongi really just say that? It almost sounded as if he was..

“Yoongi are you jealous?”

A little bit of hope sparked in your heart. You had the BIGGEST crush on Yoongi since Jimin introduced you almost a year ago. Could this be your chance?

He scoffed and got up from his chair, “No way.”

Or not.

“So you didn’t care about me wanting to kiss Tony Stark?”

“No, he’s a fictional character. Why would you kiss him when you could kiss me? An actual person here in the flesh.” His sudden boldness made you flush more.

“K kiss you?”

You cursed yourself for stuttering, but you couldn’t help the way he made you feel.

He closed the distance between you and lightly touched your cheek. “Yeah me. I guess now is a good time as ever, but I like you (Y/N). Like more than a friend and probably more than I should.”

You smiled, throwing your arms around his chest. “I like you too, Yoongi. I have for a long time.” After hearing that he couldn't help but smile and lift your head up to finally kiss you. After a bit you slowly pulled apart. “It’s still cute you were jealous though.” You smirked and poked his nose, earning a groan from him.

Hobi (Assassin's Creed Odyssey. Not really the guy in it but the game in general)

Hoseok’s head rested on your lap as you were playing your game. This was a normal thing for him and you.

You really wanting to beat this boss and him wanting attention after not seeing each other for a while.

“Can you put that down and pay attention to your boyfriend?” He looked up at you with the cutest puppy eyes and a pouty lip, but nothing seemed to pull your attention away from the screen.

“Five more minutes sunshine, I promise we can cuddle all you want after.”

Yeah he heard that ten minutes ago.

He liked how passionate you are about this, but damn it he wanted his kisses and your fingers running along his scalp!

“You said that ten minutes ago.” He got up off your lap and went to the corner of the couch, cuddling a pillow.

“I start to think you like this game more than me.” You paused your game and looked at him.

You were about to deny that claim very seriously and risk the chance at starting an argument, but seeing his cute face you decided not to and just put your controller down.

“Hobi~”

He didn’t look at you, continuing to pout.

“Sunshine~”

Calling him by his favorite nickname made him turn to you. He smiled brightly to see you laying back on the arm of the couch and your arms open wide for him.

Hoseok instantly threw himself into your arms, his face nuzzling your neck. You held him close and ran your hands through his hair, instantly relaxing him. He was so cute being jealous over a video game.

Jimin (Pokemon)

“I’m cuter than these.”

Jimin picked up the Pikachu and Evie plushies on your bed. The random comment while you were both getting ready for his award show threw you off.

“Umm what?” You glanced at him in the mirror.

“These plushies. I’m cuter.”

“Okay?”

You really couldn’t tell where this was coming from, especially because he bought you the plushies.

“Where is this coming from Chim?”

He stuck out his lip and plopped down on your bed. “I just wish you would cuddle me more instead of fictional plushies.”

You sighed and turned to him.

“Jimin we don’t have time for this, we are already late and you haven’t even put on your tux!”

“But I’m cuddly and lonely!”

Rolling your eyes you got up and went to stand beside him. The only way to get through to this gigantic man child was for you to give him what he wanted… sort of.

You bent down to run your fingers through his hair making him turn to nuzzle further into you. “Chimmy baby.”

He opened his eyes and hummed in response.

“If you get ready now I’ll make sure to give you all the cuddles when we get back… maybe more if you're good.”

You winked at him and went back to getting ready, but not before hearing your boyfriend jump off his bed and rushed to the closet to get dressed.

Taehyung (My Hero Academia)

Watching anime was something you and Taehyung liked to do together. Even if he had already watched the series, he would sit you down and re-watch everything.

For him it was an excuse to spend more time with you, his crush since the day you two met. He made his feeling super obvious, but you just thought he was naturally clingy and a sweet talker. It never occurred to you that he would like you.

Now it was Friday night, the boys were out on the town and it was just the two of you in the dorms with anime and popcorn.

“Today we will start an anime I’ve been really into lately.”

He smiles his signature boxy smile that made your heart flutter.

Tae reached for the computer and booted up the first episode of My Hero Academia.

“You ready for this ride?” He asked settling into the couch, put his arm around you for optimal cuddles, and pulled the blanket up to cover you two.

You snuggled into his side and nodded.

3 episodes later and you were hooked. Already sitting on the edge of the couch, staring intently at the computer screen, and out of Taehyung’s arms.

You had moved away from him about halfway through the 2nd episode and he couldn’t help but pout.

Again not that you noticed though.

As the episode ended you turned to talk to Taehyung about it, but noticed his arms were crossed over his chest and hip lower lip was sticking out in a pout.

“What’s wrong Tae?”

“My cuddle buddy left me for the show.”

You laughed at his childish jealousy. How can one man be so cute?

“I’m sorry Tae. Here let me make it up to you.” You crawled back to him and grabbed his arms, manually unfolding them enough for you to snuggle back into his side, your head on his chest.

He blushed at your sudden boldness but quickly held you close and made sure you didn’t move again during the next few episodes.

Jungkook (Overwatch)

“Kookie!!”

Your boyfriend has been sitting at the computer for hours playing Overwatch. You knew it was his favorite game, but he had promised you date night since he had to cancel the last 2 dates. “

Just one more level (Y/N) we are almos- OH COME ON!”

You rolled your eyes at him and sat on his bed. After 5 more minutes you had given up trying to get him to come to date night and went to watch him play instead.

You never really understood Overwatch, but that’s because you weren’t the best at first person shooters. You did like the characters though.

McCree was hot.

You hummed appreciatively as you saw him run across the screen and it didn’t take long for Jungkook to see you staring at the screen with heart eyes. He stuck his tongue in his cheek and paused the game.

“Why did you pause?”

“Didn’t I say we were doing date night?” Jungkook shut off his computer, got up and started for the bathroom leaving you confused.

“I mean… yeah but your game.”

“And have you gawk at McCree? No thank you. You are my girlfriend.” And with that he left and you were still so confused.

#bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts reactions #bts x reader #bts imagine #kim seokjin #kim seokjin x reader #kim namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #jung hoseok #jung hoseok x reader #park jimjn #park jimin x reader #kim taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #tbtsstuff #tacoadmin

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Suicide Queen (part two)

[Ice Skater AU]

Part 1

The Sixtended characters that cameo in this chapter belong to: Mary Boleyn- @marygrey, Meg Tudor- @me-tizi, Jane Parker- @altairtalisman, Christina of Denmark- @the-queen-of-the-castle, Anya Askew- @thenicestnonbinary, Anne Parr- @inquisitive-mess

TW: Referenced self harm

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

Bessie’s eyes were stinging when she woke up that morning. She groaned, draping an arm over her face, and knew it was going to be one of those days.

She hauled herself out of bed and gazed around her small dorm room. She always thought it was rather dull compared to some of the others she had seen, simply having a bunk bed with a black couch underneath it, a desk, a single shelf for her belongings, and a venus fly trap that she took care of better than she took care of herself. Thick grey blackout curtains were drawn tightly over the single window; she preferred to use light from the lamp sitting nearby or the fairy lights strung across her ceiling. She never turned on the overhead fluorescents if she didn’t have to.

On her way down from her bunk bed, Bessie stumbled on the last rung of the ladder and nearly hit her head against the wall directly behind her. She wished she had. She longed for her skull to shatter and for her brains to ooze out, signaling that she was no more in this horrible world.

Her bare feet sunk into the fluffy white carpet in front of her couch. The softness brought on an odd sense of comfort and she sighed softly.

  “Another day,” She said to the taxidermy crow sitting on her desk.

She wondered if the reason why nobody liked coming into her room was because of all the vulture culture stuff she had. Her shelf was full of various animal skulls and bones, she had a bottle full of fangs, a jar with peacock feathers sticking out of it, and even a real kangaroo fur she bought from an antique store hanging up on the wall. A lot of people found it creepy and ‘cruel’, but she found it all fascinating.

After watering her venus fly trap, which she had named Jackie, she grabbed some fresh clothes and her shower supplies and stepped out into the hallway.

Her dorm building was notorious for its decorations during the holidays. It was always set up, regardless of what season it was. Right now, black and orange fairy lights were suspended across the ceiling, with little rubber bats and spiders hanging freely, signaling Halloween. There were even a few skeletons and zombies standing around in the corners, which never failed to scare the absolute shit out of Bessie when she got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Several girls were already awake and mulling around, getting ready for the day. Mary Boleyn and Meg Tudor were chatting loudly outside Mary’s dorm room, talking about something some idiot said in their political science class. Margaret Dymoke was waiting impatiently outside of Christina of Denmark’s room, yelling at her to ‘hurry her ass up.’ Jane Popincourt was whisking out of the bathroom, shamelessly swathed in a pure white robe. Bessie shuffled past her with her head down and entered the bathroom.

Along with Jane Parker and Anne Parr, The Beast was there to greet her inside.

  “Good morning, darling,” It said from the reflection of the mirror.

Bessie used to have a mirror in her room. She had to get rid of it after she punched it while having a mental breakdown and shattered the entire thing. She remembered all the heads peeking out of the other rooms as she walked the broken thing to the dumpster outside.

Bessie felt Jane and Anne’s eyes on her as she trudged into one of the open showers. Their conversation resumed after she turned on the faucet, thinking the sputtering of the showerhead would drown out their words, but Bessie could still faintly hear them.

  “…She’s so weird.”

  “…Yeah. I’m surprised the counselor hasn’t called her in yet.” 

  “…They haven’t already? Damn. I thought literally everyone telling them about how she cries herself to sleep at night would be enough.”

  “…Clearly it’s not. I kinda feel bad for her.”  

  “…Yeah, me too.” 

Their gossiping whispers disappeared as they seemed to exit the bathroom, and Bessie was left in silence once again.

But only for a moment.

  “You wanted attention, didn’t you?” Said The Beast. Even with the spraying water, Bessie could still hear it so clearly. Probably because its voice came from inside her head, and it wouldn’t quiet down no matter how hard she covered her ears.

  “Not like this,” Bessie muttered. She stared down at her naked body, at the slimness of her sides, at the sunkenness of her stomach, at the cuts marring her stomach and thighs. She splayed her hands open in front of her and looked at the scoring on her wrists, the point system of her constant losing battles. She clenched her fists.

  “Be grateful,” Said The Beast. “They could ignore you. And don’t say you would want that because I know how you react to being shunned.” Even though she couldn’t see it behind the curtain, Bessie knew it was smirking. “You would be alone with me.”

Bessie grit her teeth. “Shut up.”

She roughly grabbed a bottle of vanilla milk and papaya shampoo and squirted way too much into her hand. She began scrubbing it violently into her hair, making sure to rake her nails down her scalp so she could feel the pain. 

Hey, at least she was bathing. Her hair had been a greasy mess for about two weeks now.

  “They can ignore you, but you can’t ignore me,” The Beast said. “I’ll always be here, darling. I’m your best friend. I’m your only friend.”

  “Shut up!” Bessie yelled, yanking back the shower curtain and flinging the shampoo bottle at the mirror The Beast was reflected in. At the same time, Anya Askew entered the bathroom with her showering supplies and gave Bessie an extremely confused and concerned look. 

Bessie jerked the curtain back so only her head and shoulders could be seen. “Umm-- S-sorry, I was--” She glanced at the mirror, and Anya’s eyes followed, but she knew she couldn’t see The Beast smirking in the glass. “Thought I saw a spider! G-guess I was wrong! S-sorry!” She wrenched the curtain shut completely and backed up against the wall, covering her face with her hands.

  “I don’t even need to ruin your life,” The Beast said, sounding like it was right behind her. “You do it for me. You make my job so easy.”

Bessie squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a few tears stream free. She sniffled and swiped them away quickly. She couldn’t cry this early in the day. She needed to retain some shred of dignity.

Turning her attention back to the shower, Bessie began scrubbing her body with apple-scented soap, wincing when any open cuts on her skin stung in reaction to the chemicals. The scars, those that hadn’t scabbed over yet, were still gooey and red, the flesh around their edges white and puckered from the water. The faint paint they caused brought a dull sense of clarity within Bessie.

God. How much more of a freak could she be? Was she some kind of masochist or something?

No… No, she only liked pain when it was self-inflicted. She didn’t like when it was put upon her by someone else. He proved that.

She shook her head, sending a scatter of water droplets flying throughout the small space. She twisted underneath the hot water, washing off all the soaps and suds still clinging to her frame. 

She was clean once again.

  “Or as clean as a teenage whore could be…”

Bessie just barely managed to bite back a yell, remembering that Anya was still in there with her. So, instead, she just closed her eyes and breathed out heavily.

After drying herself off and wriggling into her clothes for the day- grey sweatpants and a plain black sweater- Bessie stepped out into the rest of the bathroom. Even with the mirror completely fogged up, she could still see The Beast’s red eyes glinting at her hungrily as she walked to one of the sinks.

  “You’re beautiful,” The Beast cooed, materializing in the mirror over the sink she was using.

  “Shut up.” Bessie growled, thinking that Anya couldn’t hear her because of the running water.

  “I’m just complimenting you,” The Beast said innocently. “You should thank me.”

Bessie glared down at the sink as she began brushing her teeth with so much force her gums began to bleed. She spit bloody toothpaste foam into the drain before washing it out, gathering her things, and storming out of the bathroom. She faintly heard The Beast chuckling deeply before the door shut.

Once back in her door room, Bessie put her showering supplies back in their place and set her pajamas on the couch for later. She brushed out her long black hair, not caring if it was dripping wet, and then gathered her school supplies, put on her glasses, and left the dorm building.

Upon stepping outside, Bessie’s glasses instantly fogged up. She took them off while walking forward, wiping away the cloudiness until they were clear again. She put them back on and saw a black truck sitting by the curb.

Bessie froze.

All the dorm buildings on Princeton University were further away from the main campus, fenced in by brick walls and a gothic-looking gate. That meant that, unless Bessie wanted to try and scale the walls, she only had one way out. And she would have to pass the truck to do that.

Gathering up all her courage, Bessie began striding towards the gate. There were kids already outside in the courtyard, surely He wouldn’t try anything… 

Her confidence disappeared completely when she crossed the threshold, and Bessie fought the urge to turn and run back to the safety of her dorm. She bit her lip, willing herself not to cry as she walked by the truck. The windows were so tinted that she couldn’t see inside, but she knew He was looking back at her.

The truck rumbled to life upon her crossing the street. Bessie didn’t run, knowing that running would only make Him chase her. Maybe He would just go away if she moved slowly and acted like she didn’t care…

A tear ran down her cheek as the truck began rolling along behind her. She turned sharply and walked up a short flight of stairs that led up the curve of a small hill. Princeton University’s sprawling, plant-filled campus was then stretched out to her, but not even its thriving beauty could calm her nerves.

Bessie walked faster, keeping her head down. She knew she should be monitoring the truck, but she didn’t want to look at it. She didn’t want to risk seeing Him.

She tried to distract herself by looking around. The lush, healthy emerald green grass was sprinkled with early morning snow, glinting softly in the pale light slipping down from the blanket of grey clouds in the sky. It was too dull for shadows to be cast, and yet a dark shade grew from her feet and smiled at her wickedly.

  “Come to me, darling,” The Beast said.

Bessie jerked sideways and ran right into someone without even realizing it. She heard a grunt and instantly tottered backwards, apologies spilling from her lips.

  “Sorry! I’m so sorry! I-I wasn’t watching where I was going!” Please don’t hurt me…

The person she had rudely bummed into stepped back, blinking brown eyes that were so dark they looked like pieces of ebony infused in their skull. Bessie realized it was a woman a year or two older than her, and she was the most beautiful person she had ever laid eyes on.

Internalized homophobia had always been one of the many problems Bessie had, but not even THAT could disagree that this was the most gorgeous human being to ever grace the earth.

She was a dark-skinned woman, tall and muscular, looking like she was capable of crushing Bessie’s skull between her thighs like it was a watermelon, and Bessie found herself longing for that to happen, and not just because she was suicidal. Her short dark brown hair was cut into a style that screamed ‘I AM NOT STRAIGHT!!’, tucked gently into a vermillion beanie, which only fueled Bessie’s hope that her gaydar wasn’t messing up. She was dressed in black jeans and a red-and-black flannel, which had its ends tied together over her stomach. When she spoke up, her voice was husky and warm, tinged with a German accent.

  “You’re good,” The woman said. “No worries!” She smiled down at Bessie, but it disappeared in almost an instant. “Hey, are you alright?”

Bessie sniffled, and she realized there were a lot more tears than she had thought. She opened her mouth, lips quivering, and pointed to the truck nearby without even thinking her decision through.

  “Th-that truck,” She whimpered out. “I-it’s following me.”

Bessie expected the woman to dismiss her panic, saying something like, ‘there’s trucks everywhere!’ or ‘how do you know for sure that it’s following you?’, but instead she glared at the truck and flipped the driver off as it sped away.

  “Fucking creep,” The woman muttered. She turned back to Bessie, looking concerned, and set a hand on her shoulder. When Bessie flinched at the contact, she respectfully pulled her arm away, and Bessie cursed her instinct to recoil at any touch because she really wanted this woman to touch her (just not like that, not like that--). “Are you okay?”

  “Y-yeah,” Bessie said, quickly wiping away the tears that were still on her cheeks. “Th-thank you.”

The woman smiled that beautiful smile again. “No problem!” She seemed to sense that Bessie was still on edge because she then said, “Would you like me to walk you to class?”

Bessie looked surprised, but nodded fervently. “Y-yes. Please.”

The woman nodded and began walking with Bessie, scanning around the area as if she were a guard dog. “I’m Anna, by the way.”

  “Bessie,” Bessie said.

  “Bessie?” Anna echoed.

Bessie blushed faintly. “It’s silly, isn’t it? It’s the 21st-century, who names a kid ‘Bessie’ if they aren’t a cow?” She gave a small laugh, shifting her belongings in her arms. “Umm-- My real name is Elizabeth.”

  “I think Bessie is cute.” Anna commented.

The blush turned from a light pink to a deep, dark red in an instant. Bessie’s pale skin definitely didn’t help make it any less noticeable. 

  “R-really?” Bessie stammered, wide-eyed.

  “Yeah!” Anna nodded, grinning. “It’s impossible to create a nickname for my name unless it’s the dumb ‘Anna Banana’ one.”

Bessie giggled. “What about ‘Annie’?”

Anna thought it over, then tipped her head at Bessie with a smile. “I like Annie, actually. Good thinking, Bessie.”

Bessie’s ears felt like they were on fire, but, for once, it was in a good way. She couldn’t help but smile back shyly.

  “Okay, so I actually have no idea where we’re going,” Anna admitted. “I’ve just been following you. I’m new here.”

  “Oh,” Bessie said, nodding. “That explains why I’ve never seen you before. Where’d you come from?”

  “Düsseldorf, Germany,” Anna said, which explained the really attractive accent. Bessie’s face burned even hotter. “I’m living in an apartment down the road. I prefer to have my own personal bathroom.”

Bessie giggled. “I get that. Living in a dorm has its perks, though.”

  “Really? Like what?”

Bessie was silent. “Hang on, I’ll think of something…”

Anna laughed loudly, and Bessie couldn’t help but join in.

  “You’re funny, Bessie,” Anna said as they got near the math building. “I like you.”

Bessie faltered. “R-really?”

  “Really!” Anna said, then tilted her head. “You seem surprised.”

  “Oh, no, I-I just--” Bessie trailed off awkwardly, not wanting to spill stupid stuff and ruin her friendship with this woman. She shook her head. “Nothing. Nevermind.” She looked at the large building looming over her. “Well. This is my stop. Thank you again for helping me. I had a really good time talking to you.”

  “I did too,” Anna smiled. “See you around, Bessie.” She gave a saluting goodbye before turning and walking down the sidewalk with her hands in her pockets.

Bessie watched her go, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Not even the frigid wind could cool down the heat on her face.

  “Bye,” She whispered long after Anna had walked away.

#ice skater au #six the musical #six the musical au #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fic #bessie on the bass #anna of cleves #banna #bessie x cleves #cleves x bessie #mary boleyn #meg tudor #jane parker #christina of denmark #anya askew #anne parr #sixtended verse #tw: self harm

[dercolaris]

Broken

Hey guys. Today there is something different than usual. No Scriddler :/ *sadness intensified!*

I started writing stories in the Batman universe seriously in 2016, but often without any paarings at all in the beginning. It was mostly based on friendship between characters. I decided to translate this one with Harleen and Jonathan, because I was kind of thinking about it today. Maybe some of you will enjoy it, I don’t really know. 

Song: https://youtu.be/P2H4tCc9E3U

"Hey boss! Look what we have over here!” The thug rubbed his white-painted chin, stared at the lifeless body in the water in front of him. The leader of the squad appeared behind him and looked past the large muscular shoulder into the black and almost frozen liquid. He paused for a moment, then mumbled confused to himself: “Fucking god. Is that him?" The man shook his head in pure disbelief, then screamed at his henchmen:" Come on guys! We need to get him out of there! Otherwise the poor soul will freeze to death in seconds. And be fucking careful you idiots!” The tallest thug of the group stepped further on the pier, then bent down to lift the lifeless body up. It was unusually light. The muscleman carefully laid the man's body on the wood. The leader of the squad rubbed the back of his head, then spoke hesitantly to his followers: "We urgently need to report this to Joker or at least Harley I guess. Holy fucking shit. I always hate to do that. Wish me luck guys." He grabbed his walkie talkie and radioed the headquarters. After a short wait there was a loud cracking noise, followed by a deep male voice: “What is it?” The leader of the patrolling group replied excitedly: “We have found a body in the murky water that looks a lot like Scarecrow. What should we do with him?" A few seconds passed when the radio crackled again: "Are you guys sure that it's really Scarecrow?" The thug looked down at the demolished body, got on his knees and tried to wipe the mask carefully away. At that moment the body came to life, firmly grabbed the leader's forearm and panted heavily in the cold air. His head moved spastically, apparently looking for something. The injured man wanted to get up, supported himself with one hand on the wet wood. There was a croak like sound from his throat as he tried to talk: "What are you doing to me?" The henchman carefully placed his hand on the man's shoulder and gently pushed him back to the ground. He spoke softly: “Take it easy, Doc. We won't hurt you, promise.” The words calmed down the man on the pier. His grip loosened until he finally let go completely. A deep sigh came from his bleeding throat. The leader operated the radio again and spoke into it: “We are 100 percent sure. What should we do now? He's in miserable condition, about to freeze to death and yeah, he's probably bleeding out right now." The walkie talkie crackled for a few seconds without any new information, then a female voice suddenly replied: "Take him to the sawmill as soon as possible. I will take care of him here. And don't say anything about this to Puddin. That remains our little secret, gentlemen."

With these words, the radio died, only emitting a faint hissing noise. The mostly dumb thugs on the pier looked at the squad leader. He only nodded slowly towards his men and spoke loudly to his followers: “You heard the lady. Let's take him to the sawmill. And not a single word to the boss! I want to keep my balls for a while.” The tallest of them lifted the body of the rogue, laid him over his shoulder and carried him the short way to the sawmill. The guards there were already privy to it, only stepped aside when they arrived without a word. It was unusually warm inside. They went up the stairs into the former office department of the business, knocked a few times on the wooden door. The leader pushed the door open and stepped inside, lowering his gaze. He didn't know about the lady's mood. Sometimes she vented all of her anger on her servants, so it was safer to remain submissive. Harley sat at a desk with her feet on the metal surface and chewed very sweet bubblegum out loud, then looked up from her cell phone. “It was about time,” she grumbled, getting up from the chair, “where is he?” The leader waved the thug to come inside. The muscleman carefully carried the body through the door. Harley stepped closer and examined the body, her eyes grew bigger every second. She mumbled softly: “Oh my god. Who was doing this to him?Is he still alive or what?" A faint gasp came from the mouth of the man believed dead. The young woman put her hand on his partly open cheeks, gently stroking the flesh. She looked up and pointed to a door behind her. Together they entered the strongly heated adjoining room. In this was an old bed. The mattress was already sagging, but that probably wouldn't bother the patient. The henchman carefully laid Jonathan on the bed and took a few steps back, clearly confused what to do next. Harley nodded to the men, then spoke surprisingly calm: “You did very well, guys. Take a short break and then back to the pier. Who knows what else washes up in Gotham tonight.” The patrolling group nodded in understanding and then withdrew without to many noises. The door closed behind them, bringing a moment of calmness to those who remained. Harley sat on the edge of the mattress and put a hand on the former psychiatrist's cheek. He winced hard, tried to raise his own hand. Harley took his fingers and squeezed gently, then spoke quietly to him: "It's all right, John. You are safe now. It's... not so bad."

The Master of Fear blinked slightly, then apparently looked into the eyes of the clown. His voice was nothing more than a croak: "Don't lie to me, Harleen." The young woman examined the battered body a bit more. One of his arms was broken several times, as were both of his legs. The nose and lips were almost entirely missing from his face. They had literally been torn from his skin. Something similar had happened to his cheeks. His eyes stared into empty space. They still responded a bit, but they were faded into a light grey tone. Harley bit her lip lightly. He was most likely blind by now. She leaned closer to him and breathed softly: "As you wish. It doesn't look good, John. Can you see anything? I mean, maybe a faint glimpse of light or something.” Jonathan blinked again, trying to meet her eyes. He didn't succeed. The former psychiatrist suddenly became stiff, probably realizing what had happened to him at that moment. His good hand came to rest on his disfigured cheek. He touched tentatively, winced from the pain. The clown was breathing a little faster, looking behind her in a chest of drawers for a disposable syringe and a cannula. There were already some bottles of medicine on the wood. She hummed softly as she searched for the right painkiller. She found the morphine in the whole mess of strong medication and drew it up with the plunger. Harleen turned back to Jonathan and sat down on the edge of the mattress again. The young woman checked the pressure, then pushed the rags off his arm. There were wounds there too – wounds like those of a wild animal. She put the needle to his pale skin and gently pushed the cannula into one vein. Hopefully the remedy would work quickly on him. Harley cleaned the puncture site with a swab and pulled the pressure off. He must have lost enough blood already. Finally, she put a small plaster with a dinosaur army on his arm. A small smile lurked on her lips. She loved those bandages, to Puddin's annoyance of course. He berated her as childish and not very humorous. The crazy girl had a very different view on this, but to discuss with Joker was almost impossible. At that moment, however, this unimportant argument was of no concern anyway. She watched Jonathan relax slowly. The remedy worked. Harley rose again and opened the bottom drawer. There she looked for sewing kits and bandages. Behind her came the hoarse voice of the former psychiatrist: “I don't see anything, Harleen. I just don't see anything.” The addressed villain lingered briefly at the chest of drawers, staring at the worn wood. She took a deep breath and said slowly: “I know, John. Whoever did this to you tried hard to completely dismantle you. It's a miracle that you are still breathing and are among us."

Jonathan remained silent on this answer, dropping his good arm on his damaged chest. Harley brought the material to the bed and turned to face the door. She spoke softly: “I'll get some water and disinfectant for a moment. I'll be right back.” With these words the clown stepped out of the room and went to the dirty bathroom. Couldn't the henchmen even leave something clean for once? She shook her head slightly and picked up a bowl and filled it to the top with warm water. The young woman returned to the office, dragged a chair up to the bed. She gently felt a wound on his leg. There was no response from the older man. Apparently the morphine was working on his brain. She looked into the demolished face and said soothingly: "I'm starting to clean the wounds on your legs, disinfect them and finally stitch them up. Is that okay for you, Prof?" The man on the mattress only nodded slightly, then finally closed his eyes. Harley fumbled in the mess of materials for useable scissors, started to cut the grey fabric from his legs. Her breath stopped for a second. Some of the wounds were inches deep, near the bone. Slowly a suspicion crept into her mind. She cleaned the largest of the wounds with a handful of swabs and asked him nervously: “What happened, John? Do you remember anything?" The person addressed gave a low grunt, then apparently was lost in his thoughts for a while. He then replied, almost in a whisper: “I had a new sample of the fear serum and wanted to drop it into Gotham's groundwater. That was in the underground catacombs of Arkham. Batman was there too, and then something caught me off guard in the water. After that everything is just spongy in my memory.” The young woman nodded slightly, then cursed herself for the typical reaction. He was blind after all. She replied quickly: “Do you have any idea what caught you there in the water? Those injuries indicate a beast or more a monster.” The former psychiatrist frowned, puckered the scraps of skin on his bones. After a few seconds he replied dryly: “I guess it was Waylon. Killer Croc.” Harley cringed a bit and tried to shove the thoughts about the crocodile away, now sewing up a small wound on his right leg. He didn't feel the punctures, or at least didn't show it. She smeared some iodine on the stitched up area. Harleen would need a lot of that. The young woman sighed softly, then answer muffled: “I had already suspected it. You look like you've been gutted by an animal. Especially your face, John. It's a nightmare.” The older man shifted a little on the mattress. His voice croaked harshly: “This is all Batman's fault. If he hadn't stopped me, I would never have fallen into the water."

The clown looked into the light grey eyes of the Master of Fear and pulled her lips into a fine line. Was it right to blame Batman for this? Definitely to some extent, but the main culprit was Killer Croc. Harley looked again at the wounds in front of her and said calmly: "Do you really think it's Batsy's fault alone? I mean, he's always in the way, but in the end he wasn't chomping on your organs." The former psychiatrist laughed hoarsely. He raised his hand a little and spoke calmly: “How can one harbour an abomination on a wild animal? No, Waylon only did what an animal like him does. The Dark Knight should never have cornered me so much. He wasn't even checking on me, when Croc got a hold on me and pulled me into the sewers. No, Batman is absolutely to blame for everything that went wrong that night. He alone. And the Bat is going to pay for it – so much that Gotham will finally sees what a failure he is.” The young woman looked worriedly into the doctor's disfigured face. He had made his decision. The clown went back to closing the wounds on his body. In addition, she splinted the broken bones, starting with his left leg. The older man remained calm throughout the procedure. Whether it was the morphine or his extreme self-control, Harley didn't exactly know. She finally got to his face, staring into the former psychiatrist's empty eyes. The loose fabric of his mask was still over the torn skin. Suddenly his good hand took hold of the young woman's forearm. She didn't resist, just looked calmly at the suddenly tense face. He croaked softly: “Sew the mask directly on my face, Harleen. Otherwise you'd have to skin someone to patch me up again." The young woman froze for a moment, then spoke just as softly:" I would kill a thousand men for you if it helps you John." The Master of Fear shook his head slightly and replied weakly: "To finally beat Batman I need to be whole, Harleen. Set Scarecrow free.” The clown moved her arm a little and freed her hand from him. She took a few deep breaths, then took another swab. Slowly her fingers worked the torn face of the man in front of her. Finally she put the sewing material on the mattress and looked at the result. The mask and his face were now one. The deep voice of the man in front of her made her shudder: “I thank you, Harleen. Without you I would still be out there in the icy water, probably frozen to death." The crazy woman leaned back in the chair, then said jokingly:" You have to thank the thugs who had more than a few brain cells and not confusing you for a worthless piece of burlap." The former Psychiatrist laughed softly, then coughed a bit. He was still far from being healthy, but the first step had been taken.

#DC #Batman #Scarecrow #Harley Quinn #Harleen Quinzel #Jonathan Crane #Joker somehow? #HateSquadOnJoker #Join for free! #Psychiatrist Buddies #Arkham Asylum #Translating day

[lu-undy]

Chapter 48 - SBT

Here it is!

Mundy parked the van about a mile away from the palace Duchemin lived in. It was the end of the afternoon and the sky was turning orange. The endless desert ground was hard, dusty and brown where the few cacti would cast their growing shadows. 

"It's all on me now." 

He slipped out of his van and shut the door.

"Right. Let's find the bloke." 

The Aussie adjusted his rifle on his back and climbed on his van's rooftop before scoping in to watch over the impressive mansion. There were guards patrolling and…

"Sick bastard…"

Mundy had to do a double take at the impressive number of lightly dressed females lounging in the gardens, the same French gardens him and Lucien had been in back when -

"Ugh…" He sighed but shook his head. Those days were over. The days where his heart would feel warm at the sight of the expensive suits and the alluring man wearing them.

Mundy focused on his scoping again. The ladies weren't a problem in itself, no, the problem was that they looked young, very young, no doubt even... illegally young. 

However, Duchemin wasn't with them. So Mundy moved the scope to align it with the windows and tried to get a glimpse of what was happening through them. 

"More guards… More goons… Ugh… Where the hell is he…?" 

He followed one of the guards going down a flight of stairs until - 

"What the hell?! Where is he gone to?" 

The man had disappeared underground. 

"Wait, so there is an underground to this place? Alright…" 

Mundy stayed a bit longer, counting the number of guards and watching them patrol around. 

"Right, I won't see more without getting closer. But there are cameras… I hope those bullets will do the trick…"

The Aussie loaded his rifle and one by one, the CCTV cameras went off. 

"Perfect, now the guards…"

Mundy changed his bullets for his double-chambered sleeping darts and started shooting. Thank God for the suppressor, no one heard him shoot and the guards fell limply one after the next, starting from those on the rooftop. When he was done with the dozen or so, the Aussie came down his van and got closer to the gardens. He found the young girls next to the pool, where he had first seen them.

"Hey - Ssh! No, don't shout, don't scream! I'm here to free you up!" He took one as a hostage to make the others obey. The poor girls were scared to the bone in their bikinis. He released the little girl that he had in his arms and looked at them earnestly. "Listen, if you run that way for about a mile, you'll find a van.. It doesn't have much space but you can hide there until I come back and take you somewhere safe, ok?" 

"What about Arthur?" One of them asked. "He'll find you and kill you and us for it!"

"Nah, I'm here to kill him and look around you, no guards, no alert, nothing. You're safe. Besides, this might be your only chance to get free. Now, tell me anything you know about where he is." 

"He must be underground… I heard him say that something important would happen today…" A young black-haired girl said, in tears. 

"Yeah, he's about to move his merchandise someplace else…" Another added. 

"Alright, how do I get underground without being seen and what's my best bet to get to him?" Mundy asked.

"There's a… A sewer pipe, it's actually a whole network of them… He uh…" The poor girl couldn’t continue. 

"That's where he gets rid of the corpses." Another one explained and Mundy's pupils shrank.

"Bloody sick bastard… Alright, where does it lead? If I find the end of it, I can just work backwards to him, yeah?" Mundy asked.

"You'll have to go around the house, look down and you should see a manhole." 

"Alright, I'll do that. By the way, are there any others like you?" He asked. 

"There were." 

Mundy gulped down hard and frowned. 

"Alright. Go to my van and stay there, ok?" 

"Thank you so much! Be careful!"

Mundy left them and followed their instructions. He walked in the maze of hedges that he knew from that time in the party. The only difference was that this time, the sunlight was enough to see and… 

And Lucien wasn't there. 

"No!" Mundy said to himself and shook his head. 

No, Lucien wasn't there and that was the whole point of it. Mundy would find Duchemin and kill him such that his goons would go after him and not after the Frenchman. He had a cat to raise and someone he longed for. 

Mundy finally found the manhole. He moved it with great effort and took the ladder down until his heeled boots hit the floor. 

"Bloody hell, that's some stench…!" He winced and switched on the light on his little keyring.

Mundy wasn't surprised by the existence of the bad smell, after all, he was now walking in the sewers. No, what surprised him is the nature of the stench, he could clearly identify rotting flesh in the air… 

"Sick son of a whore…" He mumbled to himself as he progressed in the tunnels. 

He had no idea where he was going exactly or where he should be going. But as long as he kept moving, he was bound to find something. Eventually.

"Fuckin' hell, that bloke has a thing for mazes or what…?"

Those sewers proved to be another kind of mazes, just like the hedges in the French garden; only this time, the visibility was extremely low. The little flashlight on Mundy's keyring wasn't powerful enough to help him greatly and the Aussie started to regret not having taken a torchlight with him. But how could he have known that he would end up travelling in some disgusting and no doubt highly contaminated sewers? 

Mundy sighed and put his hat in front of his face like a mask. The lingering smell of his soap in his old, leather hat was better than the filth floating in the air. 

He walked and walked, wishing he had something to mark his way, just to make sure he was not going in a circle… 

Mundy let the little light explore left and right around his feet and the sight wasn't one he wished to remember. In the dirty waters he could clearly see remnants of what used to be living beings. Sometimes animals, sometimes not. He winced in disgust and pulled the light higher up in front of him. 

The cracks in the walls spoke for the age of the building Mundy was exploring, the rats too, although he didn't meet that many of them. 

"That's always a good sign, isn't it? If even the rats don't want to live here…" He grumbled and kept walking. 

He had no idea how deep the network of undergrounds ran, or where Duchemin would be with respect to them. And even if Mundy wanted to spin on his heels and make it back home, where the hell would he go…? Through which tunnels…? Every fifty metres or so was a junction and with it came multiple possibilities not to find the damn criminal, but to get lost entirely!

However, Mundy didn't lose patience. He thought about his parents and carried on. His parents were not shown any mercy and they were put through hell itself. There was no reason why Mundy wouldn't do the same, as penance, to pay for his absence on that day, ten years ago. 

He went on, walked, and with each junction came a choice and with each choice his rage grew. 

"Oh bloody hell, no, not now!"

The battery on Mundy's light decided to die, leaving the Aussie in the dark. He took a deep breath and waited a minute or so, for his eyes to get accustomed to the darkness. There, that's a bit better… And he went on. 

"Huh?" 

There was a metallic clinking noise. It came from his left. For lack of any other clue, Mundy went in that direction. He walked further but the noise had died and there was no way to see where it had come from either.

"Hm…" 

Mundy put his ear on the walls. 

Rumbling. 

Distant but continuous rumbling, a bit like a boiler maybe, or a power generator. The Aussie tried to walk towards the noise, his ear always probing the walls left and right. And the rumbling grew louder and louder until he managed to identify what it was. 

"Oh bugger…"

It sounded like a waterfall. The sewers actually went in small cascades lower and lower down in the ground. Mundy sighed. 

-- Meanwhile, in town --

"Richard!"

Lucien had barged in the tailor's shop throwing politeness and courtesy out of the window.

"L?"

"Please, I need equipment urgently!"

The tailor nodded. 

"Paul, occupe-toi de la boutique!"

[Paul, come and deal with the shop!]

Both Richard's sons came out of the workshop and shut the front window.

Fortunately enough, there were no customers that afternoon. Richard nodded to Lucien and jumped to the wall with the fleur-de-lis handle before pulling on it. The secret wall opened and both slipped in. 

"What will you need?" He asked as Lucien ran to the display cases. 

"This gun," Lucien pointed right. "With a suppressor, please..."

"Ammunition?"

"Both non lethal and lethal, please."

Richard opened the display cases and collected the items as fast as Lucien was listing them. 

"Do you still have watches?" The spy asked.

"I'm afraid they are a bit outdated and modern agents don't use them much anymore nowadays…" Richard answered. 

"Do you have them?!" Lucien exclaimed, furious. "There is no time to lose!" 

Richard got startled but he nodded and opened a drawer that was connected to the wall. 

"Here there are." 

Lucien jumped to them. 

"I will need this one."

He pointed at the one with the silver strap. 

"Of course." Richard gave it to him and Lucien fastened it around his left wrist in a flash. 

"Do you have earpieces?"

"Yes, we do, how many do you need?" 

"Two, please."

Richard opened another drawer and tossed them over to the Frenchman. 

"Merci… I will also need a balaclava… this one, here." Lucien pointed at the black one. 

"Do you need a matching suit? I have a few black ones in stock, one of them should suit you…"

"Oui, please, and hurry!"

After a few minutes, Lucien exited a changing booth dressed in a black three-piece suit: jacket, vest and trousers, even the shirt was black. 

"Parfait, merci Richard!"

[Perfect, thank you Richard!]

"Here, a utility belt with throwable knives and additional ammunition. And this is a special pair of garters with an additional hidden blade in…" 

Richard threw the items above the curtain of the changing booth and Lucien caught them with ease. About a minute later, he exited the booth. 

"I don't have much time, Richard. See you!"

And the masked man ran out. He hopped on his motorcycle and dashed out of town. He drove as fast as he could through the desert, not even on the asphalt itself. He needed to get to Duchemin's palace as fast as possible. 

What on Earth did Mundy think he could accomplish on his own? Find Duchemin, in broad daylight and then what? Kill him then and there?! That would for sure end up in Mundy's death! 

The Frenchman saw the van in the distance and switched the motorcycle to silent mode. He parked next to it and turned it invisible before dismounting it. 

"S'il vous plaît, mon Dieu, faites qu'il soit encore dans son van ridicule…"

[Please, Lord, tell me he is still in his ridiculous van…]

"Mundy…?"

Lucien approached the van and heard some muffled noises coming from the inside which fell completely silent after he called for the Aussie. 

"Mundy, I can hear you are in there, come out and I promise to stop punching your idiotic self before you die." 

Nothing. 

"Bien. You have chosen poorly, for if you do not come to me, I will come to you!" 

Lucien took his blade out and forced the lock open before slamming the door wide open. His jaw dropped as he saw a group of young teenage girls in bikinis, scared to the bone, trying to all hide and fit in the van. They all screamed with their high-pitched voices at the sight of the man with the mask.

"Mon Dieu! Mais qu'est-ce que c'est que ça?!" 

[My God! What the hell is that?!]

"Don't kill us, please!" One of them cried. 

"I will not kill any one of you, what are you doing here?" 

"Fuck! Duchemin's gonna kill us…!" Another one said, sobbing in her hands. 

Lucien jumped in the van and they all gasped. He knelt down and put a hand on the girl's shoulder. 

"Listen, my… friend is the owner of this van. He is off to kill himself and I am trying to save him. Have you seen him?" Lucien asked. 

"He saved us… We were Arthur's girls…"

"His girls? I thought he had no children?" Lucien asked, confused. 

"N-not his children…" 

"What do you - ? Oh mon Dieu…"

[Oh my God…]

Lucien couldn't be more disgusted if he had wanted. "Don't tell me that…"

The girls grouped around the sobbing one and hugged her.

"I am truly sorry for what you have lived with that man. But please, tell me where I can find him. My friend, you see… He is my best friend. I can't let him die." 

There was a kind of honesty in Lucien's eyes that the young girls understood without really knowing what it was.

"He is off to kill Arthur. He freed us and asked us to hide here until he comes back."

"Do you know where I can find him?" 

"Your friend or Arthur?" 

"Both." 

"Your friend is going through the sewers to find Arthur. His offices are-"

"Underground, oui, I know. Stay hidden here. I will call someone who will pick you up and hide you."

"How will we know that it's not one of Duchemin's men?" One girl asked and Lucien looked in her eyes. 

"Ask them who sends them. If they answer L, they are an ally. If they answer anything else…" Lucien looked around the van and saw a few kukris hung on the wall. He pointed to them. "Use them and do not think about any consequences. You are now under protection from the French government."

"French?" One the young ladies asked. 

"Oui, in coordination with local authorities. But you do not care about this nonsense. And remember what I told you: a friend of L is your friend. Anyone else…" Lucien took the three kukris and gave them to the girls. "No hesitation. It's you or them. Understood?"

They all nodded. 

"My friend will be here shortly." 

Lucien exited the van and shut the door. He pushed a button on his watch and put the earpiece in his ear. 

"Richard…? Yes, it is me. Call Maurice and ask him to send a van or a minibus here. There are young girls who need to be evacuated. They are safe in a van so far." 

"Will do immediately."

Lucien pushed the button on his watch again and headed for the gardens. The sun was below the horizon now and the Frenchman took advantage of the dark to make very fast progress. 

When he arrived in the maze of hedges, he was only half surprised to find Duchemin's guards down, all struck by a double-chamber dart to the head or the neck. 

"Hm. The guards are still here and asleep. No one has found them yet and I hope that the same can be said about Mundy."

Lucien headed for the house and switched a button on his watch. He looked at his reflection on a window and couldn't see any. 

La bonne vieille montre d'invisibilité.

[The good old invisibility watch.]

He nodded to himself and entered through the window. 

Ah, la bibliothèque…

[Ah, the library…]

The Frenchman was standing in a wooden room filled with endless rows of books. No guards there. He went to the door and peeked through the lock before slipping out of the room. He found himself in a corridor with doors left and right. 

He walked through it until he met a guard and passed him without being seen. 

Je ne comprends vraiment pas pourquoi les agents actuels n'utilisent plus ces montres, elles sont divines! 

[I really don't understand why modern agents don't use these watches, they work wonders!]

He thought to himself as he soon found the stairs. He took them and spiralled down, stopping at each level and trying to find any way to see where the sewers could connect with him. 

Lucien was on the third level underground when he overheard a conversation between a group of guards. They were sitting around a table with drinks and playing a game of cards.

"The bloke stinks like there's no tomorrow…"

"How long has he been in the sewers?" 

A card was placed on the table and the guards frowned, planning their next moves.

"No idea, but when Russel found him, he got a decent beating and his nose is broken now. Thank God I arrived in time with Jimmy to help."

"The Boss knows about it?"

"Of course, we told him, he might be with him now or something, I don't know."

Another card and another second of thinking.

"Jimmy told me the bloke was weird, I mean, apart from the smell."

"Yeah, he was carrying weird stuff. When we searched him, we found a blowgun, some darts, a sword of some sort, like a machete, and some bullets."

"Just bullets?"

"Not just bullets, they're a rifle's bullet, a big one, like a sniper would use. I've seen some like that back when I was serving." 

"Bloody hell… And what did he want?"

"Finding the Boss and killing him." 

Another card landed on the table and the guards burst out laughing at the idea that a single man had gone through the sewers to try and get the most protected man in the whole of Oz at least. 

Lucien frowned. 

"Oh, God, that's a funny one, mate…" One of them resumed the chat as he laid another card on the table. 

"Yeah, I know. Well, I guess the boss is gonna kill him and throw him with the others, eh."

Lucien's pupils shrank. The others? 

"Yeah, I reckon he'll just scare him off a bit before killing him and poof, back to the sewers but this time, dead." 

They shared a laugh around the table as they raised their glasses and had a drink. 

"Oh I don't know about that, he took him down to cell 1."

Lucien frowned. Cell 1.

"Cell 1? For a dude fished out of the sewers?"

"Yeah, the Boss asked us to do that after having had a quick chat with him." 

"Might be more serious than that then, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but the bloke's alone and smells of rottin' shit. He can't do much." 

Lucien had heard enough. He needed to find Cell 1, which he felt was a bit of a special one, from what the guards said. He took a quick look at his watch and slithered against the wall back to explore the place.

One of the guards had said 'down to Cell 1', so presumably Lucien had to go down some more stairs…  

And he did until he came across a very useful plan of the place. Finally! He had been looking for it! As secret as a place might be, there always is a fire escape plan somewhere on the walls, finding it reveals a lot of information on the building. 

Lucien stared at it and studied it carefully. He was looking for a floor with cells, so presumably, a row of small rooms… Hm… 

Ah! There! Two levels below him! Those must be cells!

He thurtled down the stairs as silent as a shadow and went through a few doors before finding that he had been right. He found a corridor with cells left and right and in front of him, at the end of it, was a larger cell with a man chained to the wall from his wrists and his ankles. 

Lucien winced. He passed a table on which was Mundy's blowgun, his darts and a few bullets. He came closer to the prisoner and, after making sure no one was around, he tapped on his watch. Out of a thin cloud of smoke, the silhouette of the Frenchman appeared in thin air. 

"Ugh… Spook…? Oooh, you look like a burglar, dressed all in black like that…" Mundy was sitting against the wall limply, he was speaking comically slowly and Lucien guessed he had been drugged. 

"Ssh! Bushman, I will get you out of here but you must stay quiet!" Lucien whispered as he took his cigarette case out. He flipped it open and took the pins concealed there to pick the lock. 

"Eh… Spook…? You came here through the sewers too..?" 

"Non, but I can clearly smell that you did. Now, keep your mouth shut!" 

Lucien managed to pick the lock and entered the cell before shutting its door again. He went straight to Mundy's wrists and ankles and started picking the locks there too when a door opened in the corridor. The spy tapped his watch again and turned invisible. 

"Woohoohoohooo Spook…? I thought only yer bike could do that…!"

Lucien didn't move and just watched the guard approach. 

"Eh… Eh mate? See the Spook? Hey! Can you see him?" Mundy drunkenly asked.

"Shut up in there, will ya?" The guard shouted back. He looked in the cell and judging that everything seemed normal, he left. 

Lucien waited for the man to be completely gone before reappearing and dealing with the cuffs. 

"Bushman, keep your mouth sealed. If they learn that I am here, we are both doomed." 

"Yeah but at least I'll get to be… I'll get to be with you, eh? I mean…"

Lucien blushed but kept on trying to free his stinking friend. The ankles were free, time for the wrists. 

"Ssh, Bushman."

"No, no… Listen… I mean… If we both die here and now… I mean… No… That's not what I mean… Pearl needs you…" Mundy raised an index finger and stared at it. The poor man was seeing double under the drugs he had been fed. "And there's this bloke you like… Ah, damn him… Damn him to hell and back…!"

"Oh for that, I couldn't agree more. Damn him because he can't keep his mouth shut!"

"No, not for that, Spook…" Mundy missed the meaning entirely. "Damn him cause you… you like him and that's a problem, see?" 

One wrist free. Now the other. 

"It's a problem cause… See, I like you…" 

Lucien stopped his picking of the lock on Mundy's wrist and raised his eyes to him. 

"Bushman. Stop talking before I make you." 

"No… But seriously… I like ya… You're…" 

Lucien expected a compliment. 

"...weird." The Frenchman rolled up his eyes. "But a good kind of weird, eh…?"

"Bushman, listen to me." 

"Huh?"

"If we want to make it out of here you will have to stay quiet. We can't afford to be spotted, especially you, running free outside of your cell. How often do these guards come and check on you?" 

Lucien helped the Aussie up and Mundy naturally put an arm on the Frenchman's shoulders. The spy realised that he had been beaten up quite badly when Mundy started limping. They moved to the table and Lucien took Mundy's equipment that he stuffed in the poor man's pockets.

"I don't know, mate… Quite a bit of time… Gets lonely here y'know… So I just think of my parents… Heh, keeps the motivation goin'... And I think of you too… Keeps me warm inside… Can't help it…"

"Listen here. Let us make a bet, shall we?" Lucien tried another strategy to make his rescue shut up. 

"Yeah, alright, anythin' for you…"

Lucien rolled up his eyes again. 

"I bet that you cannot remain quiet until we reach your van."

"What's in it for me…?"

"If you succeed, I will owe you a dinner. If you fail, we will however both end up back in this cell before getting killed and thrown in those infamous sewers you went through. How does that sound?"

"Dinner… with you?" Mundy asked.

"Oui. Dinner with me." 

"Just you and me…?"

"Just you and me."

"Like… a date or something?" 

Lucien sighed.

"Oui, Bushman. Now, do you take the bet, yes or no?"

"Right, I'll uh… I'll shut up until we get to the van… Easy…" 

"Good." 

Lucien tapped his watch and both turned invisible. They went to the stairs and started climbing them. To his honor, the Aussie stayed silent even though he looked like he was suffering immensely while taking each step up. His gait was slow and heavy but Lucien was patient. 

When they finally made it back outside and on ground level, Mundy tapped his friend's shoulder and asked for a break. Fine, Lucien stopped pulling him and gave him a moment. 

They were in the middle of the maze of hedges and no one was around them except the bodies of tranquilised guards. 

"Huh…" Mundy frowned. His vision was blurred and seeing double did not help, especially in the middle of the night. The lights from the lanterns in the garden waved and danced before his eyes and his whole head was spinning. "Ugh…"

"Mundy?!"

The Aussie collapsed but thank God Lucien caught him before he hit the floor. He carried his limp body over his shoulder all the way to the van. When he arrived, Lucien went straight to the passenger's seat and laid Mundy there. The Aussie was only unconscious, thank God.

Lucien fastened his seatbelt to secure him before going to the back door. 

He opened it and the girls had gone, the kukris were all back on the wall as well. Good. Lucien rummaged through the Aussie's belongings before he found some deodorant. He grabbed it and went outside again. There was one detail to arrange: the motorcycle. 

Lucien double tapped it and it appeared. He fiddled with its dashboard for quite a long time before he managed to make it understand that it had to follow the van. Once it was done, the Frenchman went back to the van, on the driver's seat this time. 

"Oh…!" He winced at Mundy's smell and sprayed some deodorant on him. There, that would do, at least momentarily. For now, the Frenchman raced through the desert back to town. He needed to get Mundy to the Doctor's.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

[andsotheuniverseended]

cephas my beloved

so i don't know if what you meant here was "answer all thirty of the dnd meme questions for cephas" but that is how i'm interpreting it so i'mma go ahead and put it under a cut

(also for those not in the know, Cephas (they/she/him/any pronoun you like) is my stone construct witch. yes those are both homebrew things I found online. i use this witch and just recently updated them to the 3.0 version and i'm very excited about it)

1. if one of their friends was jumping on a bed and asked your character to join them, would they?

Yes, absolutely, of course. The bed would then immediately break because Cephas is a couple tons of solid rock, but that's on their friends for not thinking it through. Or maybe that was the plan. Either way, Cephas is on board.

2. would your character carry around a tiny bath and body works hand sanitizer? if yes, would it have a specific scent?

I mean, Ceph does carry around smelling salts enchanted to smell like whatever would make someone feel better in the moment? Which is kind of the same thing? But anyways the real answer is Probably Not unless it was a gift, because Cephas has no sense of smell and has no need to sanitize.

3. does your character paint their nails? do they wait for them to dry fully afterwards?

Technically he doesn't have nails but Cephas will happily allow themselves to be painted over any part of their body, and will stay completely still until it's dry. I know because the party his done this to them before.

4. if you cut open your character’s heart and there was something inside, what would it be? why?

Hm. I mean. Literally speaking, no heart, you just find stone in there. Figuratively speaking... a jade earring. representative of their first steps towards freedom.

5. do/would your character carry lots of hair ties on their wrist?

Nah, not unless one of the other party members asked.

6. what parts of your character’s voice/manner of speaking are distinct, if any?

Hm. Mostly just that their voice is pretty rough and low. Otherwise I think they talk pretty normal??

7. what’s the first thing your character’s eyes are drawn to on a map?

New places. To all the parts of the world they haven't seen yet, and want to.

8. how did your character feel when they left home for the first time?

Okay I'm going to go with the definition of home that means Cephas has to feel like it's home, which would mean the place where they lived with their BFF Effie. And I think the first time they left there, with an intent to go out and adventure, they felt really excited, happy, and like they were finally doing what they were meant to be doing. They'd been feeling very restless up until that point, so it's kind of like scratching an itch. Very satisfying.

9. where does your character look when they’re the only one walking down a road?

All around. She likes to see everything and doesn't get particularly worried about other people or robbers or things like that, so there's a lot of being generally distracted by whatever scenery they're passing through. Sometimes he'll just stop and pretend to be a statue on the side of the road and people watch for a while, if there's time for it.

10. does your character have tattoos? were they alone the first time they got one?

Being made of stone, my darling Cephas can't get tattoos. If they had actual flesh I do think they'd wanna get some.

11. if a button came loose from your character’s shirt, would they make sure the replacement matched?

Cephas doesn't wear clothes, and if they did 'matching' would not be the thing they cared about, so for sure No.

12. how loudly do they cry?

Gods I feel like a lot of these answers are just "Cephas is a stone construct and therefore cannot/does not do the thing" but like Cephas is a stone construct and cannot cry. There have been a lot of times where they wished they could, but their body wasn't built for it. Typically if they're sad, they're quiet about it, reserved.

13. does your character like holding hands? do they do it often?

Yes! But he doesn't do it very often at all. Stone isn't comfortable for other people to hold, and they have to be careful not to hurt people when touching them, so it's generally more dangerous for whoever they're holding hands with than its worth.

14. is your character more likely to wear a necktie, a bowtie, or a bolo tie? (if any at all)

Again, no clothes. But I think Cephas would enjoy a good bolo tie.

15. have you ever said something as your character that stuck with you for a while after? what was it?

Oh lord. Uhhh... hm, well there was this one thing but it is very dependent on the context of the moment. Which is that they were talking with another character who was frustrated about not knowing things, and talking about how in order to be people you have to ask questions even if you don't get answers, you have to keep asking questions. And then they discovered something that was a step in a mystery they'd been trying to deal with and Cephas said "and sometimes you do get answers" and I don't know why but that one did stick with me.

16. what does getting flustered look like for your character?

Stuttering. Awkward hand movements. Maybe reverting to the old "I am but a simple construct with no consciousness" trick if they're really feeling out of sorts.

17. does your character have to glance at their hands to remember left and right?

Ha, no. Cephas knows what they're doing, unlike me.

18. does your character have stuffed animals? would they if they could? what kind?

Hm, no, xe doesn't. But I think they would if they ever settled down and stopped traveling. Even if Cephas can't really feel the softness, they would like it. And they'd be very careful with them too. As for the kind... I'm thinking those, like, huge round ones? Fuck there was a name for them. Squishables?? I think???

19. does your character walk or run down stairs?

Walk, typically. Running could damage things lol

20. if your character saw a turtle stuck on its back, would they flip it over?

Oh yes 100%. And also try and talk to the turtle and see if it needed any further assistance.

21. has your character ever climbed out of a window? would they do it again?

I don't have a moment in mind specifically, but there's no way Cephas hasn't, and they would absolutely do it again.

22. what’s your character’s ideal way to wake up? what usually wakes them up?

Cephas doesn't so much sleep as... go into Obedient Construct mode for four hours, which is to say they will obey any order given to them. Ideal way to wake up from that is in some weird/compromising position because it means his friends were messing with them and they love that. And they can't be woken up unnaturally, so its just that after Four Hours something in their head goes Ding and they're back.

23. what’s the pettiest thing your character’s ever done?

Dyed a nobleman's hair bright pink because he was kind of rude to them when they were pretending to be a normal construct.

24. what made your character the angriest they’ve ever been?

Cephas... doesn't really do anger, generally. But! There was a man who pretended to be a prophet of a god, and collected a small group of true believers. And then he took over a town, and made the townsfolk slaves. And that really got to Cephas, in a very personal way. (They did take care of the man and they still have mixed feelings about doing it.)

25. how does you character smile?

With great effort. Cephas wasn't built to emote, so any facial expressions are subtle and take a lot of concentration and effort to make happen. Over time they've gotten more practiced at this and can do it almost without thought, but it's still the smallest movements for a great amount of toil.

26. does your know the names of their constellations? how did they learn them?

I think, some of them? Cephas lived with her best friend's family for a long time and I think they would've learned some of them there. But then they also definitely made a game out of making up constellations and naming them whatever they wanted, so it's a toss up whether what they know is a real constellation or one they made up and then forgot they made up.

27. do/would your character draw or write on themself?

Oh yeah, for sure.

28. would your character race someone to the top of a tall tree for bragging rights?

Not for bragging rights, but absolutely yes Cephas would race someone. And they would lose because they are big and heavy and not made for climbing, but its more about the fun of it than the winning or the losing for them.

29. is there an artist whose style you associate with your character? (visual or otherwise; poets and musicians, etc. count)

Hmm... not really?? I don't really associate artists with my characters. My friend drew Cephas once, so I think that's the closest I'm gonna get to that. Maybe Delta Rae? I feel like Delta Rae has got those witchy vibes, and that makes me think Cephas.

30. how has your character’s first impressions of their party members changed since they met them? have they stayed the same?

Oh this is delightful because when Ceph first met the party, they were pretending to be a normal construct, so the DM was 'playing' them. Which meant I got to sit there and watch, and so I wrote down what Cephas was thinking. They only met the first three members of the party that day, but I literally have it written down that it was three "good first impressions" because one of them stole a book, another one turned invisible to draw a face on a trash can, and the third called Cephas 'interesting'. Overall impression? A group of messes who just went through something tough and are not dealing with it super well.

Current impression? A surprisingly competent group of messes who are working through some stuff, and very much don't like talking about their feelings. Also, I'm invested.

Seriously though it started out as Cephas thinking they seemed fun and wanting a distraction, and now Cephas is like actually really invested in all of them and their growth and wants to help them as much as they can.

#Cephas #dnd #this was. long. but also fun. #also anon u called cephas 'my beloved' and i was like Ah? did i send this ask to myself?? #maybe i did maybe i willed it into existence #anyways i love Cephas they're weird and beautiful and love their party and they have to leave soon and i am sad #Universe Answers

[chemicalpink]

Too Good to be True Series ♡ Jungkook

Pairing: idol!Jungkook x fem!reader

Genre: PURE fluff

Summary: Jungkook has always secretly dreamt about having one of those chick flick moments, so when he saw you walk into the same cafe as him he couldn’t help but think that love at first sight was just too good to be true.

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: none :) (well it kinda is REALLY soft)

A/N: I hope you enjoy this really really soft series I’m working on for every member… I just needed some fluff in my life. Please let me know what you think! Also, I kinda got into the holiday season because … seasonal depression yayy

JIMIN ♡ HOSEOK

For some weird reason, waking up at six in the morning on a free day seemed like a great idea for Jungkook, he wasn’t feeling like himself after all the stress from tour and the upcoming performances, or maybe it was just him missing his family being this close to Christmas season and knowing he wouldn’t be able to spend it with them. It was times like this he would just feel alone while being surrounded by people he loved and loved him back, and boy did he wished to shake that feeling off, but he just couldn’t help himself. The first rays of sunshine peeped through his room’s window as he lazily sat at the edge of his bed, his bare feet barely touching the floor, only for him to feel immediately cold all over; he had promised himself the day before to go for a jog early in the morning so he had a chance to drop by his favourite dog cafe afterwards, in an attempt to feel better before it became too crowded and impossible for him to walk in by himself.

Cold air hit him as soon as he walked inside the spacious cafe, a small white dog running towards him as he walked to the bar to order his usual iced coffee, he soon found his worries being washed away by the several fur balls greeting him and he couldn’t help but smile when a golden retriever knocked him over in an attempt of sniffing his cup.

“Hey, you’re so cute” he whispered to the dog as he scratched the back of his left ear, taking his coffee further up for the dog to be unable to reach it

“You must not be a regular, Bomi is a new one here. Sorry” upon hearing your voice, the dog ran happily towards you, making Jungkook look over to where you were now crouching to pet the animal. Jungkook was not exactly one to believe in love at first sight, at least not until now that he found himself completely dumbfounded, at that moment he could have sworn he was staring at an angel in flesh, the light coming from the huge windows reflecting on your face in the most beautiful way possible, your smile capturing his heart in just mere seconds. He felt his stomach twist, his pulse quicken and he couldn’t even form an intelligible sound as you looked up at him waiting for an answer.

“Yeah” was all he could get out, he was pretty sure he looked fucking stupid at that moment, his usual fashionable self nowhere to be seen as he was sitting on the floor in some joggers, a loose black shirt and his usual short and perfectly styled hair, now longer, falling over his eyes in the messiest way possible. He cleared his throat unable to know whether or not it had been a little too long for him to try and start a conversation, he wasn’t exactly one to talk to girls, least of all to try and swoon one while feeling and looking like a mess “he’s cute”

The dog approached him once again and you took the opportunity to sip at your beverage while stealing a glance at him and smiling quietly while you did so “He really is, I brought him a few weeks ago” your voice was so soft to his ears, he could feel his heart doing a flip every time you opened your mouth, he was absolutely smitten; and even though he had no idea of what to do or how to do it, he was sure he would never let you go. You suddenly rose to your feet, walked over to him and extended your hand for him as for helping him get up; the moment both of your hands touched he felt sparks going off, like something out of a movie, and he swore he could see a pink tint forming in your cheeks as you looked away from him nervously, was this how true love was supposed to feel like? “You know, you should probably get going if you don’t want to get mobbed by fans”

Sure enough, the cafe was starting to fill up and he was most probably going to get reprimanded when arriving at the unit for leaving without security but it was all worth it, you were worth it. He was halfway out the door when in a spark of confidence he turned around with a smile on his face “I didn’t catch your name though?” 

“Y/N” you smiled at him as he hurriedly left the store, absolutely smitten for him too. Not in a million years would you have imagined to meet THE Jeon Jungkook at one of your regular morning cafe runs, much less feeling as much as you felt in just a few minutes within being in his presence, it just didn’t seem real, it was pretty much a dream you definitely did not want to wake up from. The way he looked at you, the way he smiled, it all seemed like your mind was playing games on you, or as if you were being filmed and at any time a whole camera crew was going to storm out and tell you it had all been a joke. But none of those things happened.

Days passed and each time you dropped by the café your heart raced a little in hopes of running into Jungkook one more time, only to feel a pit in your stomach as yet another day passed and not once had he walked through the door.

One Monday morning, a few months after meeting Jungkook, and a few weeks into wrapping your head around the idea that it was pure luck meeting him, and that you’ll most likely never meet him again, Bomi buried his face in your thighs asking for a scratch and you complied, not before the images from that morning came rushing by, the way he seemed so relaxed and happy by the –now almost fully grown– puppy knocking him over; you couldn’t help the smile forming as you quietly asked him “Where do you think Jungkook is, Bomi?”

“I would start by looking up” you jumped in surprise and embarrassment at the voice, but gladly give in with a small smile playing on your lips as you met the dark-haired guy’s eyes looking at you in the softest way possible, and you could swear you heard angels singing as he helped you up from your spot, just the way you did before for him. ��I never got to say this but, thank you” you looked at him with a puzzled look “For that day a few months back, I just…” and just like that all his confidence was gone, he wasn’t sure what he had planned to tell you, something along the lines of ‘you’re really cute, please go out with me’ and oversharing his thoughts on how you meeting you was the most beautiful thing that could have happened to him at that moment. He looked down in embarrassment and you suddenly found yourself smiling at him, grabbing his hand in the spark of the moment, making him glance towards you

“I had been waiting for you” he looked puzzled as you said this, and couldn’t help but wonder if any of this was real. It just seemed too much like a drama, he could have sworn he heard some cheesy song blasting through the cafe’s speakers as both of you locked eyes and just stood there, probably looking like idiots to everyone around you; you were the first one to break eye contact as you blushed heavily and placed your eyes on the floor.

Jungkook took a step towards you, softly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, both of your faces too close to each other, you could have sworn you were getting redder by the second, his left hand still intertwined with yours by your side  “Can I at least get your number this time before I go?”

#jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook one shot #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #bts imagines #bts imagine #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts oneshot #jungkook oneshot #bts x reader